Free Noble's Way by Dusty Richards Page A

this man,” the witness repeated.
    The colonel and his scouts came rushing in. The entire wagon train was in disarray. Noble dismounted and spoke to a few people in the edge of the crowd.
    The wagonmaster waded in while two of his hard eyed employees sat their horses. Noble felt their eyes size him up.
    Rupert emerged from the gathering. “He thought you had stolen his gray horse.”
    Noble shook his head. “I bought this one in Arkansas.”
    â€œWell, Gunter obviously thought you had stolen him.”
    â€œWhere was he from?” Noble asked.
    â€œMissouri, somewhere.”
    â€œI’m sorry, sir, for the trouble,” Noble apologized. “But he shot at me without warning and then attacked me with the rifle.” Noble felt queasy. Watson might have stolen him or even bought the horse from a thief. “I never stole this horse, Colonel,” Noble added with a direct look.
    â€œOh, I believe you. He just went mad when he saw that horse. times have been hard on people because of the war.”
    Noble agreed. The widow’s sobbing was burned his ears. “Tell her I’m sorry.”
    â€œI will,” the wagonmaster promised. He turned to the people. “Everyone, get to their wagons. There’s no more we can do here. Joe, Leonard, you take care of the body for Mrs. Gunter. We’re going on. Nothing more we can do.”
    Noble rode back to the fort, his thoughts blighted by the shooting. Even a flushed prairie chicken did not raise his spirits. He questioned himself ruthlesly. Had he shot too quickly? Why hadn’t he just driven the gray into the man? How could he know someone stole the gray? But the vision of the man’s blood seeping through his fingers and his desperate wife crawling toward him would not go away.
    Deeply depressed, Noble rode through the fort gate. He raised his eyes when Fleta came outside in a new dress that was as blue as her eyes.
    Noble’s heart began to hammer, then stilled to nearly a stop. She was leaving.
    â€œNoble, what’s wrong?” she asked, seeing the stricken look on his face.
    He dismounted with leaden boots, swept his hat off, and mopped the perspiration from his brow on his sleeve. “It’s been a bad day and I have a feeling it just got worse.” He issued a great sigh.
    â€œNoble ... I’ve decide to stay,” she said quietly, her eyes downcast.
    â€œWhat?” Noble jerked his head up and willed her to look at him.
    â€œAren’t you pleased?” she asked.
    â€œLord, yes!” He rushed forward and swept her into his arms. His mouth pressed against her hair and face, his strong arms crushed her to him.
    Fleta almost laughed at his reckless abandon. His guns were digging into her stomach and his passionate caresses were almost obscene. She was Fleta McCurtain, God forgive her. If He would.

Chapter Six
    In June, 1865, a new kind of train came out of the Indian Territory, one made of longhorn cattle as far as the eye could see.
    â€œWonder where those cattle are headed?” Noble asked Spotted Horse. The two men squatted on a gentle rise, watching the approaching longhorns.
    â€œPlenty of them,” Spotted Horse said.
    The two men rode out earlier that morning to meet the cattle drivers. Before he left, Noble called on the two Osage men he had come to rely on. Rivers and Barge, armed with rifles, listened to his instructions on guarding the fort.
    Noble had little reason to suspect problems. According to Spotted Horse, no other wagons were coming. The Osage chief spent most of his days searching for prospective customers or troublemakers—a job he took very seriously.
    Fortunately, since they did not sell whisky, few of the riff-raff type came by the store. Temperance was a new word to Noble, and it impressed and surprised his customers.
    A haze of dust lifted, churned up by thousands of hooves coming behind the giant lead steer with his jangling bell. Cowboys rode on