Matthew smiled and waved and said something that the wind snatched away as he continued to walk toward them.
'I said you better stop right there!' Tiny shouted.
Bobby-My-Boy cocked his pistol.
Lieder called down from above, asking what the hell was going on? Tiny shouted up that the kid was coming across the street lugging a gun! And he wouldn't stop when he was told to!
Lieder pulled Kersti up from her knees by her hair and pushed her aside. He was just about fed up with her whimpering and whining, anyway. Pressing against the wall, he peeked around the edge of the window, down to the street where Matthew was standing with his weight on one leg and his pa's shotgun over his shoulder. The wind billowed out his jacket and snapped the collar against his neck. Matthew shaded his eyes, looked up at Lieder, and shouted something into the wind. Then he shrugged in broad pantomime and grinned foolishly. Lieder laughed and called down the stairs for them to let the kid come on ahead.
'But what about his gun?' Tiny wanted to know.
'I guess you boys are going to have to figure this one out for yourselves.' He chuckled, and returned to Kersti.
Tiny waved for Matthew to come into the hotel, but he shouted into the wind that he'd better keep his finger away from the trigger of that gun!
Matthew cupped his hand behind his ear and shrugged. 'Can't hear!' he shouted. 'Are you saying it's okay for me…?' He pointed to himself, '… to come there?' He pointed to the hotel.
'Come on ahead!' Tiny shouted. 'But don't try nothin'!'
'Don't try nothing!' Bobby-My-Boy said.
Tiny gave Bobby-My-Boy a withering look.
Matthew approached the hotel doors, smiling easily, one fist gripping the barrel of the shotgun, the other hand splayed wide open in front of him to show there was nothing in it. As soon as he crossed the threshold, Tiny snatched his shotgun away.
'What do you think of her?' Matthew asked. 'She's handmade. Only one like it in the world. To make ammunition for it, my pa had to use the powder and shot from two ordinary double-ought shells. And do you wonder if it can kick? It can kick.' He hadn't expected Lieder to be upstairs, away from the other two. That was a disappointment.
Bobby-My-Boy took the gun from Tiny and hefted it. 'Heavy.'
Tiny snatched it back. 'Is this thing loaded?'
'No, sir. There ain't no shells for it, and I can't get any in this godforsaken hole. That's why I'm willing to sell it. At a real good price, too.'
'What do you hunt with a thing like this? Barns?'
Matthew laughed and allowed as how that was a good one. 'It's only a single-shot, but it makes one hell of a hole. Well? Either of you interested?'
'A gun without ammunition ain't worth a fart in a whirlwind,' Tiny said.
'That's true,' Matthew agreed. 'But you're traveling men, and I bet you could find someone to make ammunition for her.'
'Naw, that heavy old thing ain't for traveling men,' Tiny said. 'Hell, you'd need three men and a boy just to tote it around for you.'
Matthew laughed again, even harder. 'I thought the fella upstairs had all the brains in this outfit, but you've got off three good'uns in a row! First about hunting barns, then about a fart in a whirlwind, and now about three men and a boy!'
Tiny's face twisted yet further in an expression of self-satisfaction as Matthew turned to Bobby-My-Boy and asked, 'How about you? Figure you're big enough to hold this gun down.'
'Sure!'
'Then you want to buy it?'
'No.'
'Look, I'll tell you what. I'll make you a price that'll-' A heavy hand descended on Matthew's shoulder from behind.
'Matthew? The funniest idea just popped into my head.' Lieder had come silently down the stairs, stuffing his shirt into his pants. 'I was upstairs funning, when this terrible thought came to me.' His fingers tightened on Matthew's shoulder. 'Can you guess what that terrible thought was?'
'No, sir. I was only asking your men if they wanted to buy my pa's shotgun. I didn't think you'd mind, because I already offered it to you and you said you didn't-'
'I asked you if you could guess what that terrible thought was!'
'No, sir, I can't.'
'Hm-m. Well, I was standing there, receiving what you might call homage, when this voice inside my head said to me, what if that big old gun ain't unloaded?'
'I don't under-But I already told you there ain't no shells for it. My pa shot off the last ones back a coon's age.'
'I know you told me that. And I know you wouldn't lie to me. But what if you honestly thought it was unloaded, but you were mistaken? What then, Matthew?' He smiled. 'You wouldn't mind if I put you to a little test, would you? A man that wants to be one of my apostles shouldn't be afraid of a little test.'
'What… sort of test?'
'Bobby-My-Boy, you keep your gun on Matthew here. (Don't you fret, boy. It's just part of the test.) Now Tiny, you give him back his shotgun.' He put his arm around Matthew and pressed him close to his side, too close for him to be a target for the long-barrelled weapon. 'I'll just stand close to you, boy, so's not to be in your way. Now, I totally believe you about that gun being unloaded, but you know what they say… it's usually the unloaded gun that kills somebody. Here's how the test goes. You and me, we're going to walk back here to where the blushing bride is sitting, all excited and panting with anticipation.' He drew Matthew along with him to where Chinky sat. She looked up dully as they approached. 'Now Matthew, cock back the hammer of your gun. Do it!'
'Honest to Pete, sir, this gun ain't-'
'Just cock the gun, boy!'
Matthew thumbed back the hammer until it clicked.
'There you go. Now point it at the bride there. Oh, anywhere in the middle will do, because if that thing turns out to be loaded-by some miracle or other-it'll blow away everything from appetite to asshole.'
Chinky's eyes searched Matthew's in confusion, then they widened with dawning terror. She rose and put her hands, palms out, in front of her chest, as though to catch the blast.
Matthew swallowed. 'Don't worry, Chinky. It ain't loaded. We're just… funning.'
'Squeeze the trigger, boy.'
Chinky's mouth opened, and she shook her head, her eyes locked on Matthew's in silent supplication.
'Squeeze the trigger!'
To save Chinky from further torment, Matthew jerked the trigger, and the hammer fell.
The blood drained from Chinky's face. Her knees buckled. And she sat down hard.
'You see?' Matthew said. 'I told you there wasn't any shells! Gosh, I'm terrible sorry, Chinky.'
Lieder roared with laughter, and his grip on Matthew's shoulder became a gruff squeeze. 'I knew it! I just knew you were made of the right stuff! I knew in the marrow of my bones that no apostle of mine would betray me! But I had to test you, 'cause premonitions and such can be messages from God, and the man who ignores them is asking to get his ass kicked by Fate. I hope you understand, Matthew. And I hope you forgive me-oh, I forgot. You ain't much given to forgiving, are you?' As he chuckled and tousled Matthew's hair, Matthew noticed that his knuckles were bruised.
WET TO THE SKIN and shivering beneath the blanket draped over his shoulders, Matthew sat in the gloom of the marshal's office while rain rattled down on his tin roof. He had been crossing the street back from the hotel, his pa's gun slung carelessly over his shoulder, when the air went suddenly chill and the sky darkened. The first plump drops of rain kicked up little craters in which they lay for an instant, skinned with dust. Before Matthew could run, the torrent came pelting down; and by the time he arrived, heel-skidding, at his door, the dust of the road had been whipped into frothy mud.
