Gun for Revenge Read Online Free

thoughtful of you. As you can guess, I haven’t slept much lately. In fact, hardly at all since we left Las Cruces.’ She smiled, embarrassed. ‘I’m sure that sounds silly to you. You probably sleep just as well on the trail as …’ She caught him looking at her hair and self-consciously ran her fingers through the wispy mat of curls. ‘You’re wondering why, aren’t you?’
    ‘Thought did cross my mind, yes, ma’am. On account of Apaches, maybe?’
    ‘Apaches?’
    He could see she had no idea what he was talking about and feeling foolish, said: ‘No matter. Thirsty, are you?’
    ‘Enough to drink that whole stream out there.’
    She was so refreshingly honest he wasn’t sure how to deal with her. For months at a time his only outlet for conversation was the stallion. And the ill-tempered horse, like Gabriel, preferred silence.
    ‘I’m also famished. I know that’s not very ladylike. Ladies are required to be refined and to nibble daintily at their food. But to be perfectly honest, Mr Moonlight, after all I’ve been through recently I don’t feel very dainty or ladylike.’
    She waited for him to reply. When he didn’t, she said: ‘You’re not very talkative, are you?’
    He didn’t answer, feeling silence was the best way to answer her question.
    ‘Perhaps I should respect that and not talk so much myself.’
    ‘That ain’t necessary. I got no quarrel with talkin’. It’s just …’ He toed the floor awkwardly. ‘I’m not used to it on account of I don’t get much company.’
    Ellen looked around, suddenly noticing the scarcity of furniture: all handmade, there was only one chair, a table, cot, clothes-chest and a standing cupboard that doubled as a pantry.
    ‘I never would have guessed that,’ she said impishly.
    Gabriel smiled. He liked a woman with humor.
    Outside, the stallion whinnied angrily. Gabriel glanced out the window, hoping the Morgan wasn’t trying to bite the old Mexican.
    ‘That’s a magnificent horse you have, Mr Moonlight.’
    ‘Gabe,’ he said.
    ‘I beg your pardon?’
    ‘Nobody calls me Moonlight or Gabriel. Just Gabe.’
    ‘Oh….’
    ‘Not that I’m ashamed of my name or anythin’. But when your surname’s as fancy as Moonlight, attachin’ a tag like Gabriel to it is like addin’ insult to injury.’
    ‘I suppose….’
    ‘You don’t agree?’
    ‘Well, Gabriel is very Biblical.’
    ‘Biblical don’t hold much salt in a cantina.’
    ‘Gabriel was supposed to be God’s messenger.’
    ‘Try tellin’ that to a fella who’s pie-eyed. Only message he’s got is a fist to your face.’
    ‘Really?’ She hadn’t thought of it that way. ‘Well, your face doesn’t look like it’s known too many fists.’ She paused, suddenly embarrassed by her forwardness, then said: ‘Very well. Gabe it is. But if we’re going to be on a first-name basis, I insist you call me Ellen or Ellie, whichever you prefer.’
    ‘Ellie,’ he said without hesitation. ‘It rolls easier off the tongue.’
    They lapsed into a silence that became awkward.
    ‘It’s a Morgan,’ Gabriel added, not wanting the conversation to die. ‘My horse, I mean.’
    ‘Yes, I know. You can always tell by the proud arch of their necks and how compact and muscular the body is. Goes fourteen and a half hands, I’d say.’
    He realized his mouth was open and quickly closed it.
    ‘Don’t look so surprised,’ she laughed. ‘Just because I’m a woman doesn’t mean I can’t know about horses.’
    ‘I didn’t mean to imply—’
    ‘I learned about Morgans from my Grampa Tate. For years he made a living rounding up broomtails and selling them to the Army. But in ’89, when wild horses got scarce, he started a riding stable for the Las Cruces gentry. All his horses are fine animals but his favorites are two Morgans, Duke and King. He treats them like sons. Says other than Arabs, Morgans are the finest horses alive.’
    And the goddamn meanest, Gabriel thought.
    ‘They’re all supposed