Mail Order Bride: The Master: A Historical Mail Order Bride Story (Mail Order Brides) by Lily Wilspur Page A
Authors: Lily Wilspur
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street from the distance of the clouds.
Matthew stared at the Master even more intently than he usually did. The Master had worn a gun belt—to church! Not only that, but he’d disarmed Bartlett and pulled his own gun instead. These events elevated the Master to something approaching a luminary in Matthew’s estimation.
And now, here he was, facing Noah in open combat in the middle of the street. For all his refined bearing and erect stature, Matthew barely recognized the Master now. He gave the friends and neighbors clustered around the church steps no acknowledgment whatever. His face wore a fixed expression of stony hatred.
Noah Bartlett jammed his gun into his belt and stalked off down the street, where he assumed a martial posture facing the Master. The Master pushed the flaps of his coat back behind the pistols on his hips so that the skirts of his coat hung down behind him.
The two men confronted each other over a distance of several paces. An awful hush fell over the crowd. Matthew cast a single glance to his right and left. There was Felix Bartlett squatted at the edge of the street with the other boys, awaiting the outcome of this contest between the town’s two rival gladiators.
What would Noah do if he killed the Master? Would he kill Polly next? What would he, Matthew Burke, do, if Noah killed the Master? Would Noah kill him, too? What would there be left for him to live for, with the Master dead? What would there be left to live for, with Noah Bartlett ruling the town as its conquering lord?
Had the Master ever really fired a gun before? Matthew couldn’t imagine him even owning guns, let alone wearing them or using one to kill someone. Even considering the heinous provocation he’d suffered from Noah over the last few days, Matthew couldn’t conceive of him resorting to violence even now. He knew the rest of the town was witnessing the ultimate contradiction of all their preconceptions about the Master. He wasn’t the man they thought he was.
They thought he was a mild-mannered bookworm with a flair for making a spectacle of himself. Instead, he was this iron-fisted gunfighter they now saw making his stand in the middle of the street. He was reserved and remote in his self-appointed objective to wipe the scourge of Noah Bartlett from the face of the Earth or die in the attempt.
Matthew would have liked to run to him, to help him in any way he could. But he knew the best way to help him now—the only way to help him—was to keep quiet. So he bit his lip and clenched his fingers together in dreadful anticipation of the first shot.
How would it start? How did two gunfighters signal each other to draw their guns and fire on each other? He was just wondering these and other logistical considerations when it happened.
He didn’t even know they’d started until it was all over. Matthew had never seen the Master move so fast. He leapt with his feet set wide apart and his arms cocked out from the side of his body. His coat flew outward from his sides like the wings of a black bird.
An ear-splitting crack rent the stillness and a cloud of smoke obscured the street. The next thing Matthew knew, both men had their pistols out, pointed at each other, with smoke drifting from their muzzles. Matthew looked from one man to the other, confused and frightened.
The aftermath seemed to take forever, with both men standing motionless, facing each other as if nothing had happened. Yet there were their guns, drawn and smoking, their legs planted in deathly defiance.
And then, falling silently in the greater silence and making no sound when he hit the ground, Noah toppled. His gun fell out of his hand. His arms and legs fluttered and bounced on the ground. And finally, his whole ghastly frame settled into a heap at the other end of the street.
No one moved. The Master still held the heap at gun point against any trick to lure him into lowering his guard. But the heap didn’t move.
In the end, the crowd on
Matthew stared at the Master even more intently than he usually did. The Master had worn a gun belt—to church! Not only that, but he’d disarmed Bartlett and pulled his own gun instead. These events elevated the Master to something approaching a luminary in Matthew’s estimation.
And now, here he was, facing Noah in open combat in the middle of the street. For all his refined bearing and erect stature, Matthew barely recognized the Master now. He gave the friends and neighbors clustered around the church steps no acknowledgment whatever. His face wore a fixed expression of stony hatred.
Noah Bartlett jammed his gun into his belt and stalked off down the street, where he assumed a martial posture facing the Master. The Master pushed the flaps of his coat back behind the pistols on his hips so that the skirts of his coat hung down behind him.
The two men confronted each other over a distance of several paces. An awful hush fell over the crowd. Matthew cast a single glance to his right and left. There was Felix Bartlett squatted at the edge of the street with the other boys, awaiting the outcome of this contest between the town’s two rival gladiators.
What would Noah do if he killed the Master? Would he kill Polly next? What would he, Matthew Burke, do, if Noah killed the Master? Would Noah kill him, too? What would there be left for him to live for, with the Master dead? What would there be left to live for, with Noah Bartlett ruling the town as its conquering lord?
Had the Master ever really fired a gun before? Matthew couldn’t imagine him even owning guns, let alone wearing them or using one to kill someone. Even considering the heinous provocation he’d suffered from Noah over the last few days, Matthew couldn’t conceive of him resorting to violence even now. He knew the rest of the town was witnessing the ultimate contradiction of all their preconceptions about the Master. He wasn’t the man they thought he was.
They thought he was a mild-mannered bookworm with a flair for making a spectacle of himself. Instead, he was this iron-fisted gunfighter they now saw making his stand in the middle of the street. He was reserved and remote in his self-appointed objective to wipe the scourge of Noah Bartlett from the face of the Earth or die in the attempt.
Matthew would have liked to run to him, to help him in any way he could. But he knew the best way to help him now—the only way to help him—was to keep quiet. So he bit his lip and clenched his fingers together in dreadful anticipation of the first shot.
How would it start? How did two gunfighters signal each other to draw their guns and fire on each other? He was just wondering these and other logistical considerations when it happened.
He didn’t even know they’d started until it was all over. Matthew had never seen the Master move so fast. He leapt with his feet set wide apart and his arms cocked out from the side of his body. His coat flew outward from his sides like the wings of a black bird.
An ear-splitting crack rent the stillness and a cloud of smoke obscured the street. The next thing Matthew knew, both men had their pistols out, pointed at each other, with smoke drifting from their muzzles. Matthew looked from one man to the other, confused and frightened.
The aftermath seemed to take forever, with both men standing motionless, facing each other as if nothing had happened. Yet there were their guns, drawn and smoking, their legs planted in deathly defiance.
And then, falling silently in the greater silence and making no sound when he hit the ground, Noah toppled. His gun fell out of his hand. His arms and legs fluttered and bounced on the ground. And finally, his whole ghastly frame settled into a heap at the other end of the street.
No one moved. The Master still held the heap at gun point against any trick to lure him into lowering his guard. But the heap didn’t move.
In the end, the crowd on
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