Noble's Way (17 page)

This was the third day. She cringed at every roll of thunder over head. Rain streamed down the front window. Fleta peered between blasts, knowing that the huddled rider was not her husband.

A rider came though the gate, too bent over to be Noble. She was dismayed. The man dismounted clumsily and came to the door. He pushed inside without stomping his boots first.

Water ran off the scruffy stranger's oil cloth and pooled around his muddy boots on her polished floor. “Is there a man here with a team who can help some folks who are mired down east of here? They can pay him. I tried but my old horse couldn't budge them?”

“Certainly,” Fleta said. “Go around in back. The blacksmith will go help them.”

“I got to ride on, but I'm sure he'll be able to find them.”

“Yes, well you just go tell him where they are stuck.”

“Yes ma'am. I'll go tell him.”

“He'll handle it.” She opened the door and after the man left, looked disgusted at the mess he left behind. Oh, well, she thought of the poor stranded people who were probably beside themselves with worry, and admitted hers was a small nuisance.

Sudan stuck his bushy head in the front door. “I'm going to take the mares and ride up to help them folks. That fellow thought it be somewhere near Elder Bush Creek.” He shook his head. “He sure didn't know directions.”

“How's that?” Fleta's eyes narrowed.

“He said he never been around here before. Didn't know the name of the place they broke down at. Thought it was four or five miles back.”

“You wear your rain coat,” Fleta warned. “And you be careful.”

“I will. Funny, I think I seen the man come by here before. He sure was messed up. I can't remember if he said they had oxen or horses.”

“I'm not sure he told me. Why?”

“Never mind. I think he said both:' Sudan shrugged. “I got my oil cloth. It won't take me no time with them mares to pull them out.”

Fleta watched him mount the big mare. He rode out the gate, leading the team mate. The man was happy about the change in his Comanche wife, Yellow Deer. Mannah said that the woman had come to her senses in time. She would have been rejected by her people anyway.

At sundown, Fleta prepared to close up. Mannah was spending time with Mary Joseph whose second child was due anytime. Business had been slow all day. Sudan had not returned. Fleta surmised that either the wagon was mired down or further away than the man thought.

A rig turned in the yard at breakneck speed, nearly spilling the driver. “Mrs. McCurtain!” the driver shouted. Fleta fumbled with the new latch on the door, looking out at the man with a puzzled frown.

“Mrs. McCurtain?” the youth asked. Still another stranger. “Grab a cover. Your husband's been hurt bad.”

“Noble?” Fleta felt a wave of fear spreading through her. She clutched at the door's edge, her legs trembling beneath her.

“Yes ma'am. Come on,” the wild-eyed youth said impatiently.

“Is he far?” Fleta asked, her mind frantically sifting through the possible injuries Noble might have suffered.

“A ways,” the driver said with a shrug.

“Luke! Luke!” Fleta shouted as she raced back inside the store. She took a canvas coat from the stock. When her son appeared in the door to their quarters, she spoke sharply. “Go get Mannah. Have her close up the store and stay here. Noble's been hurt. I'll be back soon as I can.”

Luke's eyes shadowed with fear. “Is Noble hurt bad?”

Fleta bit her lip. “I'm not sure, Luke. Now do as I say; put the slicker on and go get Mannah.”

Fleta rushed outside. The stranger pulled her up on the seat. “Hang on!” he shouted then yelled to the team.

Fleta gripped the seat, holding on tightly as the team sped away. The hell-bent driver slapped the rain-slick horses, directing them out the gate toward the south.

If they didn't break a leg in a prairie dog hole, he surely would get her to Noble in record time. Rain washed her eyes as she jostled on the spring seat. Beside her, the bent over youth continued to whip the poor horses.

When he started down the long grade to a stream, he sawed the horses to slow them down. In the twilight, Fleta saw two riders ahead by the dimly lit road. She hoped they would tell her how Noble was.

His feet braced and half-standing, the driver stopped.

“Here she is!” he shouted.

Abruptly rough hands reached out and jerked Fleta out of the seat and held her belly-down over a masculine lap.

“Get going and keep going!” A gravely voice shouted.

“Yeah,” the driver replied over the rain.

“What are you doing?” Fleta demanded as she fought to free herself from the imprisoning thick arms that pinned her. She was on a horse, lying over a man's lap, her nose pressed against the side of her captor's pant leg. She tried to look up at the tall man whose voice had a vague ring of familiarity. Cautiously she peered upward, tilting her head to see him in the dim light. Oh God! Izer Goodman!

Fleta groaned at her stupidity. There was nothing wrong with Noble. It was a ploy to kidnap her and she fell for it. Another groan escaped her as she realized that even the scruffy looking man who had wanted Sudan to pull some people out of the mire was a part of the plan. Anger raging through her, she struggled furiously with her captor. He subdued her easily, laughing with mockery as her body drained of strength.

“I got you, girl, and I'm taking you where he'll never find you.”

Fleta stopped struggling. She had to figure a way to survive until Noble and the others came for her. And they would come, she knew.

After discovering his injury was only a badly twisted ankle, Noble limped across to the campfire. Spotted Horse had the pair drag the dead man to the fire. The Osage held the two at gunpoint.

Noble recognized the corpse as Izer Goodman's henchman. “Tennessee Dawson,” he whispered. He turned to the other rustlers. “Where's Izer Goodman?” he demanded as he rubbed his aching leg and ankle.

“Who's that?”

Noble took three painful steps and grabbed the youthful rustler, slapping him had. “You better start remembering real quick! Where's Izer?”

“Gone ... left us ... two days ago.”

“Where?”

“Back a ways.”

“Get a rope,” Noble told Spotted Horse. “We're hanging this pair.”

“Wait! We can tell you about Izer, don't hang us!” The other one pleaded.

“You got to promise,” he begged, “you won't hang us.”

Noble heard his own breath rush in and out of his nose. His arms tense, ready to reach out and strike the quivering pair.

“I promise not to hang you, if what you have to say is worth anything,” he relented.

“He's kidnapping your wife,” the younger man mumbled.

The words slammed into Noble's gut and he jammed the nose of the Colt in the first man's chest. “This is damn serious. If anything happens to her, I'll scour the earth for the two of you.”

“You promised.”

“Spotted Horse, can you handle the horses and bring this pair in too?”

“Yes, but you should rest, Noble.”

“No, I need that bastard Goodman in my sights.” Noble turned back to the rustlers. “Where has he taken her?”

“Honest, Mister, we don't know. He hired us to move some horses. Then Red got mouthy about the guy who owned these horses was going to lose his wife. We wanted to quit, but he said he'd kill us.” The rustler turned to his partner. “Wouldn't he have killed us?”

“Yes sir, that's the God's truth.”

“Where was he taking her?” Noble stomped his soggy boot, bringing a jarring flash of pain from his ankle.

“He never said.”

Damn, Noble swore to himself. Izer Goodman, I'm coming and you'll be sorry if one hair on her head is damaged.

Spotted Horse tightly bound the pair of rustlers. Noble wolfed down some burnt bacon and washed it with two cups of bitter coffee. He was bone tired and only by great effort was he able to sit upright. His eyes were glued on the flames. The heat dried him out but could not warm the cold chills he felt when he thought of Fleta in Izer's grasp.

“Be careful, good friend,” the Osage warned as he squatted beside him. “You will recover your woman.”

Was that a prophecy like his weather forecasting? Or did the Indian simply want to reassure him. Noble scolded himself for not already being in the saddle and on his way to finding Fleta.

Sudan was weary and disgusted with his fruitless search for the mired, phantom wagon. He slouched on the wide back of one of the Belgian mares. The harness jingled in cadence with its trot. Rain drummed on Sudan's slicker and ran down his face. He scowled up at the sky. He was on a damned wild goose chase. Why had that crazy man sent him all over Kansas for nothing? Now Noble and Spotted Horse were gone and—

Sudan pulled his thoughts up short. Sweet Jesus! There was no one at the fort guarding the place. Oh hell, if something was wrong at the fort, he'd nail that rascal's hide to the gate.

“Giddiup, mare! We've got a long hard ride ahead of us.” Dismayed with his discovery, he worried about how upset and angry Noble would be if anything happened at the fort.

In darkness, he rode through the fort gate. A light in the store window relieved him. Misses was home, thank goodness. There didn't seem to be any signs of trouble.

Yellow Deer burst out of the store and peered into the darkness at him. “Sudan?” she called, leaning from side to side to peer through the thick rain.

“Is everyone all right?” he shouted as he jumped down.

“A man came in a buggy and took Fleta to Noble. The man said Noble was hurt.”

Sudan ducked under the porch roof and stood looking down at his woman.

Mannah appeared in the open doorway of the store, the light shining like a halo over her head. “This man was in a big hurry,” she said.

“She went—the Misses went with him?” Sudan asked with a puzzled frown.

“Yea,” Mannah said. “She sent Luke to get me to close the store.“

“How long has she been gone?” Sudan asked, knowing that Indians didn't keep time as the white man did.

Fortunately Luke appeared at the door and answered Sudan's question, “About three hours ago. We better go check on Mama.”

“It was all a damned trick,” Sudan muttered.

“What's wrong?” Mannah asked.

Sudan waved them inside. “The whole thing was phony. There was no stuck wagon. It was a trick to get me out of the way so those snakes could take her away.”

“But why?” Luke asked, his face pale with fear.

The black man turned and was relieved to see Rivers and Barge entering the store carrying their rifles.

“We have been bamboozled by some smart, bad ones,” Sudan told them. “Barge, you put up my horse. Rivers, go saddle two fresh horses. We're going to find the Misses tonight. There ain't no injured Noble McCurtain. He might be in a heap of trouble, but he can handle himself all right. It's the Misses we have to find.”

“I'll go too,” Luke said, starting past him to follow the Indians.

Sudan caught him by the shoulder. “No, sir. Luke, you and Barge got to stay here with the women and hold down the fort. Your daddy has most all he owns in the place. You make Mannah the boss; make sure everyone minds her. You help Barge watch out for trouble. Do you understand, Luke?”

Luke kicked at the floor with his bare toe. “Yes, sir.”

Sudan gratefully accepted a cup of tea from one of the women. Where was Yellow Deer? he wondered. She was there a moment ago. He drank the tea in scalding gulps.

Rivers was mounting when Sudan went outside into the rain. Yellow Deer held the reins to Sudan's horse. He walked toward her, his steps weary.

“I'm sorry, woman,” he pressed her wet head to his chest and took the reins. He frowned when he noticed the Kiowa buffalo hide shield and lance string tied on the saddle.

“That never helped them Kiowas,” he said.

“You take it. Plenty good medicine.”

“Girl, I'm going to look strange as hell carrying a Kiowa lance and shield—me not being no Indian.”

“Take it for Yellow Deer,” she said softly. “It is very good medicine.” The look in her eyes convinced him that she was serious.

“All right, I'll take it.”

Sudan felt her affectionate slap on his leg before he set out through the dim opening of the gate for the prairie. He knew Rivers would catch up with him in a little while. Praying that he was doing the right thing by leaving the fort to Barge and the women, he tried to clear his thoughts. He had to find the Misses; she meant more to Noble than all the goods in the store. The thing that bothered him most was that the people who tricked him where white men. They were smart, apparently smarter than he was. He had to keep thinking about that while he looked for the Misses.

Rivers dismounted several times and felt around in the darkness for the wet wagon tracks. Although Sudan knew that the Osage couldn't see in the dark either, he trusted the man's instincts.

The Kiowa lance hung under his left leg from a leather strap over the saddle horn. Over his other leg the shield hobbled against him. Sudan shook his head and smiled wryly.

At least the rain was letting up. The horses splashed across a small, storm-swollen creek. Rivers dismounted. Sudan held the reins. The Osage waded back across the stream. Though his eyes searched the inky night, Sudan felt almost blind in the darkness.

Rivers returned, creating big splashes in the water. “Wagon crossed here. Horses over there go east.”

“Range horses?”

“No, deep tracks, carrying riders.”

“You done good in this cussed night. We better follow the wagon tracks.”

When Rivers mounted, they rode south. Perhaps by dawn they'd see the buggy. Sudan wondered about Luke, Barge, and the women. Noble, he said silently, I'm sony but I'm looking hard for your woman.