Noble's Way (3 page)

Noble walked back to the gateway and looked to the south. The plank gates were down and he decided they would require much repair to rehang. But when he viewed the white sea beyond, he was pleased with their new home.

“Spotted Horse, who does this fort belong to?”

“You and me.” The Indian pointed at Noble then himself.

“No.” Noble tried to explain. “Is this an army fort?”

“No, long ago trader was here.

That solved the mystery for Noble. Some trading company had apparently built this as an outpost, then abandoned it.

“It's a good place,” he said, smiling with gratitude at the Indian.

“Plenty good.”

“Noble!” Luke came running. “We even have rats in the new house.”

“What's a house without rats?” Noble laughed and Spotted Horse joined in.

As he approached the house, he wondered how his new wife was accepting all this. With surprise, he watched the two Osage men carrying Fleta's things in the front door.

“Wait!” he shouted. “I'll do that.”

“No,” Spotted Horse said, restraining Noble with his hand. “We help.”

For a moment Noble questioned their motive. This was women's work—at least in the Indians eyes—so they must be paying Fleta and himself a high compliment by humbling themselves with such activity. Damn, he had a lot to learn about Indians.

In the fireplace Fleta built a small fire which produced not only warmth, but seemed to drive away a cold lingering spirit that inhabited the small house. She surveyed the room with satisfaction. A worn broom applied to the hard packed floor would make the place look even better. She had a roof and a home. Noble had even repaired the front door, so now it seemed like a secure haven.

Later Mannah brought her some cold, cooked meat to heat up. Fleta found herself liking the tall, handsome woman, who dressed in buckskins decorated with beads and quills. She wondered why Mannah was childless, perhaps even barren. Her beauty and movements were graceful as a swan. Fleta initially was irritated by the Indian woman's habit of giggling, but she had begun to dismiss it as a childish habit they never outgrew. Fleta felt a bond growing between herself and Mannah.

Fleta found a good supply of dry buffalo chips in a lean-to behind of her kitchen. There was even a small amount of wood she must ration.

Luke was in and out of the house reporting on the tepee raising going on outside. Breathlessly, he told his mother how the travois poles became the main support for the tepees. And he further explained in a voice filled with awe, of the paintings on the side of the tepees, drawings of horses, buffalo and hand prints.

After fixing the door, Noble fetched water for tea, then left to check on the livestock. Mary Joseph and her baby came to sit beside her fireplace. Fleta felt a twinge of jealousy as she watched the young mother nurse the child. Noble needed a son of his own.

Noble viewed the horses pawing the snow for grass. The four patient oxen were waiting to graze behind them.

“We will watch them,” Spotted Horse assured him. “At night we will bring them inside the fort grounds. There are many thieves, besides the buffalo wolves.”

“Thanks,” Noble said, his mind occupied with laying plans. Tomorrow we'll go kill another buffalo before the winter catches us.”

“Yes,” the Osage agreed with a wide grin. “This is a god damn good place.”

“Yes it is,” Noble smiled at the profanity. He recalled an Indian who lived around a western post. The men called the Indian Son-of-a-Bitch. He used the word for everything, hello—goodbye—every other word that came out of his mouth was the curse.

He smiled ruefully. “Spotted Horse? Do you have a fine fur to trade me? A mink?”

The Osage shifted the army blanket over his shoulder. “Mink?”

“A nice soft fur.”

The Indian nodded. Noble dug out a pocket knife for the trade.

Spotted Horse shook his head. “No. Fur be a gift for you.” “No. We trade,” Noble insisted.

The Osage left Noble standing in the snow at the fort's gate. He returned in a few minutes with an impressive looking scarf of white fur. For a moment, Noble wondered which of the Osage's wives had lost such a mantle. He swept the pelt onto his shoulder and slapped the folding knife in Spotted Horse's hand.

“Trade,” Noble said firmly.

Spotted Horse nodded. With that settled, Noble trudged to the house. He passed the others busy raising the second tepee and grinned at Luke watching them. Wide eyed, the youth investigated every movement the Indians made, but he remained respectfully back and out of their way.

Noble pushed open the door to their new home then closed it with his hip.

“Here,” he said, looping the fur around Fleta's neck.

She gasped at the feel of the soft skin around her neck. “What are you doing?”

Noble pulled her tightly against him. “It's a surprise.”

“Oh, Noble, you shouldn't have. It feels beautiful.” She looked up at him with a smile.

“Merry Christmas, Mrs. McCurtain,” he said, squeezing her against his lean body. He enjoyed the proprietary sound of the “Mrs.”

“Let's have some tea.” She lightly kissed his lips.

They were finishing their tea and savoring the privacy of their moment together, when Luke burst in the front door. “Noble! Spotted Horse said to come with your gun right now! We got plenty trouble coming!”

“What is it, Luke?” Noble removed the Colt from his right coat pocket and followed the youth out the door.

“Three riders dressed in bear skins. Spotted Horse says they're bad men.”

“Who are they?” Fleta asked, following them outside.

“Damned if I know. Luke, you stay here with your mother. Fleta get the other guns ready just in case.”

“But...”

“No buts. Unless they have a deed to this place they can go to hell for all I care.” Noble turned with the .36 Colt in his right hand and went to join the Indians gathered at the gate.

Spotted Horse apparently knew the strangers since he had told Luke that they were bad. Who were they? No telling, but whoever they were, Noble was ready for trouble. The heavy revolver in hand reassured him as he headed for the gate.

Under a glaring patch of cold sun, Noble watched the three bearded riders come abreast. Splashing snow, their horses breathed heavily. Saddle leather creaked. When the man in the middle pushed up his hat brim, Noble felt a sharp stab of fear. It was Izer Goodman.

An older man on Izer's right cradled a rifle in a fringed sheath; he broke the silence first. “All you blanket-ass Injuns get the hell out of our fort.”

“Damn my sore eyes,” Izer said with mocking sarcasm, “why, it's my old pal Noble McCurtain.” There was nothing friendly in his tone.

Noble stood his ground. arms crossed, the pistol in his hand.

“You know him?” the man on Izer's right asked.

“Sure do. He's done got him an Osage squaw to love, boys!” Izer's cutting laughter caused Noble's jaw to clench. The bushwhackers had called Izer the squaw killer.

“What's your business here?” Noble demanded with more confidence than he felt.

“You claiming this place?” Izer asked, resting an elbow on his saddle horn.

“Me and this pistol are,” Noble answered without finching.

“He's tough talking, Izer,” the older man mocked. His laughter was interrupted by a hacking cough. In disgust he spit out a yellow wad of phlegm.

“This old man's Red Barber.” Then Izer gestured to the younger man on his left. “And Tennessee Dawson. Boys, meet Noble McCurtain.”

Noble did not acknowledge the introductions.

Izer scrubbed his whisker-stubbled mouth with his hand as if considering another tactic.

“Boy,” he directed his speech to Noble, “we've run all these black asses off before. But you can stay and be a part of us—or else.”

“Else what?” Noble shot back.

“You don't aim to die over some flea-bitten redskins and a damned old fort, do you?” Izer demanded in disbelief.

“Somebody may die, but more'n likely it will be you all.”

“Tough bastard,” Tennessee growled as if itching to do something.

“Yeah,” Izer said. “Reckon we'll just have to kill him, then we can have that Osage squaw of his. She must be something to behold.”

“Izer, take your friends and leave,” Noble warned. A fury boiled over inside him.

“Boy!” Izer said, his dark eyes narrowing. “I intend to feed you to the magpies and rape every Osage squaw in there.”

“Yeah!” Red shouted, preparing to charge his horse.

A rifle shot out. The three men bolted upright, checking their horses. Before they had full control of their mounts, Noble had the Colt cocked and ready. For a moment he wondered who had fired the shot, but he kept his attention firmly fixed on the three men in front of him.

“Who the hell is she?” Izer demanded, fighting with his horse and peering over his shoulder at someone behind Noble.

Ready for any move they made, Noble's lips twitched briefly as he realized that Fleta had fired the shot. He remembered how she had helped him the day they battled the bushwhackers. Izer never stayed for any of that fight, for like a coward he'd left at the first sign of resistance.

“That's my wife,” Noble said. He watched Mannah come forward and give Spotted Horse the Colt rifle. The tide of the encounter just changed; Noble waited for their next move.

Izer's face was black with rage. “You ain't seen the last of us, Noble McCurtain. Next time we ain't coming in here peaceful. That goes for the gawd damn Osages too.”

“Come again, Izer and we'll nail your hides to our wall.”

Izer looked as though he might try something, but instead he jerked his horse about savagely. “Come on, boys. Let' s get the hell out of here!”

Noble noticed the leering expressions as the man looked past him at his wife. His finger tightened on the trigger. His lecherous contemptible stare raised Noble's fury. Then Izer turned and led his men away. It was the not the first time Izer had run away from a fight with Noble.

“I'm sorry, Noble,” Fleta apologized as she reached him. “I know you could have handled it.”

Noble did not answer her. His attention was still riveted on the three men as they became smaller and the distance between them widened across the snow covered landscape. Finally, Noble sighed. Those bastards would be back. “Don't fret none. You did the right thing sending Spotted Horse the rifle. It helped get rid of that scum.”

“They don't talk so big against two guns,” Spotted Horse said, sounding smug.

“They're bullies,” Noble said. He turned to the Osage. “You keep the rifle. We need to be ready for that bunch. I've got a hunch they'll be back.”

The Osage grunted. “I told you there are worst things than buffalo wolves.”

“Right,” Noble agreed, walking back to the house with Fleta. He wished the three men had not seen her. There was no telling when they would be back or what would happen when they did return.

Fleta walked beside him, carrying the Hawkins rifle. “Who else will come?”

“In the spring, I figure settlers will start appearing around here,” he said, anxious to tum her fears away from Goodman's bunch.

“Settlers?” she quizzed, wondering what he meant.

“Sure, they'll be a lot of folks looking for new land. They'll need things, too—supplies. We got us a good place for a store,” Noble said. He was deeply engrossed in his plans as they entered the house.

“Who has the money to buy such things?” Fleta asked skeptically.

“Yankees do. They'll be itching for supplies by the time they get here. Fleta, those northern states are rich, not like Arkansas.”

She shook her head. “Why did those bushwhackers come to rob us?”

“Fair game. No law, no one to stop them or protect people.”

“Noble,” she began firmly. “Next time those three men come back, I'll lower my sights so I won't waste the shot in the sky.”

He squeezed her shoulder. “I'll reload your rifle. Woman, a grizzly bear couldn't get past you.”

A frown furrowed her brows. “Are bears out there, too?”

“No.”

Fleta was not fully reassured by his tone. She watched him reload the Hawkins. “You're sure there are no grizzlies out there?”

He looked up and shook his head. “Never seen one in Kansas. Ask Spotted Horse, if you don't believe me.”

“Well, I believe you,” she said, still envisioning twelve-foot-tall bears.

“Izer Goodman is a far worse enemy,” Noble said, setting the muzzle loader by the door.

“Can you tell me if anything else is going to happen today?” she asked.

“Yes.” He swept her up in his arms. “Tonight, I'm going to love you.”

She struggled half-heartedly to escape. “Well, go get some water then. I'm filthy and you have whiskers like a grizzly.” She wrinkled her nose at him.

He released her and rubbed his face. His beard stubble wasn't quite as bad as a bear's, but bad enough.

“I kinda smell like a horse, too,” Noble admitted, and winked at her. “After I get your water, I need to take Spotted Horse some more ammunition.”

“More ammunition?”

“Yes, they need to help us guard this place.”

“But what if—”

“Fleta,” Noble interrupted patiently, “the Osages are defenseless without ammunition. They need us right now and we need them.”

She frowned and murmured, “I suppose so.”

Noble drew several buckets of water so his family could take a bath. He smiled at Luke's reluctance, but saw the determined look in Fleta's eye and knew the lad could not escape. Satisfied they had enough water, Noble took two dozen brass cartridges to Spotted Horse's tepee.

Mannah drew the flap aside and showed him into the smoky interior. The small fire's light shown on the Osage's face. Noble took a seat beside the man, dreading another round of smoking the peace pipe.