Noble's Way (21 page)

“It's good lightning—com made,” Seegar said persuasively.

“Thanks anyway.” Sudan took some crackers and sat on the ground to eat them. Rivers' face was carved in a granite scowl. Sudan smothered a laugh, knowing that Rivers considered grave digging to be a woman's work.

“That's deep enough,” Seegar said a little later. “I could use some men like you two. This is tough country,” he slurred the words after taking a big swig of the lightning.

“Mr. Seegar, you mind if me and Rivers take our horses now? Noble McCurtain will be worried that we ain't back yet.”

Seegar laughed. “He must be a worrier. Why, you two could sure make your way home.”

“How many times have you been robbed?” Sudan asked curiously.

“Never been robbed. Been tried three or four times though.”

“They all got killed trying, huh?”

“Sure.”

Sudan pursed his lips, then spoke off-handedly, “Mr. Seegar, Izer Goodman ever come here?”

“No!” Seegar's answer was so quick and forceful Sudan was immediately suspicious.

“Did he ever try to rob you?”

“No.” Seegar looked away.

“He did something to you?” Sudan persisted.

Seegar kicked up some dirt and took another drink of lightning. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve and muttered bitterly, “He killed my woman.”

When Seegar turned away, Sudan thought he might be crying. He motioned to Rivers. The Osage nodded and the two went to catch the two horses. Rivers slipped on his horse bareback with a rope bridle while Sudan switched his saddle and bridle to the new one. The horses were not strong but Sudan knew they would carry them a long ways toward home. He longed to share Yellow Deer's bed of soft skins. A man belonged with his woman.

At sunup, Noble stood in the doorway, sipping tea and watching the Lincolnshire family dismount from the wagon in a sleepy daze. Two teenage girls, a young boy, and a small girl stood obediently beside the wagon. Noble wondered where the man's wife was.

Fortney stomped across the yard, his expression sullen. “I'll not camp in here with them savages, Mr. McCurtain,” he said, pointing to the Osages.

Noble shrugged. “Then camp wherever you like. You may use my wagon until yours is fixed.”

Fortney nodded curtly, then gave his family abrupt orders to climb back inside the wagon.

“Where's his wife?” Fleta asked from behind Noble.

“I never saw her. She may be lying down. He sure is headed in the wrong direction if he hates Indians so bad.”

“Are you going to help him?”

“Yeah, I reckon so.” Noble ushered her back toward the house section of the store. “I just wish Sudan and Rivers would get back.”

“Noble,” she said impatiently, “will you listen to me?”

Noble paused, his brows raised in mild surprise. “Certainly, Fleta.”

“That man out there,” she jerked her head towards the window, “is trouble. I'm not sure why, but I just know he's going to be trouble.”

“I'll handle it.”

Fortney and the young boy brought his wheel into the fort. After inspecting the roped-on rim lumped over the corded tread, Noble rose to his feet. “The rim will have to be shrunk. My blacksmith will be back in a few days.”

“A few days! Just when is that, Mr. McCurtain?” Fortney asked with his perpetual scowl.

Noble looked at the embittered man through narrowed eyes. “I can't say exactly. I can tell you is that he's due back anytime.”

Fortney frowned but finally shrugged and walked away toward the gate. The boy, who was close to Luke's age, hurried after his father.

Noble watched them leave, wondering about Fleta's warning. It was hard to be courteous to a man so curt. As soon as Sudan returned, he'd fix the wheel and Fortney could move on west.

That afternoon Noble was reminded by the silent cold forge that his blacksmith and Rivers were still absent. Sudan had been gone too long. Surely nothing had happened to him and Rivers on their search for Izer Goodman. The name caused a raw feeling of pain in Noble's gut—Izer Goodman was all that kept him from living in peace.

Noble saddled a bay horse to ride out and check on the Texas cows that were calving. He would keep his distance, for the long-homed parents were poised to hook or butt anyone or anything who disturbed their newborns.

Fortney'S bunch attached a canvas shade to their wagon. A smoky fire of buffalo chips was being attended to by the teenage girls.

“Good afternoon,” Noble said as he rode up. “Is your father here?”

Uncertainty veiled the girls' faces as they exchanged a look. The fair haired one squinted up at him. “No. He's not my father, but my man. He's gone to get our oxen and stock.”

“Oh!” Noble exclaimed, taken aback by her frank words. Why, the girl looked little more than fourteen. “You're Mrs. Lincolnshire?”

“Yes,” she said, her red-rimmed eyes narrowing in the sun as she continued to stare up at him.

“My wife's name is Fleta. She would probably enjoy a visit. If you have time, please go up to the store and see her.”

She shook her head. “My man said to stay out of there.”

“Yes Ma'am.” Noble touched his hat in farewell, then wheeled his horse. My lord, Noble thought, she's hardly more than a child and married already. She might not be a suitable wife, but then he figured that Lincolnshire was no bargain either.

As Noble rode, he noted that springtime was coming. The yellow breasted meadowlark exclaimed it everywhere. The grayish tan mat of grass was about to emerge into a carpet of green. Shaggy coated horses lifted their heads to follow him with their eyes. He knew their winter wool must be itching them. Even now the long hair peeled off their jaws and the inside of their legs.

His trading and purchases had increased the horse herd to nearly fifty. Several mares had swollen bellies, thanks to Colonel Custer's gift, the gray stallion. Satisfied that the bulk of his horses were present, Noble rode on to check the scattered groups of cattle.

Spindly newborn calves jumped at his approach and raced deer-like to their mommas. Momma would shake her head rack, but when he rode no closer, she would return to grazing. His cattle herd was growing. Though the store supported Noble and his family, he enjoyed his prospering cattle operation.

Another wagon train was coming. Noble could see the distant line approaching. They probably would have to stop for the night and make the store tomorrow.

He set the bay into a lope. It wouldn't hurt to meet the leaders and extend an invitation to shop at the fort. Someday, he would go west—beyond the Rockies' great wall which he had never seen.

A familiar figure rode in the lead on horse back. Sudan Wilson and Rivers were returning. His spirits soaring, Noble booted the gelding into a faster run.

“Hello!” Noble shouted, reining in his horse.

“Mister Noble, you sure do look good,” Sudan said with a white-toothed grin.

“Same here. I see you and Rivers are okay. “ He inspected the two men critically.

“We're doing fine now.” Sudan laughed aloud. “But we have been worse. Say, this man with the wagon is Mr. Kitchen; he's the boss.” Sudan introduced the lean, tall gray-whiskered man on the wagon seat.

“Glad to meetcha, Mr. McCurtain,” Kitchen said, extending a hand. “I've heard a lot about you.”

Noble shook his hand firmly. “Folks think you are pretty brave to put an outpost this far out.”

Noble grinned. “Actually, the building was already here. We just added on, built up the place and laid in some supplies. These two helped me. I'm pleased to have them back,” he added, smiling at Sudan and Rivers.

Sudan apparently had something on his mind. Noble could see it written on his whiskered face. He excused himself and pulled his horse beside the black man's.

“What's wrong?” Noble asked quietly.

“Yellow Deer. Is she all right?” Sudan asked anxiously.

“Sure. Take my bay and go on ahead. That horse of yours is give out?”

Sudan nodded and hesitated a moment. “I'm sorry, but we never got to Goodman. Rivers got throwed into jail; so we had to come home.”

“Jail?”

“Yeah.” Sudan glanced over his shoulder to make sure no one could overhear them. “They need a new lock on that Arkansas jail.” Both men laughed.

“We'll have time to talk,” Noble assured him as he dismounted. “Go ahead and take my horse and go see your woman.”

“Yes, sir!” A broad smile crossed the black man's face.

After a visit with Kitchen, who planned to stop for a day at the store to repair and stock up, Noble and Rivers rode towards home.

“That man up there,” Noble said, pointing toward Fortney, who was driving his team and stock afoot, “he hates Indians.”

“Like hating Goodman,” Rivers said.

“I'm not sure it's the same,” Noble said slowly. “He's a strange man.”

“I need a new rifle. The man in Arkansas took mine.”

“We'll get you one,” Noble said, reading the hidden meaning in River's words.

“In two days, I will go to Fort Smith,” the Osage declared.

“Wait, Rivers. You don't understand white man's law. In Arkansas you can't kill an enemy.”

The Osage nodded. “I know. I will go find him, then you can come.”

“Promise me?”

“Yes, I know what they do to Indians that get mad.”

“We'll get you supplies and a good horse.”

“This time I will go like an eagle, slow and search out my prey.”

“Yes, like an eagle,” Noble echoed drily. He let Rivers ride ahead of him through the gates, pleased that all of the Osages were coming to greet their returning tribesman. With a smile of approval, Noble left the Indians and rode on to the stables.

“Noble!” Luke came shouting. “Sudan's back.”

“Yes, I know, Luke.” He unsaddled Sudan's thin, spent horse. “Did you speak to him?”

“Just a bit.” Luke came closer and wrinkled his nose thoughtfully. “He was too busy squeezing Yellow Deer to pay attention to me.”

Noble stifled a laugh. “That's the way men are with women, son.”

“Yeah, I reckon so. But at least he's home again.”

“Sure. Let's go up to the house.” Noble was amused to see the back pounding and laughter was still going on with Rivers and the Osages. The man was obviously depressed by his failure to catch up with Goodman. Perhaps his people would cheer him up.

“Were there any boys my age with the wagon train that Sudan said was coming?”

Luke's question drew Noble's thoughts away from Rivers. “I think so.”

“Good. Now that the Wichitas are gone, my friend Red Elk isn't here. It'll be nice to make new friends.”

Noble looked at the boy with sympathy. It must be lonely for Luke at times.

“Noble?” Luke stopped him just before they entered the house. “You know those girls with that man Lincoln-whatever, they seem ... strange. What's wrong with them?”

“What do you mean?” Noble asked sharply, surprised by the boy's perception.

“They aren't friendly. I rode down there to be neighborly; I thought maybe his boy would be there.”

“And?”

“Noble, they don't act like other settlers.” He scowled and scuffed the toe of his boot on the porch. “I don't know exactly.”

Noble sighed. “Well, Luke, I'm afraid I don't understand them either. Don't worry about it. Come on. Let's wash up.” Noble followed the boy inside, deciding that he would have to speak to Fleta about the Indian-hater's girls.

Later that night in their bed, Noble repeated the story about the Lincolnshire party to Fleta.

“Lots of girls in the hills marry very young, often to older men,” she said reasonably. “Older men usually are more settled, have property, and a way to support a wife.”

“I just wondered why he thinks Indians are diseased?”

Fleta expelled a deep breath and snuggled against him. “I think he hates everybody and everything. He's not a pleasant man.”

“You may be right,” he said absently. “We'll fix his wagon and then he can be on his way.”

“Good riddance,” she said as she moved into his arms.

The following morning, Noble had Sudan begin work on Fortney's wheel. Noble felt an urgency to get the man off his property.

Luke came by to saddle his pinto. He spoke briefly to both men then rode out to meet the approaching wagon train. Spotted Horse and Barge came to join them in the rough board smithy shed.

“Rivers talked to you about leaving, Noble?” Spotted Horse asked.

“Yes,” Noble looked at him sharply. “Has he left already?”

“No, he is still sleeping.”

“Good. I want to remind him he's not to harm Goodman, only find him and let me know. I'll handle Izer when Rivers finds the bastard.”

Spotted Horse nodded. “I will be sure he understands.”

“He can have whatever supplies he needs.”

The chief grunted. “If not for Sudan, he would be in the iron door box. He learned he will have to have your help.”

“Good.” Noble was satisfied Rivers knew his ways would not work outside the fort.

Evening came with a slowly sinking sun. In the interval, the wagon train people had frequented the store, purchasing supplies by the crateful. Mr. Kitchen accepted an invitation to eat dinner with the McCurtains. The two men were drinking tea while Fleta cleared the table.

“How bad are the Indians west of here?” Kitchen asked.

“There's been a lot of talk about trouble brewing. Bands will be coming south to meet the main herd of buffalo, because folks have killed so many. There use to be a lot more here. Right, Fleta?”

She smiled. “We ate a lot of it the first two years we were here.”

“I see,” Kitchen said. “I'll keep an eye out. There's lots of talk. I don't want my people upset but still I need them ready in case.”