Pocket and I rode our stallions over the crest. We were wearing bandannas over our snouts and not just because they looked pretty. They kept us from choking on the prarie dust kicked up by our steeds. The sun was setting to our left and we could see the white steam against the orange sky then we heard the train whistle.
We were sitting on our horses necks holding their reins in our paws. I dug my claws into my rides’ side and it took off for the tracks that lay before us. I steered my horse on to the tracks gambling the conductor would break upon seeing a Yorkie on a horse.
My ploy paid off. The train screeched to a stop. I rode over to the conductor and told him to get the car with the safe open or my partner would open fire. I nodded to Pocket who was trying to hold the guy with one paw, the trigger with the other, and not fall off the horse. The conductor scoffed when suddenly Pocket fired several shots at him. “All right, I’ll do it!” he said climbing down with his hands in the air. Only Pocket and I knew she didn’t mean to fire and had lost her balance.
I rode behind the conductor. He opened one of the doors to expose the safe. There were two mens holding guns and they turned to me. I ducked my head down to my waist, pulled my gun out with my mouth, and fired the gun with my tongue knocking the rifles out of the guards’ hands and to the ground. “That’s pretty impressive,” one of the guards said.
“Fastest tongue in the west,” I said tipping my hat.
“If a Yorkie can get a pistol than I think it is time we discuss gun control!” the other guard said.
I spit on the ground. “Damn train guards and their liberal agendas,” I said. “Two Yorkies are robbing a train and you want to turn it into a gun control debate. Your socialist views are not hijacking my train hijacking. Too soon! Now give me the good stuff.”
The guard began to gather the gold bars. I looked at Pocket and she scoffed then began falling off her horse and scrambled her paws against it’s brown side to regain her balance then looked down as I glared at her. A Yorkie train thief is never off her mount.
I looked back at the guards. “Not the bars,” I said. “The good stuff.”
The two guards looked at one another. “Don’t treat me like I’m some kind of fool,” I said licking my trigger. Their shoulders sunk. They went behind the safe and pulled out two 60 pounds bags of kibble. “Put them on the horses,” I said. They lay the bags on the back of our mounts. “You fellows have a nice day,” I said. We then turned and rode off into the sunset as Pocket dug in her paws for dear life.
We rode into town and shared the kibble with all the hungry pups. We left the food behind before they had chance to thank us.
But the legend of The Foley Monster and Pocket the Kid would continue to grow.