Noble's Way (25 page)

Fleta shook her head and clenched her teeth to steady her trembling lips. “I—I hope you're happy, Wilbourne.”

“I nearly came here once to take you back home.” He searched around again, as if suspecting Noble was somewhere nearby.

“He's not here; he's gone with the army. Your train will have to turn north here. It's an order of the military.”

Wilbourne nodded. “We already knew that. We're going to California.”

Fleta fought the guilt and the anger. She closed her eyes, envisioning Noble's strong face. A feeling of relief assailed her when she opened her eyes and looked at the man who had been her husband. “Do you need any money?”

“No,”

“Are you sure?” she persisted.

“I don't wany any of your damned blood money,” he snarled, slapping a dime on the counter for his purchases.

She flinched at the sound and stared up at him in puzzlement. “What do you mean blood money?”

Wilbourne smirked and shook his head. “I know how you started this place. Blood money from bushwhacking your own people.”

“That's a lie!” she hissed, her eyes sparkling with anger.

“I know the damned truth. God will judge your wicked ways, Fleta!” Wilbourne pronounced in a self-righteous tone. He turned and strode quickly out the door.

Fleta hurried after him, wanting to thump him for slurring Noble. A moment of panic struck her as she realized that Luke was outside. She watched anxiously as Wilbourne stared at the unaware Luke, who was practicing with his lariat by the corral. Fleta hands clenched. Surely he would not try to take Luke with him?

When Wilbourne turned and walked through the gateway toward a wagon, she nearly fainted with relief.

“Who's he?” Mannah asked from behind her.

“A dead man,” Fleta said flatly. She was amazed at the great wave of peacefulness that flooded her. Wilbourne was leaving, out of her life forever, she prayed.

Noble returned two days later on the jaded, gray stallion. Fleta was grateful that Wilbourne's train had left. When he dismounted, she rushed to be in his embrace.

“Is something wrong?” he asked, looking down on her head.

She buried her face in his shirt. The strong smell of horse and sweat filled her nose—she clung to him, grateful for his safe return.

He finally held her out at arms length. “Is everyone all right?”

Fleta smiled through her tears. “Yes, now you're home.”

Noble smiled at Luke, who had come up to greet him.

“Where's Colonel Custer?” the boy asked.

“They headed home. I came straight here.”

“Did you find the bad Indians, Noble?” he asked eagerly.

“They did.” Noble tried to contain his true feelings.

“Wow, I wish I could have gone with you. Now can I ride Shaw outside the fort?”

“Sure, Luke.” He frowned privately at Fleta for why the boy asked his permission.

“Ma was afraid the savages would get me,” Luke said, kicking the dust with the toe of his boot.

“She might have been right, But I am proud you minded her. Don't ride too far.”

“I won't. See you.” Luke raced for the pinto pony in the pen.

Fleta smiled at the boy's enthusiasm. Then with Noble's strong arm over her shoulder, they went inside the store. Sighing inwardly, she knew she must tell Noble the news before anyone else did. “Rivers sent you a message.”

Noble stopped. “Yes?”

“Izer Goodman is in Ft Smith.”

“Oh?”

Fleta was puzzled by his flat response. Her blue eyes misted as she looked up in his tired face. He was exhausted, she surmised. “There is something else—Wilbourne Corey came by with a wagon train going to California ... he's remarried.”

Noble blinked his eyes and then a broad smile crossed his face as he swept her up in his arms. “Well, good, we'll do the same thing.”

Fleta laughed as he whirled her around. “Noble, put me down. What will the Osage think?” When he set her on her feet, she spoke softly. “Noble, I don't need a ceremony. I'm already your wife.”

Noble shook his head, wondering if he would ever understand women. But it didn't matter. He loved her and would do whatever she wanted to do about getting married. At least it was settled. That swept away most of his tiredness and disgust of the past days.

Before sundown, he went to the stables to check on the gray stallion, feeling guilty for the way he had pushed him. The horse nickered at his approach, but Noble could see that, despite the big horse's strength, he needed several days rest.

“There're new shoes on the bay,” Sudan said, from behind him. “I figured you might need a fresh one.”

“I'm not looking forward to going either,” Noble said his thoughts out loud. Someone had to settle the score with Goodman—other wise the threat of him would never be over.

“I'm going with you,” Sudan said softly.

Noble considered the man's words. The Osage could watch the fort in their absence. He knew he could never dissuade the man.

Numb from his days on the move, Noble studied his dusty boot toes. “We'll leave at sunup, we should be there in three days.”

“Three days,” Sudan echoed softly.

Fleta lay in bed, staring into the darkness. Noble lay rigid beside her. She knew he was not asleep, yet he seemed distant from her, as though still riding with Custer. Something was bothering him. Maybe the thought of finally facing Izer Goodman. Perhaps something had happened while he was riding with the Seventh Cavalry, something he didn't want to discuss with her.

She raised on her elbow and stared down at him in the dim light from the full moon. “Noble? I know you're not asleep.”

“Mmm,” he murmured.

“What's wrong?”

“Nothing,” he said, but the words came out with an abruptness he hadn't intended.

She tossed back her long braid and peered closely into his face. “What is it?”

“Oh, hell.” He gave a great sigh and finally looked at her. “I just wish this whole business with Izer was over.”

“Don't go.”

“You know I'm going. I couldn't stand the thought of that madman hurting someone else's family.”

But she knew that wasn't the only thing on Noble McCurtain's mind. Something deeper than even Izer Goodman was eating at him. Gently she pulled on his arm.

“It won't work ...,” she murmured, and prevented his reply with a kiss.

Her lips silenced him. If she could not get the truth from him, she knew ways to ease him. With a little coaxing, he moved over her.

In the pink light of pre-dawn, Noble and Sudan prepared to leave. The celluloid collar she had convinced Noble to wear scratched his neck. He promised himself to remove it the moment he was out of sight of the fort. Bad enough she made him wear the new brown suit.

Their goodbyes were solemn. Neither said much.

Noble shook his head as he rode out the gate. They looked like some kind of a circus, him in his new suit and Sudan wearing a fancy beaded doeskin shirt with yard-long fringe. He glanced back at the two pack horses loaded with bedding and food. He saw no sign of either woman in the fort's gateway. He turned back ... just as well. Noble ripped off the collar.

The days were hot and sullen. They crossed the Indian Territory swiftly. Just short of Fort Smith, on the road they met and spoke to a Cherokee policeman.

“This man, you ask of, Izer Goodman. He is wanted dead or alive. He must not be in Fort Smith,” the tribal lawman said. “But he is very bad man.”

“Have you met an Osage by the name of Rivers?” Sudan asked.

“No.” The Cherokee shook his head.

“He works for me and sent word that Goodman was there.”

“Maybe. It's a big place, but the white man's law is looking for him.”

“Thanks,” Noble said, anxious to be on their way.

“Well. What do you think now?” Sudan asked as they rode to the ferry.

“Let's find Rivers. Izer may be right under the nose of the law.” Noble shook his head ruefully, this time they would locate the outlaw. He would not return home without satisfaction.

As they waited for the ferry on the sandy roadway, Noble decided they would get a hotel room. “Sudan, we'll check in a hotel—”

“That sir, is Arkansas. You get a hotel room and I'll stay with the horses.”

Noble frowned at him in puzzlement.

“I know. I been in this land before.”

Noble nodded. Sudan had his mind made up, nothing he could say to change it. From beneath his wide brimmed hat, Noble viewed the array of two and three story buildings that made the town look as large as Independence.

They joined two wagons on the ferry for the trip across the Arkansas. Dismounted during the crossing, they each held two of the horses in case they panicked.

“There's a whole street of saloons,” Sudan said. “We can look for Rivers there. They have whiskey, women and gambling.”

“Be a good place to start,” Noble agreed, studying a large bank of afternoon thunderheads forming over the mountains to the north. An eerie foreboding swept him with the cooling winds off the growing storm.

The ferry bumped into the dock. The chugging steam engine forced them to hold the excited horses tighter as the muddy water slapped the sides of the boat.

A train whistle pierced the air, smoke belched from its stack. A paddle boat's shrill whistle added to the bustling city's noise. Even on the rampway, the horses were still excited by all the sights and sounds around them.

Whiskey Row lay ahead. Traffic including drays, wagons, riders on horseback, even some bicycles, surged in all directions. In mid-afternoon, the barkers worked the passersby on the sidewalk, extolling the virtues or sins available at their respective establishments.

Noble rode up behind a parked wagon to speak to one of the men loafing on the sidewalk. “I'm looking for someone,” he said, leaning over in the saddle.

“Who?”

“Name's Izer Goodman.”

The man looked at the fellow beside him; they both shook their heads blankly. “We don't know him.”

“Thanks,” Noble said and reined the bay out in the traffic. He signaled for Sudan to follow with the pack horses.

A woman's loud laughter, followed by a grumble of thunder in the approaching storm, rolled over the sounds in the street.

“Noble!” someone shouted. Both men turned and watched an Indian they barely recognized come across the street, dodging conveyances. Dressed in ragged clothes, Rivers hurried toward them.

“It's Rivers!” Sudan shouted.

Noble nodded, already dismounted. “Are you all right?”

“Plenty good, now you come.” The Osage's brown eyes glowed with relief at the sight of his friends.

“Move them damn horses!” a teamster cursed. “This ain't the damn Injun Territory!”

Noble waved Sudan on. He didn't want trouble here. When the freighter passed, Noble gave him a cutting glance before he turned back to Rivers.

“Where is he?”

“Izer is upstairs in a place called Fanny's. He just came back.” The Osage pointed to the second story brick building in front of them.

“Is he alone?” Noble asked grimly.

“No. Izer sneaks in to see his woman,” River shouted above the wind.

Noble wondered how to get upstairs. A sharp gust swept Noble's hat from his head and thunder rumbled directly over them. He quickly recovered and restored it on his head.

Sudan joined them, obviously he had hitched the horses around the corner for Noble could not see them.

“Are there back stairs?” Noble asked.

“Yes,” Rivers said.

“Sudan, you cover the back way out. Rivers, where is he at in the building?”

“Back row, that side,” he pointed west. “I have seen him from the roof over there.”

Noble studied at the tall brick building; the Osage had been done his job well. “Does he have any of his gang here?”

“No, bunch of breeds stay across the river.”

“I can't understand why some law doesn't arrest him.”

“Don't know him.” Rivers shrugged. “No beard, short hair, no buckskins.”

They didn't know the outlaw on sight. Noble nodded in agreement. He didn't have to tell Sudan a thing. The black man and Rivers moved to go around to the alley. Noble's attention was riveted on the second floor. People were hurrying inside as the rain began in earnest. He never noticed the weather as he elbowed his way through the crowd.

Inside the sour smelling, smoke filled barroom, he spied the staircase and started up them.

“Hey, you got business up there?” a bartender challenged him.

Noble swept his coat back exposing his gun holster. “Yes.”

The man taken aback, merely nodded. A hush fell over the crowd, the tinkle of glasses faded. Outside the wind and rain rushed around with the roar of a lion. Noble's foot steps caused the stairs to creak in protest.

At the head of the stairs, a young woman, wearing a filmy gauze gown, met him. Her smile faded as she noted the hard look on his face and his right hand on the butt of the Colt. He swept her aside and drew the pistol.

“I want Izer Goodman,” he said coldly.

“He ain't here,” she lied openly as if to challenge him for rejecting her.

Noble looked down the long hallway to the last side door. “Get downstairs. Now!”

Outside the forces of the storm grew more intense. The gale forces tore at the building. A window shattered below. In one of the rooms, a woman screamed. She stumbled out directly in Noble's path.

“Get out of the way!” he said harshly. She blinked at his gun hand and rushed away.

Other ladies came rushing out of their rooms, frightened by the violent weather battering the building.

“It's going to blow us away,” one woman screamed, trying to pull on a duster as she fled by him. “There's a tornado in this!”