Free Noble's Way by Dusty Richards Page B

either side of the trail-broken cattle. Amidst bawling, dust and shouts, the line of longhorns snaked north.
    Two wagons with sun-cured yellow tops paralleled the stream. A separate large herd of saddle stock was being driven behind the wagons.
    Noble set the gray toward a man shouting directions.
    Politely, he and Spotted Horse stopped short and waited for the man to ride over to them.
    â€œHowdy,” the tall man greeted them. His tanned face held a down-to-earth honesty which Noble respected.
    â€œHowdy, I’m Noble McCurtain and this is Spotted Horse. We have a trading post about a day’s drive north of here.”
    â€œAm I about out of Indian Territory?”
    â€œYes, you’re probably in Kansas now.” Noble smiled at the man’s heartfelt sigh of relief.
    â€œWell, thank God for that. I’m Toby Evans from Fort Worth, Texas.” He extended a calloused hand for them to shake. “Glad to meet you two. I’m sorry, Spotted Horse, but I’ve paid more tributes to Indians than I ever knew existed. We’re headed for Independence, Missouri. Can I make it, you reckon?”
    â€œCertainly, but it’ll take you a month,” Noble informed him.
    â€œHell, I ain’t got nothing but time. Steers are worth ten cents in Texas.”
    â€œA pound?” Noble asked.
    â€œGawd, no! A head.”
    Noble did a quick calculation. “Do you own all of these cattle?”
    Evans shook his head. “If I had that much money, I’d never have made this drive in the first place.”
    â€œAt the price of beef in Independence, I figure you’ll make another drive,” Noble said wryly.
    The man’s eyes lit up with anticipation. “Really?” He pounded his large saddle, his sun-squinted eyes surveying the cattle. Noble knew what the man was thinking about. Money. In his high crown hat, gun low on his slim hips, Toby Evans was about to become a man of means.
    â€œMcCurtain?” Toby asked, stretching his shoulders back. “I have a bunch of tail enders, road sore ones, heifers heavy with calves. Odds and ends. You wouldn’t be interested in swapping them for supplies, would you?”
    â€œHow much for them?” Noble asked. He tried to appear indifferent.
    â€œThey ain’t worth much to me,” Evans said. “Say, fifty-cents a head.”
    Noble knew his answer before the man had even spoken. Big steers could be broken and used to replace the oxen. Broken to a yoke, they would be worth forty or fifty dollars a team. Cows would beget more. While the steers were still sore footed from the long drive, he could easily break them. “All right, Evans. You got a deal,” he said with a grin. He reached out and shook hands with the man, sealing their bargain.
    â€œGood enough, McCurtain. We’ll need supplies. Flour and beans, a few other essentials.”
    â€œYou keep going north.” Noble pointed. “You can’t miss our place.”
    The men parted. Noble and Spotted Horse headed back to the fort. He was sure the Osage would not be as pleased as he was about the purchase of the cattle. The bucks considered oxen rather dull and stupid, but they would help him break them.
    Noble was busy considering his new venture when Spotted Horse broke his concentration.
    â€œNow you need a son.”
    He almost reined in the gray. A picture of his freighting days came vividly to mind at the Indian’s words. He’d been sick and thought he might be dying. His affliction was called mumps. Out of his head with fever, his swollen throat was nearly shut. His testicles were so enlarged that every time the wagon swayed, he felt them torn apart. Noble fought the germ for days by working until he collapsed beside the team. His boss, Ben Rutherford, and a couple other men carried him to a pallet in the wagon, where an army doctor examined him. The physician shook his head, saying, “You’re fever’s breaking. The