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to be descended from one stallion : Justice Morgan, wasn’t it?’
    ‘Justin.’
    ‘Ah. And how did you come by such a fine animal?’
    ‘Well, I didn’t steal him,’ he said bluntly.
    ‘That thought never occurred to me, Mr Moonlight.’
    ‘Gabe.’
    Now it was her turn to be silent.
    ‘I won Brandy in a poker game. Aces an’ eights. Dead man’s hand. Unlucky for Hickok, lucky for me.’
    The idea of gambling didn’t seem to please her.
    ‘If you’re still hungry, I got a mess of stew I could heat up,’ he offered. ‘An’ there’s smoked venison hangin’ in the pantry. Or I could fry you up some eggs an’ ham—’
    ‘Stew sounds perfect,’ Ellen said. She stood up, swayed on wobbly legs and would have fallen if he hadn’t caught her.
    ‘Careful, ma’am.’ He helped her walk to the table and gently lowered her into the chair.
    ‘Thank you, Mr – Gabe. I’m afraid I’m not as strong as I thought. By the way,’ she said looking around, ‘where’s Miguel?’
    ‘At the creek, waterin’ the mules.’
    ‘Oh. Yes, of course, the mules. Poor things. The drive was very hard on them. We ran out of water a day’s ride from San Dimas and all the natural water holes Miguel had counted on were either dried up or poisoned by alkali, and undrinkable.’ She yawned and stretched the stiffness from her muscles. ‘Can you believe it, I’m still worn out.’
    ‘The old man said you’ve been movin’ steady for over a week.’
    ‘Yes, though it felt more like a month.’ She gingerly shifted positions on the chair, wincing as her blisters chafed. ‘I never realized a wagon could be so bumpy or a seat so hard.’
    Gabriel busied himself at the stove. After raking the embers with a poker he clattered pots and pans around, making room over the heat for a heavy blackened kettle of stew.
    Too tired to offer to help, Ellen watched him stirring the stew. Occasionally he tasted it on a wooden ladle, adding either a pinch of salt, pepper or herbs, and once he thickened it with a handful of flour. His skill as a cook impressed and surprised her. It made her realize he was a strange mix of a man. He had the rugged, lean body of a range rider and his Levis and denim shirt were worn and faded from endless hours in the saddle, yet his familiarity with cooking suggested he’d been living alone for a long time.
    Though his back was to the woman, Gabriel could feel her stare. He felt obliged to say: ‘Won’t be too long now. An’ if you’ve a mind, I still got two biscuits left.’
    ‘Gabe,’ she said sleepily, ‘you’re nothing short of a Godsend.’ Yawning, she rested her cheek on her folded arms and drifted off to sleep.

CHAPTER FOUR
    It was almost dawn when Ellen next awoke. Overtired, she had slept like the dead, barely moving from the position in which Gabriel had placed her after carrying her – for the second time – from the table.
    She sat up, rubbed the sleep from her eyes and gazed about her. Nearby, Gabriel sat dozing under a blanket. She smiled, grateful for his kind support. Behind him, she saw Escalero curled up by the stove. Her heart warmed at the sight of the old man. Dear Miguel, she thought lovingly. Where would she be without him? Crossing herself, she thanked God for protecting the three of them through the night.
    She would have continued praying, but her stirring had aroused Gabriel. He came instantly awake, the blanket sliding off his lap revealing a .44-40 Remington long-barrel revolver clasped in his hand.
    ‘My goodness, are you expecting trouble?’
    ‘Never hurts to be prepared.’
    ‘No … I suppose not.’ She watched him stuff the big bluish six-gun into his old Levis before adding: ‘Those three men – you think they might return?’
    ‘I doubt it,’ Gabriel said, not wanting to alarm her.
    ‘Earlier, you mentioned Apaches. Are there still raidingparties down here?’
    ‘No. Apaches all went north in ’86 when Geronimo surrendered. Might be some Yaquis or Pimas