Noble's Way

by Dusty Richards

  A jealous chord plucked at Noble. Custer might rule an army, but he needn’t think he would have any special privileges where Fleta was concerned.

  “The meal will be at seven,” Custer said.

  “All right.” Noble wasn’t sure that he wanted Fleta anywhere near the fancy commander. “I’ll have to ask my wife,” he added.

  “Certainly. I can promise you she will enjoy the musicians. And my cook is famous. Even under such primitive conditions as we have out here, he can create a culinary masterpiece.”

  “I’m sure my wife will be flattered,” Noble said stiffly. “I’ll ride ahead and warn her of the plans. You know how women can be about surprises.”

  “Of course. Send the fair lady my compliments, and I’ll look for both of you around seven.”

  “Yes.” Noble started to turn the gray away.

  “McCurtain?” Custer stopped him. “You are seriously considering joining the Seventh on this campaign, aren’t you?”

  Noble pursed his lips. He owed the man for the great horse. A week of his own time would be payment enough for the stallion. “Yes, I’m considering it.”

  “Good.” Custer smiled, a small polite courtesy he could now afford once he had gotten his way.

  Back at the store, Noble followed Fleta toward the new addition to the house. “I’m not sure I want you to attend this fancy dinner.”

  “You said you wanted both of us to go.” She turned and looked at him in puzzlement. “What’s wrong?”

  Noble shrugged. “I don’t trust the man,” he said flatly.

  “You what?” Fleta had a hard time hiding a smile at Noble’s aggressive tone.

  “You heard me. He’s a powerful man.”

  “Noble, what are you talking about?”

  “I think the son-of-a-bitch could sweep any woman he wanted off her feet.”

  Fleta laughed softly, amused by the petulant expression on his face. “Why, Noble McCurtain, are you jealous?”

  He shifted his weight from his toes to his heels. “I don’t want him stealing you.”

  Fleta was deeply moved by his confession. “Oh, Noble, no one is going to steal me.” She took his arm and pulled him toward the kitchen. “Just let the colonel try. He won’t impress me that much.”

  “Fleta, I’d ...”

  “Noble,” she looked up at him sternly. “Promise me you won’t behave aggressively.”

  “All right, all right. But that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

  “Remember,” she warned him. “Custer can turn the settlers north where ever he wants to. We have to keep on his good side. We just have to show a little diplomacy and tact.”

  Noble’s brows raised and he smiled at his wife. “I’ll try,” he promised.

  But a little later, when Fleta turned before him in her new tan dress, he wasn’t so sure he was going to be able to keep his word. She was as pretty as any fancy woman he had ever seen. Her auburn hair was curled into shiny ringlets and her dress molded her supple breasts and slender hips. He ran his finger around his stiff celluloid collar and scowled. How was any man supposed to keep his hands off Fleta when she looked so enticing?

  When Fleta finally met Colonel Custer, she was impressed with his worldly manner and stylish dress. He greeted her with great charm, kissing the back of her hand while Noble glowered at him. During the excellent meal of prairie chicken in wine sauce, Custer rose twice to toast her beauty. The crystal glasses clinked together musically. Fleta kept her eyes lowered to the long, lavishly spread table. The starched white linen and delicate china plates brought a thrill of delight to her. More so than did the womanizing Custer. She sipped the red wine, sending Noble a smile of assurance. The smile stayed on her lips as she wondered how Custer’s staff managed to crate around the fragile dishes without breaking them.

  The soft notes from the musicians’ violins were almost hypnotizing. She closed her eyes and grasped Noble’s hand under the table, giving it a gentle squeeze. Immediately she felt him relax.

  “Mrs. McCurtain, do you enjoy prairie life?” Custer asked as the meal continued.

  Fleta looked at him frankly. “Oh yes, I do. We have a good business here.”

  “Oh, yes?” Custer sounded slightly disapproving. “You manage the store, I understand.”

  “Yes.” Fleta added a smile to soften the brief answer.

  Custer clicked his tongue and leaned back in his chair, studying the contents of his wine glass. “Women on the frontier seem to take on many new roles. Roles of independence, I would say.”

  “Perhaps,” Fleta murmured. “Is that such a bad thing, Colonel?” she dared to ask.

  Custer laughed a low rumble, “Touche. Do I detect a drawl in your voice, Madam?”

  With difficulty, she kept the smile on her face and gave Noble another reassuring squeeze from her hand. What was Custer getting at? she wondered. “Yes, I’m from northern Arkansas. I met Noble there.”

  “You have a son, I believe?”

  Fighting the urge to tell the arrogant man it was none of his business, Fleta dabbed the linen napkin at her mouth and gave him a direct look. “Yes, by a previous marriage,”

  “Ah, you’re a war widow?” he probed.

  “Yes.” Out of the corner of her eye, Fleta noted Noble’s impatient movement.

  “I’m sorry about you loss, Madam. Which side was he on?” Custer asked.

  “The South,” Fleta answered, cursing the shaky note in her voice. What was the man trying to prove? He was deliberately intimidating with his softly spoken probes.

  “Yes, there were far too many men lost on both sides. McCurtain, you seem to have lost your drawl.”

  Fleta forced a laugh. “Unless he’s contracted mine, he wouldn’t have one. Noble’s from Illinois.”

  “Ah.” Custer lifted his hands and smiled benignly. “Strange things happen during war times. It seems to bring people from afar together. Fortunately for you, Mr. McCurtain,” he added with a charming smile.

  “Yes.” Noble said briefly, his eyes narrowed in growing aggression.

  “Colonel, you must raise a lot of good horses like the gray that you so generously gave to my husband,” Fleta said, hoping to redirect the conversation.

  Custer did not immediately rise to the bait. “Yes,” he said slowly, taking his eyes from Noble’s face. “I keep an eye out for good ones. Being in the military, I naturally have a talent for choosing the right kind of remounts,” he said with a trace of smugness.

  “How interesting.” Fleta batted her lashes at him, hoping to keep his thoughts off her personal life and Noble’s military service. “I suppose someday you’ll raise them on your own?”

  “Oh, perhaps some day I will. I love the military, serving my fellow man, and developing the country out here. I offer my leadership to the cause.”

  “Oh,” Fleta breathed with a forced sigh of admiration. Inside she was wrinkling her nose with distaste at the pompous statement. But if he wanted to brag about himself, that was better than probing at Noble’s service record or the lack of one.

  “Would you dance with me, Mrs. McCurtain?” Custer asked and rose. “I see you are not eating.”

  “I-I’m not sure.” She looked at Noble for guidance.

  “McCurtain, may I dance with your lovely wife?” Custer asked with the tone of a man who is unaccustomed to be denied.

  “If she wishes to.” Noble swirled the wine in his glass, refusing to meet Fleta’s imploring gaze.

  Fleta was upset with his reply. Then she realized Noble was simply doing as she had requested. If he had told the colonel no, what might that have led to? It was only one dance, after all. Before she could ask Noble if he really minded, Rourke, on Noble’s right began a serious conversation with him.

  Fleta put down her napkin and rose uncertainly as Custer offered to take her chair. “I doubt that I will be anything but clumsy, Colonel. It has been a long time since I’ve danced.”

  “Oh, I sincerely doubt you could ever by anythin
g but graceful, Mrs. McCurtain.” He held out his hand and led her to a small wooden platform on the other side of the tent.

  The man thought of everything, she mused with grudging admiration. His hand on her waist was firm and strong as he led her to the dance floor.

  She was propelled around in a box waltz that she vaguely recalled dancing years before. Custer was so completely in command she began to doubt her power to hold him at bay. Her feet followed his smoothly; she felt a smile tug at her mouth, and wondered if half a glass of wine had intoxicated her more than she realized. George Armstrong Custer was all that Noble had suspected and more.

  From the corner of her eye, Fleta noted Custer’s staff had Noble fully occupied. Custer’s plan was so obvious she felt a twinge of amusement.

  “Shall we step outside? It’ll be cooler out of this tent,” Custer murmured softly.

  “All right,” Fleta agreed, with a seed of curiosity as to what Custer might try next.

  A cool breeze floated across the prairie, disturbing the wispy tendrils of Fleta’s hair. She lifted her face and stared up at the stars.

  “Your husband seemed reluctant to allow you out of his sight,” Custer said with a superior smile in his voice.

  A sigh of resentment escaped Fleta. She was beginning to grow weary of Custer’s pompous attitude. “Colonel, I think my husband feels he owes you for the horse.”

  In the light from the tent, she could see a scowl of irritation flash across the man’s face. “Forget about the horse. I need McCurtain to convince Congress how important my work here is.”

  “I see.” And Fleta was beginning to see just what the man was angling after. He obviously wanted her to persuade Noble to put in a good report about the Seventh Cavalry. She looked at the colonel wordlessly, wondering just how far he would exercise his great charm in order to get her on his side.

  “The military needs more funds,” he continued, “in order to bring peace to the region. We must have sufficient backing in order to do our job properly.” He cupped her elbow with his hand and steered her away from the tent.

  “Aren’t the stars magnificent out here?” he asked, drawing in a deep breath.

  “Kansas certainly has its share,” she agreed.

  Custer dropped his hand from her elbow and stood looking down at her averted face. “You seem very confident, Mrs. McCurtain. May I call you Fleta?”

  She looked at her hands in the starlight. “I don’t think that would be very wise, Colonel.”

  “Pity. You are obviously accustomed to dealing with men,” he said.

  “I suppose that comes from working in the store. In the past few years, I’ve become comfortable talking to men. As long as they respect me,” she added pointedly.

  “But of course. We could not help but respect and greatly admire such beauty as yours,” he said smoothly. “I must say that I didn’t expect such charm and strength from a woman living in such an isolated area.”

  Fleta laughed softly. “You thought such a woman would swoon at your feet because of your beautiful manners, your delicious dinner, and romantic music?”

  Custer laughed aloud. “You remind me very much of my Libby.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I can see that you have my measure, dear lady. Perhaps we feel a kinship?”

  Fleta looked at him blankly. When he put both of his hands on her arms and gently tugged her closer, she stared at him aghast.

  “May I kiss you?”

  She looked up at him levelly. “No, I don’t think that would be wise either, Colonel. You did say you wanted my husband’s support?”

  His hands fell away and his head reared back slightly as if in deep surprise.

  “Colonel, I think we should return to the tent. No doubt, by now my husband has heard all of Captain Rourke’s stories.”

  “Very well, Mrs. McCurtain,” he said stiffly.

  Fleta picked up her skirt slightly and turned back toward the camp. “Oh, I think you can make it Fleta now, Colonel.”

  A small laugh of grudging admiration left Custer’s mouth. “Fleta. Charming name for a shrewd, charming woman.”

  “Touche,” Fleta said with a soft laugh as they reached the tent opening.

  Fleta and Noble were silent on the way home. When they reached the store, Noble was uncertain whether to ask her what had transpired between her and the great commander. As she undressed, he watched her through narrow eyes, jealousy gnawing at his insides.

  “Just what went on when Custer waltzed you outside?”

  Fleta stifled a sigh. She knew Noble would question her about their absence, but truthfully, she was tired and just a little sick of hearing about the great Colonel Custer. “Nothing happened, Noble,” she said wearily.

  “You must have enjoyed it.”

  “Oh, must I?” she retorted.

  “Don’t be coy.”

  She sat on the bed, letting her hairbrush fall to the floor. “I am not being coy. I was wined, dined, and danced by a man whom I suspect could someday be the President of the United States.”

  “Oh?”, Noble tucked his thumbs in his belt loop and stared down at the top of her shiny head.

  “Yes and that was all. Noble McCurtain, nothing happened.” She glared up at him, wondering if they were going to have their very first fight over some arrogant womanizer. “Colonel Custer is far too vain a person to interest me. Now are you coming to bed with me or do you wish to stay up all night, worrying about something that never happened?”

  A slow grin spread over his mouth. He leaned forward and kissed her firmly. “I’m still glad that he’s leaving at dawn.”

  “Oh! Are you going with him?”

  “Yes, I gave my word, Fleta.”

  She closed her eyes, knowing that nothing she could say would dissuade him. To Noble, his word was everything. “Well, let’s not spend your last night arguing. Come to bed,” she said softly.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  The Seventh Cavalry moved out at dawn. Noble was not long in their company when he began to see that Custer was a stern taskmaster. Judging by the way he pushed his men and their mounts, the great leader would stop at nothing in order to accomplish his mission. Noble listened to the reports that the scouts brought back concerning the Indians camp at Cottonwood Forks. The army continued to push westward, stopping only for a brief cold meal.

  Rourke explained the reason for the cold meals. “Fire smoke is a dead giveaway. Our dust is bad enough. We can only hope they think we’re buffalo herds moving.”

  Seasoned, tough veterans, who muttered only an occasional complaint, made up the Seventh. Hard voiced non-coms shouted commands. Noble decided he had missed little in not having military experience.

  Noble watched a trooper carry his government saddle, bedroll, and gear toward an ambulance. Defeat etched the man’s face, for he no longer could ride with his fellow troopers. He was doomed to ride a wagon. Horse care seemed the worry of every man. They lost several animals in the forced march.

  Grateful for the powerful gray, Noble saw no signs of him tiring.

  “Well?” Custer asked, riding up beside him, “What do you think of the Seventh now?”

  “They are certainly well-trained veterans.”

  “Yes, they are. With enough appropriations, we can end all hostilities from here to Canada in two years.”

  “I imagine you could.”

  “My scouts tell me if we continue to ride all night, by dawn we can be within striking distance of our enemies.”

  Noble nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He knew what the colonel meant. If they rode a bunch more horses in the ground, they’d be there at sunrise. It was a damned shame to ride good horses to death, but he knew the colonel wouldn’t appreciate him saying so.

  “Do you approve?”

  “I don’t know anything about Indian warfare,” Noble said tactfully.

  “You are quite honest, McCurtain, for a civilian.”

  “Thanks,” Noble said dryly. “Don’t w
orry about the gray and me. We’ll make it there.”

  The colonel turned to study the line of troops coming behind them. “Were you ever a soldier?”

  Well, the question was out. Noble was tired of side stepping the issue. He looked at the man frankly. “No.”

  Custer turned and gazed at him with an almost pitying smile. “Well, come dawn you’ll see the Seventh in action.” He slapped his leg in anticipation. “By damn, I think you’ll be impressed.”

  “I’m sure I will, Colonel.” Noble was glad when the commander left. The man now knew that he had never fought in the war; he probably suspected it all along. But what difference did it make? All Custer needed, Noble reminded himself sourly, was a good report from a prominent citizen. He rubbed his stubbled jaw, wondering why Custer did not have a newsman along on the trip. A man like him should have as many as two or three reporters, taking notes of his heroic actions. Why, Rourke sometimes even brought reporters with him on a patrol. Custer was up to something, and somehow Noble felt that he was part of the plot.

  The push through the night wearied Noble and the stallion. Short breaks and tepid chalky water did little to revive them. His eyes burned from lack of sleep. Even the stallion seemed listless as he plodded along.

  A fresh night wind bathed Noble’s face as Rourke drew to his side.

  “You are to wait here,” Rourke said. “The colonel has given orders to hold our fire unless shot at. He is giving the enemy a chance to surrender.”

  Noble nodded. He listened to muffled sounds of troopers, punctuated with an occasional horse snort. He didn’t have the slightest doubt that a precision military lineup was taking place in the darkness.

  Dawn was about to shatter the night. Rourke had ridden off to join his outfit. Noble could see the long double line of cavalry stretched out. Below them, he could see the forks of two streams and the outline of some spindly cottonwoods. The peaks of several tepees seemed far away, yet Noble knew they weren’t more than one-third of a mile from the troopers.

  He heard the distant yap of Indian dogs, shattered by the bugler’s blast. In front, there was a sword-wielding officer, then the entire wave moved forward at a gallop. Considering their horses’ tired condition, Noble was amazed. Custer’s reserves stood still as the first troop swept down the slope. The bugle’s ‘Charge’ sounded across the land.