Gun for Revenge by Steve Hayes

That’s enough.’ He knew he was being rude, even mean-spirited, but he couldn’t help himself: he had to somehow rid himself of the anger he felt over losing Cerrildo.
    As if to make up for it, he made a pillow out of his saddle for her, and gave her a handful of dried maize.
    ‘Munch on this and then drink a little water. It’ll take the bite off your hunger.’
    ‘Dare we light a fire? I’m f-freezing.’
    ‘A small one, maybe.’ He drew his Colt, thumbed the cylinder so that there was a cartridge under the hammer and offered it to her.
    She shrank back. ‘No, I don’t want it.’
    ‘Suit yourself. But remember, a gun saved your life tonight.’ He strode off into the darkness before she could say anything.
    Alone, Ellen felt all her fears returning. She regretted not going with Gabriel and sat there straining to hear the slightest noise. Her flesh crawled. She could still feel the bandits’ hands pawing at her, tearing away her clothes, and throwing her to the ground; feel the weight of their bodies; hear their drunken laughter; smell their foul breath lingering in her nostrils.
    ‘Oh God,’ she sobbed. ‘Dear God, why did you forsake me?’ He did not forsake you, her conscience reminded her. It was you who chose to forsake him. You reneged on your vow to serve him in order to seek revenge, to take up the sword against three of his children. Is it any wonder you are being punished?
    A noise startled her, and she had to fight not to cry out.
    But it was only the stallion, blacker than the night, standing in front of her. Its eyes glinted in the darkness. It watched her for a few moments, as if trying to understand what she was doing. Then it lowered its head and pushed its velvety soft nose against her cheek.
    There was something wonderfully comforting in its touch and Ellen held the nose close to her, wetting it with her tears.
    At last the Morgan snuffled softly, then pulled back, tossed its head and melted into the night.
     
    Backs to the darkness the two of them sat by the crackling fire, warming their hands and watching the flickering flames vanish into thin air like the fingers of a ghostly shaman.
    For a long time they didn’t talk, content to just sit there, close together, minds churning, wind moaning in their ears.
    Then, ‘Thank you,’ she whispered suddenly.
    ‘Don’t heap credit on me,’ Gabriel said. ‘Cerrildo, he’s the one who deserves it. Without him I’d still be combing the hills for you.’
    ‘I didn’t mean for rescuing me – I’ll never be able to thank you enough for that, you or Cerrildo. I meant for not making me ride one of their horses.’
    He frowned at her. ‘Thought you weren’t gonna talk about that?’
    ‘I’m not.’ She shivered, but from recent memories, not the cold. ‘They killed Miguel, you know. Shot your pistol out of his hand, threw a rope over him and pulled him off the wagon. Then one of them dragged him around behind his horse while the others shot him, kept shooting him, shooting and laughing, even after he was dead—’
    He stopped her and pulled her close.
    ‘Torturin’ yourself isn’t the answer.’
    ‘I know. And I don’t want to talk about it. Or even think about it. Ever. But, you see, I have to. Awful as it was, I just have to. If I don’t, I’ll explode.’
    ‘Then at least get some rest first. In the mornin’, while we’re ridin’, if you still feel like it, you can tell me all about it.’
    ‘Yes,’ she said distantly, ‘in the morning. I’ll feel better then.’
    For a few moments she was silent, her gaze fixed on the flames, then she blurted: ‘After they killed Miguel, I thought they were going to shoot me too. So I offered them the gold. I know I shouldn’t have,’ she said seeing Gabriel’s frown. ‘I mean, I know you told me not to tell anyone I had any gold but, well, I was so frightened that I … I thought perhaps if I gave it to them they’d be so happy and grateful they’d let me go. But of course