[...] I floated my binoculars over to Calamity and then pulled out the sniper rifle to peer down its scope at the collection of dilapidated wooden buildings, derailed boxcars, makeshift metal structures and slave cages that made up old Appleloosa. The train was just pulling in.

Between the darkness of the storm and the distraction of the train, there would never be a better time to sneak in. Through the sniper scope, I could make out the silhouettes of guards walking along catwalks that ran between the buildings and above the cages. In the cages, I could see slave ponies laying under the pouring rain, forlorn shapes in the storm.

I felt a familiar pissed-ness taking hold.

“Calamity, you stay up here. I’m heading down in.”

“Ah didn’t come all this way t’ stay back.”

I levitated the sniper rifle to him. “You’re my cover. And my quick exit if things go bad. Unless you think you’d be better at picking those locks and I’d be better at flying you out.”

He clearly wasn’t happy, but conceded my point.

Pulling out Little Macintosh and checking to make sure it was loaded, I started down the slippery ridge. I didn’t want to have to use the gun. Not that I was feeling particularly live-and-let-live about slavers. It was just that for all the things Little Macintosh was, it wasn’t quiet.

Chapter Six: The Truth of the Matter