(Via:Here.)
"Your respected merchant sells gimcrack goods to the Army and perishing meat embedded with maggots to famishing Indians. And those are among his petty sins." His mouth dwindled to a taut line.
A sequel to scene 5
He uttered in a hostile way again—and unlocked the carved oak door—failing to recall Agathe as the intimate scents of the bagnio welcomed him. In the lean-to—the Smith drove home the last nail with a convincing nicety. "Amiable roan you got here." He scuffed up his head. "I disremember you having a yarraman that was cloaked before."
Gabriel needed a satisfactory ascend—and the roan was quintessential for his needs. He'd be departing from Camp Greenwood—as soon as his stint was up. Despite the fact that it was agin regulation—the sturdy-master would detect a place for the horse until then. "I purchased him from Louis last week. He is a super horse, nevertheless."
The Smith beveled an eccentric eye at the Scout—and that savage trait won out over wariness. "Louis is purty successful, what with his trading company and his ranching. He's looked up to by most folks—but I reckon there is a acrimony between you and him. He had done somethin' to exasperate you?"
Gabriel shot him so long and chilly a look—that man craved his blood might clot in his veins. "Your respected merchant sells gimcrack goods to the Army and perishing meat embedded with maggots to famishing Indians. And those are among his petty sins." His mouth dwindled to a taut line. "Louis upsets me merely by being alive."
The Smith wiped his hands—on his grubby leather apron. All set, Gabriel. "
Gabriel patted the neck of his convalescent roan. The horse was primed—and he should have been on his way. In lieu he watched and anticipated—with more than an easy-going interest. The woman's masquerade of hushed dignity didn't hoodwink him.
He saw the blanching of the slender-boned fingers—gripped so compact and half camouflaged in the ruffles of her gown. There was too much milky—manifesting around her eyes. He had seen that carbon-copy wild-eyed look on horses—just before they bolted. Retaining a captivated eye on the woman—Gabriel rested his weight against a post of the lean-to. No need to leave just yet.
Another absorbed pair of eyes noticed Agathe—from the second floor across the street—squinting through red velvet draperies in Julia's own boudoir. Interior—the room was dark and close—charged with the fragranced ghosts of whiskey, bold perfumes, and stale sex.