Noble's Way by Dusty Richards Read Free Book Online

think eagles are magic.”
    â€œMaybe they are, Luke,” she said, tousling his fair hair. “Where have you been?”
    â€œOh, at the Wichita camp. They have some new puppies.”
    â€œThat’s nice,” Fleta said, wondering if her son had watched the delivery of the canines.
    â€œMay I have one, mamma?”
    â€œWe better wait and ask Noble.”
    Luke agreed and rushed off. Fleta sighed. She’d have to make sure that Luke took a bath, especially if he had been handling Indian dogs.
    By the sixth day, her anxiety increased until she could hardly sit still. Fleta closed her eyes ... she started when Spotted Horse came in the front door. His brown face wore a grim expression, enough to cause her heart to quicken.
    â€œSomeone has traded whiskey to the Wichitas. They are starting to celebrate.
    â€œWho could have done that?” she asked, shaken by the news.
    â€œThe three men you shot at, I think,” he said.
    â€œSpotted Horse ... what will the Wichitas do?”
    The Osage shook his head. “They are friendly people. Maybe only dance.”
    Fleta thought for a moment, then she ordered, “Get Chief Tall Timber!”
    He looked down at the floor. “No. A chief would not listen to a woman. Barge and I will guard this place.”
    â€œSend your women and the children in here.”
    â€œThank you,” he said quietly. “No one will come here and bother you.” Spotted Horse nodded then hurried away.
    Fleta wanted to ask him several questions, but when he was gone, she did not want to go after him. She looked up when Luke came in the back door.
    â€œYou’ll have to stay in the house,” she said, her tone sharper than intended.
    â€œWhy?” Luke’s blank look angered her.
    â€œLuke, this is very serious. Believe me and do as I say. We have a problem on our hands.”
    â€œWhat kind of problem?”
    â€œI’ll explain later.” Fleta looked out the window. What could she tell her son? That a hundred Wichitas were going to be drunk and dangerous?
    By mid-afternoon, the celebration grew louder beyond the wall. One by one the Osage women and children came to the house. Fleta served them tea. They sat quietly on the floor sipping the beverage, seemingly undisturbed by the revelry outside. But Fleta noticed the women did not giggle.
    Beyond the stockade, drums grew louder and voices shriller. She could see her son’s frustration at his confinement.
    â€œWhat are they doing, Ma?” he asked plaintively.
    â€œCelebrating.”
    â€œMy friend Red Elk didn’t ask me to come and celebrate,” Luke complained.
    Fleta shook her head in exasperation. “He wasn’t allowed to. Theirs is a private celebration.”
    Fleta knew Luke was not satisfied by her answer, but fortunately he did not pressure her for any other information.
    Outside, the chanting and shouts grew in intensity. She imagined a massacre. All her life she had heard of Indians who got drunk and then went on a killing rampage. And it was worse when they were sold bad whiskey, for it made them almost insane. She trembled at the thought of wild Indians barging in with tomahawks and knives. The blood pounded in her temples and cold sweat broke out on her neck.
    Spotted Horse came in the front door. He took the Hawkins and the ammunition, then wordlessly exited again. The worried look on his granite face did nothing to reassure Fleta.
    The sharp report of gunshots caused her to jump. The sounds came from the direction of the camp. “Dear God, ” she whispered, “don’t let those wild people come in here. Oh, why did I ever leave Arkansas?” She looked at Luke seated on the pallet. Her mouth drawn in a tight line, she rose and went to search for a gun. Taking the pistol from the panniers, she walked to the rocker. If the Wichitas got past the Osages, at least she would have some protection.
    Outside, the laughter and screams grew