Damnation Road by Max McCoy Read Free Book Online Page B

his ancestors. I was happy to oblige.”
    â€œAnd the government?”
    â€œLeaves him alone now. The agency at Fort Sill reckons it would be a wasted trip if they sent the soldiers after him—figure he’d be dead of old age before they got here. But, it’s going on six months now, and the old bastard is still breathing. He keeps his medicine bundle always within reach and won’t let me see inside, guarding it like it’s his tribe’s Ark of the Covenant.”
    â€œHow’d you get the lodge?”
    The girl looked up at this, and Gamble thought she might say something, but she bit her lip instead.
    â€œTraded for it, fair and square,” Burns said. “You see, Laughing Bear has found a new messiah, a blind old charlatan by the name of Afraid-of-Bears. He’s a peyote-gobbling, war-dancing troublemaker who claims that the second coming of Jesus Christ will take place at noon on Friday, July 15, 1904, at Saddle Mountain on the Kiowa Reservation.”
    â€œThat’s a peculiar prophecy for a Kiowa medicine man.”
    â€œWell, it kind of makes sense when you take into account that Afraid-of-Bears says that Christ will be accompanied by all of the buffalo the whites have killed, and that the old way of life will be restored. Like a lot of heathens, the Kiowa aren’t particular about where their power comes from—Jesus has been good medicine for the whites, so why not the Kiowa? Power is power.”
    The coffee had boiled and the girl used a pair of pliers to grasp the side of the gallon can and fill two blue enamel cups.
    â€œI’d like to hear what the old man has to say,” Gamble said, taking the hot cup from the girl and nodding his thanks. “In the morning, when he wakes up.”
    â€œIf he wakes up,” Burn said, taking the coffee without looking at the girl. “Anyway, he doesn’t speak a word of English. You have to ask his granddaughter here to translate, and the little squaw bitch is as notorious a liar as he is.”
    Gamble held the cup in both hands and blew across it.
    â€œWhat’s her name?”
    â€œSomething unpronounceable,” Burns said.
    â€œTsat-Mah,” the girl said.
    â€œSee? Gibberish.”
    Gamble swirled the coffee in the enameled cup.
    â€œWhat’s it mean?”
    The girl made an opening gesture with her hands.
    â€œLittle Door Woman,” she said.
    â€œWhen the old man dies,” Burns said, “the girl will be mine. Poor child, she will have no one else to care for her in this world. Lucky she has me, because many in this camp would force their affections upon her—or worse.”
    Gamble drank the weak coffee and sat staring at the fire, and the warmth made him sleepy. When he felt he could no longer keep his eyes open, he placed the cup on one of the flat stones near the fire and slipped his hand beneath his coat to rest on the brass and walnut grip of the loaded Manhattan.
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    Gamble woke with a jerk, his eyes snapping open. Sunlight was streaming in through the smoke hole above him, and he could see wisps of clouds in the winter sky. The fingers of his left hand were still touching the revolver.
    He glanced over at his hat. The silver dollar was gone.
    Little Door Woman was kneeling beside the fire, frying bacon in a cast-iron skillet. The interior of the lodge was hazy with smoke, and most of the sleepers from the night before were still huddled beneath their blankets, snoring.
    â€œWhere’s Burns?”
    â€œMaking water,” the girl said. “Or, making logs.”
    There was a rustling sound in the back of the lodge, and the girl called something in Kiowa. Her grandfather came forward, a blue blanket draping his naked shoulders, and he sat cross-legged a yard or so away from Gamble.
    The girl placed a tin plate with a slab of bacon and a few hunks of fried cornmeal in front of the old man, and he grunted his thanks, but did not touch the food.