Noble's Way by Dusty Richards Page A

wide band devoid of vegetation would save the fort. Yes, he definitely needed a plow.
    March came with warm south winds, but winter returned intermittently to the plains with hard frosts and light snow. The Wichitas were sober and ready to move back south to the Indian Territory. They packed up camp, but before they left, Chief Tall Timber rode inside the fort to speak to Noble. His horse was gaudy with painted symbols and feathers braided in his mane.
    â€œYou are a good man, Noble McCurtain. We will return if the ‘blue pants’ will let us come. No white man has treated us so well.
    â€œThe whiskey was very bad. If we find this man, Izer Goodman, we will send him to his gods. No-Eyes wants to kill him slowly for his woman burned his lodge while he was gone and No-Eyes cannot forget sleeping all winter under a buffalo robe.”
    â€œCome again, Chief,” Noble said. “The Wichitas are welcome in my camp.” He watched the man turn and ride out the gate.
    â€œGood thing they’re leaving,” Fleta said softly from behind him.
    â€œWhy is that, Mrs. McCurtain?” Noble asked, turning and putting his hands on her hips.
    â€œBecause I’m nearly out of cigars.” She and Noble both laughed.
    During the next days, Noble busied himself repairing the stables with the posts they had dragged back. Spotted Horse seemed uneasy and made frequent trips on horseback out of the fort. Noble wondered what the Osage was looking for, but decided the man would tell him when he was ready.
    One afternoon in early April, Spotted Horse rode up to where Noble and Rivers were working. He slipped to the ground and announced, “The main herd is coming.”
    â€œMain herd?” Noble echoed with a frown.
    â€œThe buffalo returns.”
    â€œIs that important?” Noble asked, tilting back his hat so he could see the man better.
    â€œA long time ago, a medicine man said, when the buffalo no longer returns, the Osage will be gone.”
    â€œSo that’s what had you worried. You were afraid they weren’t coming back?”
    Spotted Horse nodded. “So few Osage now. When we are gone, who will hunt the buffalo?”
    â€œProbably white men,” Noble said.
    â€œThen everyone will have a day. Next, the white man will come more than the buffalo.”
    â€œI reckon so,” Noble said soberly. He considered the Osage, he looked like a man who wanted to surrender but there was no one to accept him.
    Streams of wagons came by in late April. Folks were bubbling with the news. “War’s about over! They got Lee hemmed in the Wilderness. It’ll all be over in a few days.”
    Wagons meant commerce. Folks forgot necessities, things they needed or coveted. The Osage sold their tanned buffalo hides to be used for leather repairs. Noble recalled one man’s jubilation as he told them about where he was going. “Jefferson Territory is the place to go. Richer than a yard up a bull’s ass. Land’s so rich, pumpkins grow to wagon size. You better leave this wind blessed prairie and go along with us.”
    Noble suppressed his amusement. He had seen that country at the base of the Rocky Mountains when he was freighting. Folks had said that same thing in Illinois about Missouri, chasing riches they just couldn’t grasp. But Noble was not about to burst their dreams. His steadily declining store stock and rising profits pleased him more than any big pumpkin, even a wagon sized one.
    â€œI’m going to send Rivers to Independence with an order for more supplies. Patterson’s can send a freighter down with it.”
    â€œGood idea,” Fleta smiled as she looked up from her bookkeeping. “But will he go?”
    â€œHe may ride a horse in the ground to get there, then not stay a minute longer than he has to. But I think he’ll carry an order up there for me.”
    Noble was not surprised at the shortness of the Osage’s round trip.