by Tim Pratt
He hadn't moved but he must have been there for hours. Night had come down and the town had gone silent. The smell of burnt wood filled the wind. McGregor stretched his aching neck and saw dawn drawing a thin white line around the deserted forge.
He stared down at the coyote's tail wound between his fingers.
"All right," he said again.
Slowly, he forced his mind back over all the events of the day and added to them all the things he remembered hearing from his father's sermons. Something that would be called a plan by a more generous man took shape inside him.
He folded the mangy tail up and put it in his pocket. Then, he turned Ned gently onto his back. Silky Bill closed his friend's eyes and folded his hands.
"If I make it," Bill eased Ned's money belt off. "This'll buy you the finest funeral this territory's ever seen."
McGregor straightened up his creaking legs and headed for the north edge of town.
The morning chill had soaked well into him by the time he made it out onto the prairie grass. Fallen Star, his boy Long Nose and three painted indian ponies appeared out from a cluster of cottonwoods to meet him. Bill found he was long past being surprised by so minor a miracle of timing.
"Wihio has told me what your answer is," said Fallen Star. "What must we do first?"
"I could use something to eat," McGregor croaked. "Then you'd better show me where Standing-in-the-West called up the Devil."
Long Nose gave him water and dried buffalo meat. What Bill really wanted was whiskey, but he didn't feel up to heading back to whatever was left of the town to fetch any.
Fallen Star led the silent procession of men and horses until the sun was almost directly overhead. The wind stiffened up to blow all the summer heat down on top of them. The ponies trooped steadily through the grass and pale-leafed trees until they reached the gentle slope McGregor had seen in Wihio's strange dream.
Bill dismounted along with the two reds and marshalled his courage. "I'm telling you now, I don't know what I'm doing. I just got a couple of ideas." His voice was holding steady, even if his heart wasn't. "I'm going to try to get the Devil into a card game. I'll need something to bet with and his coin is people. I'll need something I can use as chips so I can bet you. Both of you."
Fallen Star did not hesitate. He handed over his long-stemmed pipe. McGregor turned to the brave. Long Nose gave him his necklace of red beads.
"You know I got a good chance of losing." McGregor tucked the tokens into his coat pockets.
"We know," said Fallen Star. "We also know you are going to do your best. You are now on a war trail."
McGregor turned his back to the reds. He wondered if Fallen Star would have said the same thing if he knew all that Bill's sketchy plan entailed. Bill brought up the memory of Ned's corpse and of Standing-in-the-West on the rooftop. He squared his shoulders.
"Nick Scratch!" he called into the wind. "I've got some business with you!"
The thin stranger stood in front of him, fire glowing hot behind his black eyes.
"I tried to warn you, Bill." The Devil shook his head.
"I'm not saying you didn't." McGregor tightened all the fibers in his wrists to keep his hands from shaking. The air had gone warm and thick around him. His ears felt stopped up and his heart beat slow and sluggish.
"You can still go, Bill," the Devil breathed to him. "No hard feelings. Go on."
Bill teetered. "I'm not leaving, just yet."
"Neither am I," the Devil replied evenly.
"Care to bet on that?"
A hot wind blew hard and sudden. McGregor clamped his hand on his hat and clenched his teeth. The Devil remained silent, watching him.
"I'll play you a game of faro," McGregor said. "'Til one of us is cleaned out. If I win, you clear out and never come near anyone here or their land or their family again."
The Devil arched his delicate eyebrows. "And what do you have to put up in such a game, Bill?"
"How about them?" McGregor nodded towards the unmoving Cheyenne.
The Devil fingered his chin. "Mmmm. Fallen Star, now he would be a prize. They all you got?"
McGregor's hand curled around the scrap of fur in his pocket. "No."
"Well, well. All right, then." The Devil nodded. "I haven't much time though, Bill. One game, 'til one of us is cleaned out. I'll deal."
Nick Scratch didn't even blink. The faro table from the Nugget appeared in the waving grass between him and Bill. At his left hand stood the owner of the Denver House with his eyes wide and his skull split open where the bullet passed through him.
"My casekeeper," Nick Scratch gestured a fine hand at the dead man and the abacus that kept track of the cards played.
"Strange," said Wihio's voice in his head and Bill jumped half-way out of his skin. "I was expecting Standing-in-the-West. Why has he not claimed him yet?" Wihio paused and it seemed to Bill the invisible presence was watching him shudder. "Well, Gambler, don't tell me you are afraid of shadows and voices."
The Devil's eyes sparkled. "Wihio? You here? Which of these fools is your champion, Dog-of-a-Mystery?"
The laughter left Wihio's voice. "You have secrets behind your fire and when I learn them, you will need to look to your skin."
The Devil's eyes glowed red. "Oh, yes. I will look to my skin. See that you do the same when I have the People for my own."
"Let's get to it." Bill plunked himself down in the chair that had appeared on his side of the table and tried to settle his mind on the game. It was just a faro game. He knew this game like the back of his hand. He could play this. Didn't matter who was dealing. He took out the beads and the pipe. In his hand they turned to a pile of five dollar coins. Bill set them down on the table like they might bite. Just a faro game. And he was feeling lucky today. That shook him, but he felt Wihio hovering around back of him and the tension eased. Yes. He was feeling lucky today.
For the look of the thing, Bill inspected the box and the cards. Both were clean, which he hadn't expected. The cards flashed between the Devil's fingers as he shuffled. He tamped the deck even against the table and laid it neatly into the box. The wind blew the unnatural heat through the coarse grass around McGregor's ankles but didn't come near the top of the table.
The Devil turned the crank on the box and drew out the four of spades. That was the soda and it took no part in the game. His ghoulish casekeeper pushed a bead across on the abacus to count it as played. Bill's eyes started watering.
The world changed. McGregor still faced the Devil across the faro table, but around them hunched the skin mounds of a Cheyenne camp.
"What're you doing?" Bill's voice came out in a whisper.
In this new place it was barely dawn. A river chattered to itself somewhere in the distance. The only people up and about were Long Nose and Fallen Star. Long Nose prowled between the lodges, clutching his feathered spear. Fallen Star looked across to Bill with his deep eyes and then he began to chant. It was a slow, strong sound and it made the hairs on the back of Bill's neck prickle.
"Playing the game," replied the Devil. "Place your bet, Bill."
"Charge!" bellowed somebody.
Horses hooves pounded the ground until it shuddered. Dawn light flashed on sabers and rifle barrels and gold braid. Long Nose hollered in Cheyenne and no one answered. The cavalry bore down on the camp. Shots split the dawn. Long Nose dodged, dragging Fallen Star with him. Someone screamed. A soldier lept off his horse and slit a skin house open. Blood. Blood everywhere. Bill gripped the edge of the table and stared at the game. He felt the heat of the Devil's grin. Long Nose lifted his spear and charged into the fray. Fallen Star did not move, but the world around him did. Soldiers who had clear shots at Long Nose missed by a mile. They fell from their horses for him to cut down. They swung their sabers over his head and got in each others' way. Fought like a bunch of kids bogged down in the snow. Long Nose killed them and they killed the women and the children and the unarmed men and Bill sat and looked on.
Stop
this, Bill, stop it now! cried a part of Bill's mind. You already got him where you want him, and if it's going to work, it's going to work as well now as later.
Bill steeled himself. Not yet.
"Place your bet, Gambler," said Wihio. Bill glanced behind him. The three-legged coyote sat beside him. It dipped its muzzle and Bill felt his mind clear. He heard the shouts and hoofbeats and he smelled blood and gunpowder but it was all a long way away. Right now, he had a game to play. He set his coins down, splitting the bet carefully.
The Devil gave a loud guffaw. "Him? This is your champion, Wihio? Phew! Dog-of-a-Mystery, you must be desperate!"
The coyote bared its teeth. "I may be all you say, Foul One, but at least I understand my own people."
Still chuckling, the Devil turned the crank on the box and the game really began.
It didn't take long for Bill's little pile of chips to slide away. His splits didn't work and he couldn't keep count. He felt Wihio keeping himself between Bill and his fears but it wasn't enough. Maybe Wihio was too busy keeping him from going raving mad to loan him any extra luck. Maybe he didn't understand this White Man's game. Maybe it was just that Bill knew the Devil had always made him lucky and his luck was dealing the cards against him.
Around them the fight kept on. Bill, using the calm Wihio loaned him, flicked his eyes towards the soldiers, searching for one face in particular.
He's got to do it, he told himself. He's cruelty itself. If he's got Ned's soul, he'll pull him out of Hell and parade him for me. If he doesn't, then... then things in Heaven are looser than Father ever knew, and we all can still get outta this OK. If I've got things figured right that is. Bill glanced down at Wihio and the coyote just shrugged. Well, he'd already laid everything he had on Bill, what was he going to do?
The cards flitted from the box and the coins clinked together into higher piles in front of the Devil. One shot found its mark. Long Nose dropped into the grass. A soldier laughed. McGregor laid another bet. The Devil turned the crank on the case. There was a sound like ripe fruit falling and a soldier raised a sword dripping with Fallen Star's blood.
The battle fell silent, even the sound of the river fell away.
"That seems to be that, Bill," said Nick Scratch. He nodded, friendly-like to the cavalry sergeant.
Bill glanced at Wihio. "He's a hasty one, isn't he?" said Wihio.
"Patience is a virtue," said Bill from behind the blanket of calm Wihio kept around him. "He's real short on virtue."
"You don't say, Gambler? And why hasn't he got Standing-in-the-West, yet? Can you tell me that?"
Bill scratched his chin. "I'd say it's 'cause he ain't kept his side of the bargain yet. White Men're still here, aren't they?"
"Oh, is that the way it works?" Wihio nodded. "I see."
Thunder rumbled from underground. "You've got another bet, Bill, I see it in you. Put it down or walk away."
"Go ahead, Gambler," said Wihio.
Bill scanned the battlefield and saw nothing but strangers' faces among the dead. He swallowed hard, drew out the coyote's tail and laid it on the king.
The Devil grinned from ear to ear. "And I thought you at least had brains, Wihio."
He drew out a fresh card. The nine of spades. With one fine hand he picked up the tail.
"Now, Dog," the Devil said. "Heel!"
Wihio whimpered and limped to the Devil's side, his tail tucked between his legs.
Without the shelter Wihio gave him, the world slammed against McGregor. The steel taste of blood filled his mouth and all around him lay the victims of the battle; the dead and the worse-than-dead who could still scream. This was no dream. This was smoke and stench and heat and fear. Waves of it. Billows of it, surrounding Bill, pressing him down, drowning him. This was the riot in Fort Summner. This was how the Devil kept his bargain and how he'd serve his new people.
"You've lost, Bill." Heat flickered through the Devil's voice.
"N. . .ot yet," stammered Bill. "I've got one more bet."
"Now what could you possibly have left to lay on this table, Bill?" The Devil kicked Wihio sharply. The coyote yelped and cowered. "You've bet the soul of a whole people and lost it."
"My life."
The devil actually looked startled.
McGregor drew out his revolver. "I'm a preacher's son, Devil. I know this much. You may have a spot in Hell for my soul, but as long as I'm alive, I could still go straight. I can repent any time before I die and save myself, work on savin' those young folks you talked about. But if I lose this turn, I'm your boy, before and after I die," he took the gun by the barrel and held the hilt towards the Devil.
"Bill McGregor, you've got fewer brains than Wihio."
"Silky."
Bill swung around. Ned stood behind him, blood oozing out of his chest and spilling onto his hands. "Silky," he coughed. "He's put me up against your life. Hurry, Bill. I...It hurts."
"Oh, my..." Bill felt all the life drain out of his cheeks. "Ned. I'm sorry. I'm sorry..."
Ned stretched out his hands. He was white like snow, like death. His round face had already fallen into lines and angles. "Hurry, Bill. Get me out of this. Place your bet."
"No," said Bill.
"Then I win," said the Devil.
"Bill!" shouted Ned.
Bill forced himself to turn away from his friend. "Then take your winnings and go," he clutched the gun barrel. "If you can. The way I see it, the game's not over yet. And it won't be until I've laid my last bet."
"Bill!" Ned was screaming. Bill heard him fall. He closed his eyes and prayed with all his heart and soul that he had it right. This was the real gamble, not the way the cards came out of the box. Bill gambled everything on his guess at the reason why the Devil had to wait to take Standing-in-the-West, on why he didn't just reach across the table and snatch Bill's soul from his body. "I'm not cleaned out yet, Devil. And 'til I am the game's not over." Bill held the edge of the table to keep himself upright as he felt his knees begin to buckle. "If the game's not over, you have to stay here." That had to be it, it had to be. The Devil couldn't leave an unfulfilled contract behind him. "That's the deal. And you," Bill added bitterly. "Are a man of your word."
The Devil's howl tore the world apart. McGregor's heart stopped dead and then banged like a hammer against his ribs. His knees gave out, toppling him onto the ground. Ned lay there next to him. Ned who had all the guts of the pair of them. Ned was bleeding and crying. Crying like a baby.
Bill shouted to drown the crying out. "You cannot leave!" McGregor raised his head and saw all the fires of Hell raging in the Devil's eyes and he knew he'd guessed right. Triumph rang through him. "You got a deal with me to play until one of us is cleaned out! You cannot do anything else, ever, until I lay my bet down! And I will not do it until we have a bargain!"
"You don't have the will, McGregor!" The blast from the shout bowled the gambler backwards.
Painfully, Bill hauled himself back onto his knees. "Want to bet?"
The Devil swept his fist through the air.
Everything vanished. There was not even a mist. McGregor smelled nothing, heard nothing, had no ground beneath him. He had only his eyes, and all he saw was the Devil.
"I will leave the Cheyenne alone," growled Nick Scratch.
Bill could not move any part of himself but he could speak as he had in the dream Wihio led him through. "That's a start."
The Devil's eyes turned blood red. "I will return the lives you bet on the faro table and I will touch them and theirs no more."
"Not enough."
"Gambler," the word filled the universe. "What do you want?"
"Ned Carter's soul," said Bill. "And mine."
The Devil's face twisted. His mouth worked itself back and forth. At last he said "I have not had your soul since you tried to stop the riot in Fort Summner."
A warmth that had nothing to do with the Devil's head spread through McGregor. "I want this notarized."
The Devil bared his te
eth. "You had better tread very carefully the rest of your born days, McGregor." Wihio stood beside the Devil now, hat and all. "Wihio," said Nick Scratch. "If I break my treaty with Bill McGregor, you may hand me over to the Master of Heaven." Each word sounded like a branch snapping in the fire.
"It is well, Foul One." Wihio bobbed his head and smiled.
The world dropped back into place in a rush of burning wind and bright sunshine. Bill looked at the table, calculated the state of play and set his gun down on the eight card.
He didn't even see the game vanish. His posterior hit the ground, jarring all the breath out of him. For a moment, Bill blinked stupidly up at the cloudless sky.
A wrinkled hand reached into his line of vision. Bill let Fallen Star help him to his feet.
"Thank you," Bill ran his hand through his hair. Long Nose handed him his hat. He nodded to the silent brave.
"We thank you, Gambler," Fallen Star said. "Now," Sunlight caught a spark deep in the medicine man's eyes, "I would ask you to please leave this place."
"What?" Bill pushed his hat down over his rumpled hair and holstered his gun. "After all that? How about that land you promised me?"
Fallen Star sighed. "I will take you to where we found the stone, if that is what you wish, but hear what I say first.
"Our people take the war trail against each other. Your people have too much hunger for things which are not yours and we have too many young men like Standing-in-the-West.
"You have done us a great service. I do not want to hear that one of my braves has taken your life."
Bill dug his hands into his pockets. A scrap of fur brushed his palm and Wihio's mocking presence brushed his mind.
He sighed. "Just as well, I suppose. I'd just about made up my mind to go straight anyways." He held the coyote tail out to the medicine man.
"To keep away your Devil?" Fallen Star accepted the token.
McGregor shook his head. "No. To get him good and mad." He cracked a smile. "It's the only revenge I'm likely to get on him for letting Ned die." He dug his hands into his pockets. In a strange way, he actually had lost his life on that faro table. Only he hadn't lost it to the Devil. Bill glanced at the clear, blue sky. Well, his father'd be pleased anyway.