Damnation Road by Max McCoy Page A

the fire. Gamble took his pocket knife and methodically cut the leads that tied each of them to the picket line, starting with the buckskin.
    He saved the chestnut mare for last, leading her far away from the burning lodge. He dropped her lead in the snow, and she stayed there. He retrieved the blanket and saddle and tack from beneath the tarp and then took his time about rigging her up, speaking gently to her as he did.
    â€œMister.”
    It was Little Door Woman. She was still naked, her body shivering, but was determinedly pulling the buckskin by the lead rope through the snow. Her neck and chest were splattered with blood.
    â€œAre you hurt?”
    â€œNot my blood.”
    Gamble found another blanket beneath the tarp and threw it around her shoulders, then used a piece of rope to cinch it around her waist. Then he lifted her up onto the buckskin’s back.
    â€œYou can’t walk in the snow in bare feet,” he said. “You’ll lose some toes.”
    â€œMy feet are all right.”
    â€œI don’t see how. Tear some strips from the blanket and wrap them up. You’ll have to ride him bareback, and guide him with the lead. Can you handle it?”
    â€œI’m Kiowa,” she said. “Can I come with you?”
    â€œNo,” Gamble said. “I’m going to have people coming after me, and it wouldn’t be safe. You’re responsible for the winter count now, so you have to be careful.”
    â€œBut I want to come with you,” she said.
    â€œDon’t be foolish,” Gamble said. “I’m an old man.”
    Gamble took a handful of coins from his vest pocket, wrapped the money in a bandanna, and handed it to her.
    â€œTake this money now,” he said. “No arguments. Nobody should travel without money. And I’ve done it often enough to know.”
    â€œI thought you liked me.”
    â€œI do,” Gamble said. “In the way that kinfolks like each other, you know? If I had, say, a girl child, I’d want her to have your kind of—what was that word for power?”
    â€œDaughw-daughw.”
    â€œYeah, that’s it. Your kind of daughw-daughw. You’ll do all right, daughter.”
    She smiled.
    â€œYou know which way to town?”
    She pointed to the north.
    â€œGo find the Methodist Church. They’ll feed you and clothe you and take you back to Fort Sill. You don’t have to pay them. Just tell them you love Jesus and everything will be square.”
    She nodded.
    â€œDo you think an eagle will really fly around the moon?”
    â€œNothing would surprise me,” he said.
    â€œMe neither.’
    She rode off, not looking back.
    Gamble took his time in saddling the mare, to make sure that none of the denizens of the porch went after Little Door Woman. When he was sure she had gotten away, he knelt down and tightened the cinch strap again. Then he put his left boot into the stirrup and swung up into the saddle.
    â€œGood girl,” Gamble said.
    Then he glanced over the Porch one last time.
    The lodge poles had collapsed and the tipi was just a glowing pile of embers, burning away to nothing. A pillar of black smoke streaked the winter sky. The body of Lester Burns was still facedown in the snow. Buell and the others were milling about on the far side of the burned tipi, watching him.
    â€œI knew you was bad news the moment I saw you,” the old man called. “You’ll have to answer to the law. Lester Burns was a wicked bastard, but he was one of us.”
    Gamble swung up onto the back of the mare.
    â€œIf you’re so damned law abiding,” he called, “why don’t one of you get a gun and try to stop me?”
    Nobody spoke or moved.
    â€œI can wait.”
    Still nothing.
    â€œThat’s what I thought.”
    â€œHow far do you think you’ll get in fresh snow?” Buell called.
    â€œDon’t know,” Gamble said. “But I aim to find out.”
    He