The Master of Phoenix Hall Read Online Free Page B

very tall, powerfully built, and dressed entirely in black: highly polished black leather boots, tight black pants, black coat. There was a silky black hood over his head, with holes cut at eye level to enable him to see. On top of that he wore a broad-brimmed black hat, similar to those affected by the cowboys in America. The other men were burly brutes in leather jerkins and dusty trousers, bandanas tied over the lower part of their faces. One of them held the lantern.
    â€œWho are you?” Nan cried.
    â€œNo questions, young woman.”
    â€œDon’t you touch us. Don’t you dare.”
    â€œShut up, Nan,” I hissed.
    â€œTake your friend’s advice,” the man in black told her.
    â€œYou don’t frighten me,” she snapped.
    â€œNo?”
    He moved toward her slowly, menace in every step. He raised his black-gloved hand as though to strike her, and Nan stood there without flinching, her chin thrust forward arrogantly. She was a ludicrous figure in her lilac dress, holding the bird cage tightly, the smear of dirt across her face. I took her wrist and jerked her beside me, putting my arm about her waist. I had to admire her for this outburst of courage, and somehow I got the impression that the bandit did, too. We both stared up at him, and he watched us for a moment, his head held to one side as though he were making a decision. Then he chuckled.
    â€œBrazen pair,” he remarked to his companions. “Most of the women scream or faint or both.”
    He stepped over to me, peering closely into my face. I could feel his eyes examining me.
    â€œWhat about you?” he asked. “Are you going to faint?”
    â€œI don’t think so,” I replied calmly.
    â€œAll calm and collected. Cool. Well bred.”
    â€œWould you prefer us to scream? Do you enjoy intimidating women?”
    He chuckled again, nodding his head. “Spirit, too,” he said to the others. “I like that.”
    Our driver was leaning against the coach, his face pale and his chest heaving. One of the men held a long pistol aimed at the driver’s head, and the poor man was much more terrified than either Nan or I. He was still panting from the exertion of the chase. The horses were standing quietly in their traces, their coats gleaming wetly in the light. I saw a large splinter near the top of the coach where the bullet had gone in.
    â€œWhat do you want of us?” I asked.
    â€œOf you, nothing,” the man said. His voice was more normal now. I caught a cultivated accent that bespoke of education. This man was not a peasant. He carried himself too well. Even clothed all in black as he was, there was an unmistakable elegance about him.
    â€œWe have no valuables!” Nan snapped.
    â€œIndeed you do,” he said with a tone that was very low, “but I am afraid we don’t have time for that.”
    I blanched. Nan called him a highly unflattering name. He laughed. The other men stood as silent as dolts.
    â€œWe are not going to harm you,” he said. “All we want is that box tied to the top of the coach. You”—he turned to driver—“get it for me.”
    â€œYou can’t take that box!” the driver cried, suddenly finding his voice. “It belongs to the Government!”
    The man moved very slowly. He stood in front of the driver, who cowered against the coach, his eyes rolling in fear. Quickly, almost too quickly for the eye to follow, the black gloved hand slammed across the driver’s face, then again, making two sharp, loud explosions as leather met skin with impact. The driver gasped. In the dim yellow light I could see his Adam’s apple bobbing.
    â€œNext time it will be with the butt of a pistol,” the man said quietly. “Now get me that box.”
    The driver clambered up to the top of the coach and unfastened the small metal box that had been secured there with some of our luggage. I watched his