know-we both know-that you are not going to shoot this sweet young girl to get at me.' He cocked his pistol. 'So what you'd best do is this, Matthew. You'd best just lay that gun down on the ground and step back. And you'd best do it now, right now! 'Cause I'm through talking, boy, and the messy business is going to start a lot sooner than you think.'
'You better look at my gun, mister,' Matthew said in that softly menacing burr Anthony Bradford Chumms had so often described.
Lieder glanced down. The trigger was depressed, and the only thing keeping the shotgun from firing was the crook of Matthew's thumb holding back the hammer.
'You're right when you say that I could never shoot first,' he said quietly. 'But I don't have to. You shoot me, and this old gun goes off. And you're dead.'
'And this girl's dead too.'
'She'd rather be dead than have you messing with her.'
'You're… you are crazy, boy.' He started to ease back toward the door.
'One… more… inch, and I drop the hammer.' The calm fatality of his voice gave Lieder pause. 'And you better know something, mister. I hurt my wrists pretty bad shooting your animals, so I can't hold this hammer back much longer.'
Lieder looked over his shoulder, estimating the distance between him and the door. Two long strides. Too far. And this girl's little body wouldn't absorb much double-ought at this range. He glared at Matthew, standing there with that silly-assed badge on his chest; holding that stupid gun!
He grinned.
'Well, I'll be damned,' he said with a philosophic shake of his head. 'I will be god-good'n-damned!' He raised his hand, letting the pistol dangle from his finger in the trigger housing. 'You know, I knew it right from the first. Yes sir, the first time I set eyes on you, I knew you had enough grit and smarts to be my right-hand man.'
'Let her loose.'
'You bet.' His grip on her hair slackened, but strands were still entangled in his fingers, so she had to snatch her head away with pain. She stepped toward Matthew.
'Lie down!' he ordered. And she instantly sank to the porch floor.
Lieder's grin widened. 'That was smart, boy. You are really something, you know that? You and me, we're going to make-'
'Just let that gun fall off'n your finger!'
'Well now, if you're going to shoot me anyway, I might as well make a fight of it. And if you don't intend to shoot me, well then…' He started to walk slowly forward toward the porch steps.
'You better drop that gun.'
'You reckon? Me, I'm not all that sure. And I'll tell you why.'
'Don't come any closer!'
'… I'll tell you why, Matthew. If you really meant to shoot me down in cold blood, I'd already be dead. Now, just a bit ago… when you were trying to save this girl from what you call your 'fate worse than death'… you might of shot me then. Yes you might of. But she's safe now-honey, you go back inside and take care of your pa, like a good girl.' Ruth Lillian looked up at Matthew for affirmation. He nodded curtly without taking his eyes off Lieder, and she crawled away from between them, then rose and ran into the Mercantile. 'There now! Now it's just me and you standing here looking at one another in the eyes, and I don't think you're the kind of person who could shoot a man who's shown you nothing but friendship and respect. A man who-'
'Don't come down those steps!'
'… a man who respects you enough to make you his successor in the great struggle to save these United States of America from-'
'Don't come any closer. I'm warning-!'
'All right! I'm dropping my gun. There she goes, Plop, right into a puddle. Ain't it a crying shame to treat a gun that way? And now here I am, standing in front of you, feeling naked as a jaybird with no gun to protect myself. But that's all right, Matthew. That's all right. And do you know why? Because this little face-off between you and me is already over. It's over, and I've won. I've won because you are confused and uncertain, weary of heart, and broken of spirit, and I have all the control. That's what happens when you stand against a man who can talk the birds down from the trees. At this moment, Matthew, right at this very moment, you're not exactly certain what's happening, are you? You're not even sure what I'm talking about, or why I'm talking this way, but you sense deep down inside that there's something dangerous in it. Well, don't you worry about it, 'cause I couldn't bring myself to hurt you. Look how I'm holding my empty palms out to you, Matthew. A gesture of peace and submission. And the wrath of Jehovah will descend on the man who offers harm to one who comes in peace and supplication.' He grinned boyishly. 'As you probably recognize, that's from Paul to the Montanans… 7, 13.' He laughed, a thin note. 'Oh my, now I almost wish you were going to shoot me, because wouldn't it be thrilling for schoolchildren reading my biography to hear how I joked right up to the end? What a man! And you know what? You're going to become quite a man too, Matthew. You and me, side by side. There ain't nothing or no one in the world that can stop us. Now, boy what I'm going to do is reach out and take the shotgun from you. So I suppose if you really intend to let that hammer drop, this is the time to do it.' Still smiling, he reached out and grasped the barrel.
But Matthew held tight.
Lieder glared. 'I'm taking the gun, boy!'
Matthew shook his head, his teeth clenched. He growled deep in his throat.
Suddenly, Lieder released the gun. 'All right… all right… you win! Keep the goddamn gun! I mean, after all, it has sentimental value, what with being your pa's and all. As for me? Well, I guess there's nothing for me to do but turn around and walk out of Twenty-Mile.' He put his fists on his hips and regarded Matthew. 'You really are something, boy! Stubborn. Tough. Ornery.' He grinned. 'Just like me when I was your age.' He shook his head and chuckled. 'Who'd have thought it, eh? Me, made to back down by a kid! Well… just goes to show.' He pressed his temples between his finger and thumb to relieve his throbbing head; then he loosened the braided leather lanyard that he had taken from the prison guard. 'Guess I'm getting old, Matthew. I got aches and pains where I didn't even know I had places. And talk about itches! I swear I have provided a meal for every flea in that hotel.' He scratched his side, reaching up under his green-and-gold-brocade waistcoat with his thumb and chasing the itch back toward his spine, his teeth bared in a rictus of gratification. 'Yes, sir, I guess I'll just have to find me another town with a treasure of precious metal to pay for my militia of pure-blood Americans who will rid this nation of-'
The shotgun blast penetrated his stomach and blew away the pistol he was slipping from his belt behind his back. Blew it away, hand and all. His hips were driven back faster than his head and heels, so his chin snapped down to his chest and his boots left tracks in the mud. He ended sitting with his forehead on his knees against the steps to the Mercantile, which were splattered with soft bits. Whimpering in misery, Matthew clawed the hot shell out and pushed a fresh one in. He fired again, and the lifeless body jumped. He clawed out the hot waxy shell and put another in and fired, and the chest erupted into pulp. He clawed out the shell and pushed one in and fired, and the head swung loose. He clawed out the shell and thumbed in another, then turned and walked up the street.
Jeff Calder had been peeking around the door of the Traveller's Welcome to see what was happening down at the Mercantile, and now he staggered backward to make way for Matthew as he pushed in through the doors, shrugged off the old soldier's congratulatory pat on the shoulder.
'What can I serve ya?' Jeff Calder asked. 'Anything you want. On the house. Man, I'd of give anything to be out there, standing shoulder to shoulder with you, facing down them no-accounts, and I would of been too, but this damned stump of mine's been acting up something fierce. I guess it's winter coming in and-'
'You just stay out of my line of fire,' Matthew said in a dull monotone.
Pressing the stock firmly into his shoulder to prevent further damage to his wrists, he aimed at the nest of bottles on the shelf behind the bar. They exploded with a roar as the bottom of the back-bar mirror fragmented, allowing the top to slide down the frame and crack in half. Calmly he pulled out the spent shell and replaced it with one from his pocket, then he shifted his position to give himself an enfilade shot at the bottles kept beneath the bar. These disintegrated in a spray of liquid and glass that blew a panel off the front of the bar.
Frenchy burst in, followed by Kersti. 'What the hell's going on? What are you doing, boy?'
'There won't be no more drinking in Twenty-Mile, ma'am. Not while I'm marshal.'
'While you're… what?'
'It's booze that turns weak men into bad ones,' Matthew quoted from a Ringo Kid book as he reloaded. He
