Noble's Way (16 page)

“Home,” she repeated and actually smiled at Noble.

He sat for a moment in bewilderment, then fell in beside Sudan. There were things in life a man wasn't supposed to know. The change in a woman was one of them. He had to remember her real name, Noble reminded himself. He silently repeated “Yellow Deer.”

In the spring of 1867, Fleta waited for the first wagon train customers to push west. The Wichitas had already moved south to intercept their brother, the buffalo. She reflected a moment. At eleven years, Luke seemed far too old for his age. Noble was no help to her either, encouraging her son to try grown up things.

Sudan had long since finished the house additions, twice put aside for warehouse room constructions. At least their bed no longer fell under every customer's scrutiny. Now their talks and love making were accomplished discreetly behind a closed door. It was a comforting fact that freed her from any fear that some Indian might barge in at the very peak of their passion.

All the Indian women were pregnant, except Yellow Deer and Mannah.

“Will we catch the Santa Fe trail on west?” a big man in patched suit asked her one day in the store.

“You'd best ask my husband,” she said as she added up his order.

“Yes ma'am. Say didn't that Injun woman call you Fleta?”

“Yes.” She looked up at the man, wondering why he was so curious about her name.

The man scratched his sideburns and looked undecided. “Well, I was in the war in '64 with a man by the name of Wilbourne Corey. He had a wife by that name. Never heard it before. Coincidence, ain't it?”

She hoped her face had not paled. Her lips pursed together, she shook her head and mumbled, “McCurtain is my last name.”

“Didn't that Corey man live in Arkansas?” the man's wife asked.

“Yes, but this lady doesn't have time to listen to your patter. Pay her for the geehaws.”

Fleta wanted to run and hide. She had not even thought about Wilbourne Corey in a long, long time. Now it bothered her to think about his lonely return to the empty cabin. She also knew if Noble hadn't joined them, she and Luke would never have survived.

It was an effort to stay in the store, waiting on customers the rest of the day. She was tempted to leave the store in Mannah's hands and rush out to the bedroom to hide. But that would be cowardly and she would not be guilty of such action. She loved Noble and it was her place to clerk the store. Fortunately, she was able to work up a small amount of confidence. Yet, the day passed slowly. She had to recheck her additions on bills of goods, apologizing to a nameless face when she discovered her mistake.

That evening she still left anxious. As she washed dishes, her mind wandered. A fork fell from her fingers on the floor.

“Damnit!” she swore softly.

Noble looked up from his tea. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“If it's nothing, then why are you irritated?”

“It has been a tiring day.”

“I'll hire you a clerk.”

“I don't need any more help. Mannah and I nearly fall over each other.”

“I'll make the store bigger.”

She looked at the ceiling for strength. “Noble McCurtain, can't I have one bad day?”

“Yes.” He looked at her worriedly. “People are sure early this year. The grass isn't even green and they're pushing west with eagerness written on their faces. “

“Hmm,” Fleta mumbled as she bent to check on her biscuits.

“The further west they go, the less enthusiasm they'll have, for they won't have forage for their livestock.”

She slammed the pan of biscuits on the rangetop. “Oh, damn!”

“What's damned now? Did you bum yourself?”

Hands on her hips, she glared at him. “No, the biscuits. I'm just tired. Oh!” She tore off her apron and stalked out through the store. After wrestling with the stubborn latch, she went on the porch and out in the yard to vent her anger.

The Osage men frowned at her from their positions in front of the tepees. They sat in their store bought clothes, rifles across their laps. Nothing escaped their eyes, especially hard case customers who drifted in from time to time. Their armed and alert presence was enough to make any would-be troublemaker pay and leave peacefully.

Spotted Horse rose and walked over to her. “Misses, when the buffalo come, we will feast on tongue and hump.”

“Yes,” she said, her mood melting away in the cool evening air.

“They will come soon and chase away the worry of winter.”

“I think it would help. We're ready for spring.”

He nodded and exchanged a warm smile with her before he returned to the others.

“Mama?” Luke called. “Noble has the food ready. Are you coming to eat now?”

“Yes, Luke. I'm coming.” Maybe fresh buffalo meat would help her. She glanced at the Indians as she went toward the house. They were such simple yet complicated people. Spotted Horse had known when she was upset. But he had not asked why. That was an Indian's way though. Their philosophy was to take their minds off their current problems. What problems? She sighed and went to rejoin her family.

A slow uneventful week passed. Three riders came in for tobacco and candy. They were polite young men, almost awkward in her presence.

“We're going to Color-ado,” one said, almost as if he expected praise.

“That's nice,” Fleta said with a smile.

“Ma'am?”

“Yes?”

“Guess it wouldn't insult you if I took the liberty to say ... well, you sure are putty.”

“Thank you,” Fleta said demurely, feeling the color flood her cheeks.

The young man sauntered off, a little hesitantly to the door. “I mean it,” he said, snatching off his floppy hat.

“Yes. Thank you.”

She almost laughed aloud after he left. Alone at last, she decided to work on the books. Mannah was straightening shelves.

“Where's Luke?” Fleta asked.

“With Sudan.”

“Learning how to kill Kiowas, I suppose, ” she said pensively.

“No. Sudan does not boast. They are probably working on iron things.”

Fleta nodded. Purty, he had said. The poor boy must have vision problems. She set the pen down. Noble would be back soon from checking his stock. Maybe she should brush her hair and tie it back with a ribbon. The books could wait.

She stopped at a pecking sound on the roof. “Is it raining?”

“Yes,” Mannah said.

The rain increased. Fleta began brushing her hair, worrying about her man. Perhaps she should call Luke in. And where was Noble? A grumble of thunder caused her to frown. She certainly hoped it wasn't going to storm.

Luke burst in the back door. “It's raining, mama.”

“I know. Don't track up my clean floors,” she warned, proud of the smooth wood.

“Is Noble back?” Luke asked, looking around.

“No.”

“Funny, he usually comes in before the rain.”

“I know.” She winced as she dragged the brush through her tangled hair. “He'll be along.”

Fleta sent Mannah home and she looked out in the gray wet world of splattered puddles. Where was he?

Reluctantly, she went back to feed Luke. Noble's dinner would stay warm in the oven.

Noble came in, dripping water all over the floor. “Sorry, I'm late.”

“Get out of those wet clothes. You'll catch a death of cold. Why did you stay so long out in the rain?”

“Rustlers,” he said grimly. “They've stolen several of our horses. I lost their tracks. Come sunup, I intend to be on their trail.”

“It may still be raining,” she said as she helped him undress.

“Then I'll wear an oilskin poncho. Doesn't matter, I'm going after them. I haven't worked to gather a band of horses only to have them stolen.”

“Where did they take them?” she asked, hanging the sodden clothing on a line she used inside.

“Indian Territory.”

“Indians?”

He shook his head and smiled at Luke who came in the store. “You all right, Luke?”

“Yes,” he said. “Is my name McCurtain or Corey?”

Fleta looked at Noble, her eyes round with shock. Where on earth had Luke come up with that kind of question?

Noble gave Luke a direct look. “Your name is Luke McCurtain.”

“Well, that's what I told the lady from the wagon train.”

Fleta met Noble's questioning look and hastily explained. “A man who was in the war with Wilbourne heard Mannah mention my name. He recalled hearing it from Wilbourne. His wife must have asked Luke.”

“Damned nosy people! Where are they camped? Is it that bunch west of the store?”

“Noble, please, there is no reason for you to be upset. They're just curious, I guess.”

He shrugged and went to find some clean dry clothes. His jaw clenched, he raged against people who pried into other's business. Still upset, he sat on the bed and began pulling off his wet boots.

“Noble McCurtain,” Fleta said from the doorway. “I am not going to ever leave you. Not ever.”

Noble smiled and studied his toes. “Sorry, this horse thieving has me all wrought up.”

“I know.”

“I do all these things for you and Luke,” he said uncertainly.

“And we appreciate you.” Fleta walked into his arms and leaned her head against his chest.

Noble smoothed her hair. He was thinking about the rustlers, but was warmed by the bond between Fleta and himself. She was pleased to share a private moment after a hard day; still the fact that he was leaving again worried her.

Luke came bursting in to tell Noble about his welding two pieces of iron to repair a rim that Sudan had found on the prairie.

“Bound together like a wedding ring,” Noble said softly.

Fleta was filled with love by Noble's quiet words. To hide the threat of emotional tears, she scowled at her son's grubby appearance. “You're late. Go wash your hands. Right now, young man!”

“But, Mama, I had to finish it. Didn't I Noble?”

He agreed with the boy and received a silent look of reproach from the Fleta. She left to check on her food in the oven. Someone had abandoned the stove at the side of the road and like so many other nice pieces of furniture, Noble packed it in. She drew the pans out of the oven, her face bathed in the heat from the fire. Why did everything have to be a reminder? She closed her eyes for a moment, hoping the feeling of depression would pass.

Later, in bed, Noble's gentle hands massaged her into a state of readiness. His hungry mouth on her neck, hair and face melted her depression. She responded to him with an abandon that secretly shocked her. He took her with a sweetness that wiped out all her regrets and guilt. She loved Noble more than anything else in the world.

Rain played on the roof when they awoke. Luke had built a fire in the range. He had awakened early with a small spark of hope that Noble would take him along when he rode out to chase down the horse thieves. He suspected the answer would be no, but he would be ready just in case. Prepared for the negative, Luke handed Noble the Winchester wrapped in canvas.

“Thanks, Luke,” Noble said, a little confused as to why the boy was up and making a fire.

“I sort of thought that Shaw and I could ride along with you, Noble.”

“Oh?” Noble considered the prospect. “I think you'd better stay here this time. I need someone here to help your mother and Sudan.” He patted the boy's shoulder in sympathy.

“Sure, Noble,” Luke said, his face crestfallen.

When Spotted Horse joined Noble at the gate, the Osage wore an oil slicker, using it as a poncho against the rain. Fleta watched the men mount up with a feeling of foreboding. Noble waved and whirled the gray stallion around. With splashes of hooves and distant thunder, they rode out of the fort, the Osage dogs yapping after them.

Close to the Indian Territory line, Noble ducked his head so his hat could protect his face from the driving rain. Spotted Horse seemed convinced the horses had been driven in this direction even though the tracks had dissolved. By the second day, they were in small hills dotted with rock outcroppings and post oaks.

Everything was wet and soggy. They had cold camped the previous night, sleeping huddled in their rain gear, expecting and receiving more downpours.

The Osage was squatted beside a small swollen creek on the third day. He rose and waved Noble over to point out the deep water filled hoof tracks in the muddy ground.

“They are nearby.”

Noble nodded. “I hope so. We must nearly be in Texas.”

Spotted Horse shook his head. “Still plenty way.”

Noble didn't argue. Every muscle in his body ached, the cold rain was taking its toll on him. How Spotted Horse could stand the weather and long ride without wearing down, was beyond him. Perhaps he rested in the saddle.

By evening, signs of the herd were evident. Noble found enough resolve in the unraveling events to wash out some of his weariness. His senses sharpened as he stood in the saddle to stretch and view the gray sundown.

“Tonight, we will sneak up on their camp,” Spotted Horse said as they trotted their horses to be closer by darkness.

“I hope so.” Noble nodded as he rode stirrup to stirrup with the Osage. The thieves would pay dearly for stealing his stock.

Under cover of darkness, the pair slipped up on the rustler's campfire. No one built a fire like that, Noble realized, not if they were suspecting someone on their back trail. Chilled as he was, he shivered, envious of their bright fire.

Spotted Horse moved to his right. Noble waited until the Osage had time to be in place. He drew the Colt out slowly and stepped forward.

“Hands high!” Noble ordered.

The flash of a pistol shocked him. He ducked, firing two quick rounds in the direction of the gunfire. Had he hit the enemy? He couldn't be sure. Dammed rustlers were going to fight it out. He rolled on his belly, a sharp pain in his right leg. Damn, was he hit?