alive, ain’t he?’
‘Faster’n you?’
‘Raven,’ her mother began crossly.
‘I’m just asking, Momma.’
‘Hopefully,’ Gabriel said to Raven, ‘I’ll never find that out.’
‘Do you think he’s coming here after you?’ Ingrid asked. ‘I mean, could Mr Stadtlander have hired him?’
‘Anything’s possible,’ Gabriel repeated. He took another look through the glasses at the rider then walked off.
They watched him enter the barn. When he reappeared a few moments later he’d buckled on his gun-belt and was tying the holster down, gunfighter-style. As he joined them he drew his Peacemaker, spun the cylinder across his forearm to make sure the gun was fully loaded, and then slid the Colt back into its well-oiled holster.
‘Take Raven inside,’ he told Ingrid. ‘An’ stay there till I tell you to come out.’
Ingrid didn’t move. ‘This gunman, Latigo whatever his name is, he won’t be here for at least another ten or fifteen minutes. That’s more than enough time for you to saddle up and go wait in the hills till he’s gone.’
‘Runnin’ ain’t the answer.’
‘I’ll go with you,’ Raven offered. ‘Show you where to hide.’
Gabriel shook his head. ‘I need to get this settled. Now do like I say, ma’am.’
Grudgingly, Ingrid led Raven into the cabin. But by the way she slammed the door he knew she was angry with him.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Gabriel rolled a smoke, flared a match to it and sat on the edge of the water trough. He made sure the sun was behind him, and in the face of the rider, and then watched Latigo Rawlins riding toward him.
He’d first met the little Texan in the Acme Saloon in El Paso, the same saloon in which lawman John Selman would eventually shoot the notorious John Wesley Hardin in the back of the head. That night Gabriel and Latigo had faced each other across a poker table. Neither lost nor won much, and afterward they talked over drinks at the bar. Their meeting didn’t turn into a friendship; but during their conversation they discovered they had several things in common. Both were loners. Both had lost their parents while still in their mid teens. And both had a reputation for settling disputes with their guns.
During the ensuing years they had occasionally run into each other in various towns across the southwest and though they’d never had to confront one another, accounts of their individual exploits forced them to grudgingly respect each other’s speed with a gun.
Many people, especially lawmen, considered them cut from the same cloth and hoped they would kill each other off. Because of Latigo’s immense ego it probably wouldhave happened too; but before the big showdown could take place Gabriel was branded a horse-thief by Stillman Stadtlander and forced to flee to Mexico.
Now, as Latigo Rawlins drew close enough to recognize Gabriel, the small, handsome, sandy-haired shootist reined in his horse, removed his cigarette and whistled softly. ‘I’ll be damned. Is that really you, Mesquite?’
‘Mesquite Jennings is dead,’ Gabriel said, referring to the name he’d used when he had first become an outlaw. ‘He was shot down by the Rurales south of the border.’
Latigo Rawlins chewed on Gabriel’s words a moment, then said: ‘Then who might I be talkin’ to now?’
‘Gabe Moonlight.’
‘Whooeee. That’s mighty fancy.’
‘It’s my natural born name.’
‘True?’
‘True.’
‘Hell, I never knew that.’ Latigo had a boyish voice to go with his boyish grin. ‘All these years, amigo, an’ you never once mentioned it.’
‘Had no call to.’
That seemed to satisfy Latigo. He took a long drag on his cigarette and flicked the butt away. ‘I heard a story once. Don’t recall who told me but they said you took the name Mesquite Jennings from of one of them dime novels. That so?’
‘Yep.’
‘Why’d you kill it off?’
‘It’d worn out its welcome.’
‘Too bad. Me, I always liked the sound of it. Had flair.
‘Faster’n you?’
‘Raven,’ her mother began crossly.
‘I’m just asking, Momma.’
‘Hopefully,’ Gabriel said to Raven, ‘I’ll never find that out.’
‘Do you think he’s coming here after you?’ Ingrid asked. ‘I mean, could Mr Stadtlander have hired him?’
‘Anything’s possible,’ Gabriel repeated. He took another look through the glasses at the rider then walked off.
They watched him enter the barn. When he reappeared a few moments later he’d buckled on his gun-belt and was tying the holster down, gunfighter-style. As he joined them he drew his Peacemaker, spun the cylinder across his forearm to make sure the gun was fully loaded, and then slid the Colt back into its well-oiled holster.
‘Take Raven inside,’ he told Ingrid. ‘An’ stay there till I tell you to come out.’
Ingrid didn’t move. ‘This gunman, Latigo whatever his name is, he won’t be here for at least another ten or fifteen minutes. That’s more than enough time for you to saddle up and go wait in the hills till he’s gone.’
‘Runnin’ ain’t the answer.’
‘I’ll go with you,’ Raven offered. ‘Show you where to hide.’
Gabriel shook his head. ‘I need to get this settled. Now do like I say, ma’am.’
Grudgingly, Ingrid led Raven into the cabin. But by the way she slammed the door he knew she was angry with him.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Gabriel rolled a smoke, flared a match to it and sat on the edge of the water trough. He made sure the sun was behind him, and in the face of the rider, and then watched Latigo Rawlins riding toward him.
He’d first met the little Texan in the Acme Saloon in El Paso, the same saloon in which lawman John Selman would eventually shoot the notorious John Wesley Hardin in the back of the head. That night Gabriel and Latigo had faced each other across a poker table. Neither lost nor won much, and afterward they talked over drinks at the bar. Their meeting didn’t turn into a friendship; but during their conversation they discovered they had several things in common. Both were loners. Both had lost their parents while still in their mid teens. And both had a reputation for settling disputes with their guns.
During the ensuing years they had occasionally run into each other in various towns across the southwest and though they’d never had to confront one another, accounts of their individual exploits forced them to grudgingly respect each other’s speed with a gun.
Many people, especially lawmen, considered them cut from the same cloth and hoped they would kill each other off. Because of Latigo’s immense ego it probably wouldhave happened too; but before the big showdown could take place Gabriel was branded a horse-thief by Stillman Stadtlander and forced to flee to Mexico.
Now, as Latigo Rawlins drew close enough to recognize Gabriel, the small, handsome, sandy-haired shootist reined in his horse, removed his cigarette and whistled softly. ‘I’ll be damned. Is that really you, Mesquite?’
‘Mesquite Jennings is dead,’ Gabriel said, referring to the name he’d used when he had first become an outlaw. ‘He was shot down by the Rurales south of the border.’
Latigo Rawlins chewed on Gabriel’s words a moment, then said: ‘Then who might I be talkin’ to now?’
‘Gabe Moonlight.’
‘Whooeee. That’s mighty fancy.’
‘It’s my natural born name.’
‘True?’
‘True.’
‘Hell, I never knew that.’ Latigo had a boyish voice to go with his boyish grin. ‘All these years, amigo, an’ you never once mentioned it.’
‘Had no call to.’
That seemed to satisfy Latigo. He took a long drag on his cigarette and flicked the butt away. ‘I heard a story once. Don’t recall who told me but they said you took the name Mesquite Jennings from of one of them dime novels. That so?’
‘Yep.’
‘Why’d you kill it off?’
‘It’d worn out its welcome.’
‘Too bad. Me, I always liked the sound of it. Had flair.
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