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 teeth. “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.