Walking on Air Read Online Free PDF Page A

take the boy a generous monthly stipend.”
    Gabe felt sweat tricking from his armpits and down his ribs. If he was truly dead, how could he possibly be perspiring? Again, he shifted his feet uncomfortably. These guys wanted to help him out; he could sense that. But so far, things weren’t looking good for him. He desperately tried to recall some good things he had done. “I like dogs. Does that count?”
    The angel Gabriel nodded. “It certainly does. Did you ever rescue one from cruel treatment?”
    Gabe had done enough gambling to know when he’d just been dealt a winning card. “You betcha. I even got into one hell of a fight with a man once for beating his dog.” He quickly recounted the tale to the angels. “That’s kind, ain’t it?” Damn, he was so nervous that he was slipping back into using poor English. Old Mrs. Harper, an ex-schoolmarm who’d taken him in once and tried to smarten him up, the one and only person in his life aside from his mother who’d ever done him a truly good turn, was probably rolling over in her grave. “I stepped in, regardless of the risk to myself, and saved that poor dog from one hell of a working over.”
    Michael waved a hand, and the clouds that drifted in a heavy layer over the shack floor opened to reveal that particular scene from Gabe’s past. Gabe was fascinated. It was like attending a play, only he was one of the actors. He watched himself beat the stuffing out of the dog’s owner, then shove the man’s head in a horse trough. The angels sighed when they saw Gabe hold the fellow’s face underwater until he stopped kicking.
    “The bastard isn’t dead,” Gabe pointed out quickly. “See? He’s moving now that his head is out.”
    “But you nearly drowned the poor sot,” the angel Gabriel sternly pointed out.
    Gabe lifted his hands, palms up. “So I let my temper get the better of me for a few seconds. That doesn’t mean the miserable shit didn’t have it coming. He was gonna kick that dog to death. You saw him.” Gabe raked a hand through his hair and then settled the Stetson back on his head. He briefly considered removing the hat out of respect, but they were being so nasty, he resisted the urge. “I have a pretty bad temper when I get riled, but surely that’s forgivable under those circumstances.”
    “Your heart may have been in the right place,” Michael conceded, “but your failure to control your temper negates that particular good deed. Have you anything else to say for yourself?”
    Think, Valance
, he told himself.
You’re in serious trouble here, man
. “Uh, well . . . I was always real kind to my horse. After hitting town off the trail, I always took care of him first. He got washed and rubbed down before I even thought about a bath for myself. He got water and food long before I did.” He frowned, realizing that he was getting a ripsnorting headache. How was that possible if he was dead? “I have to admit that Brownie never got sex during our layovers, but he was a gelding, so that kind of fun wasn’t an option for him. Otherwise I would’ve found him a mare to visit with on occasion.”
    Judging by the stares and glares that greeted this remark, he could tell he was delivering the wrong address to the jury. What did these angels want from him?
    “To men of your time,” the angel Gabriel said, “being good to your horse is considered a necessary kindness. Where would a man be without his horse?”
    “On foot,” Gabe replied. “Do I get any points for being honest?” No reply from his judges. “Okay, I’ll take that as a no.” Gabe could almost feel the heat of hellfire inching up around his ankles again.
    Michael looked at him, and the unexpected compassion in the angel’s eyes punched Gabe in the gut like a mule’s hind hoof. It hurt. “Okay, okay,” he said. “Looking back over my life, I haven’t done much you could consider, you know, saintly. I guess I’m what you fellows would call a lost soul.” A lump