Free Damnation Road by Max McCoy Page A

Buell’s. Any luck?”
    â€œEnough,” Gamble said, lowering himself into the chair. Little Door Woman brought him an enamel cup of coffee. She still wore the Chinese costume. Gamble murmured his thanks, and she smiled at him.
    â€œYou left before Penny Dreadful’s show.”
    â€œThat’s right.”
    â€œA moralist,” Burns said, then laughed. “You would change your mind if you saw what she can do with a billiard ball.”
    â€œI will sleep here for the night, if it’s square with you,” Gamble said. “Just let me know what I owe in the morning, counting breakfast.”
    â€œDidn’t think you were here for the dope,” Burns said. “Let us greet the new year together. Girl, bring us some whiskey—make it bourbon, not the awful stuff the lotus eaters drink.”
    â€œAll right,” Gamble said. “I’ll take some in my coffee.”
    Little Door Woman brought over a bottle of Old Crow and poured some in Gamble’s coffee. Burns took the bottle from the girl, then held it up in a toast.
    â€œTo the twentieth century,” Burns said, touching the bottle to the rim of Gamble’s cup. “Who would have thought we’d live to see it?”
    â€œWe haven’t, not yet.”
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    Gamble woke shortly after sunrise. He was still in the chair, but someone had placed a blanket over him in the night. Little Door Woman was already up, throwing some meat into the skillet. The coffee was boiling beside the fire. She had on the silk robe, but not the hat.
    â€œBreakfast soon,” she said.
    â€œBacon?” Gamble asked, wary.
    â€œNo,” she said, allowing herself a smile. “Fresh ham. And eggs. He who is still asleep brought it back from town last night. Grandfather, wake up. It’s time for you to refuse to eat.”
    Gamble glanced over at the old man. He was still motionless beneath his robe.
    â€œHe used to be up long before dawn, every day,” the girl said. “But now because of the dope he sleeps later and later, lingering among the winter counts.”
    Gamble rose, pulled on his boots, and stepped outside for a necessary trip to the other side of the horses. The sun was rising in a splash of copper and red, the sky was blue and nearly cloudless, and the prairie was a gently scooped white blanket. It would be a pleasant walk to town.
    He patted the chestnut mare on his way back.
    After seating himself in the wicker chair, Little Door Woman handed him a plate of ham and eggs. He placed it carefully on his lap, took up the fork, and began to eat.
    â€œThank you,” he said.
    The girl placed a hand on Burns’s shoulder and shook him.
    â€œWake up, smelly drunk,” she said. “Your breakfast is ready. You too, grandfather.”
    Neither man stirred.
    Gamble took twenty dollars in coins and held them out.
    â€œWhat’s that for?” the girl asked.
    â€œTraveling money,” Gamble said.
    â€œI cannot take it.”
    â€œYou can,” Gamble said. “Light out at the first chance you get. Go back to Fort Sill and live among your people. Grow up in peace.”
    â€œBut my grandfather needs me,” she said. “Put your money away.”
    Gamble reluctantly returned the coins to his pocket.
    â€œGrandfather!” the girl said. “Get up. Breakfast.”
    The old man rolled over and brushed a tangle of gray hair from his face.
    â€œGranddaughter, I had a dream,” he said, staring up at the blue sky beyond the smoke hole of the tipi. “White Buffalo Woman came to me—oh, how beautiful she was!—and she showed me all of the winter counts that you will paint before you die.”
    â€œBut grandfather, I cannot keep the winter count.”
    â€œBut you will!” he said. “White Buffalo Woman has decreed it, for in your lifetime you will see things beyond belief—the entire world will shake twice with war, the fire gourd