Noble's Way

by Dusty Richards

  “No.” The Cherokee shook his head.

  “He works for me and sent word that Goodman was there.”

  “Maybe. It’s a big place, but the white man’s law is looking for him.”

  “Thanks,” Noble said, anxious to be on their way.

  “Well. What do you think now?” Sudan asked as they rode to the ferry.

  “Let’s find Rivers. Izer may be right under the nose of the law.” Noble shook his head ruefully, this time they would locate the outlaw. He would not return home without satisfaction.

  As they waited for the ferry on the sandy roadway, Noble decided they would get a hotel room. “Sudan, we’ll check in a hotel—”

  “That sir, is Arkansas. You get a hotel room and I’ll stay with the horses.”

  Noble frowned at him in puzzlement.

  “I know. I been in this land before.”

  Noble nodded. Sudan had his mind made up, nothing he could say to change it. From beneath his wide brimmed hat, Noble viewed the array of two and three story buildings that made the town look as large as Independence.

  They joined two wagons on the ferry for the trip across the Arkansas. Dismounted during the crossing, they each held two of the horses in case they panicked.

  “There’s a whole street of saloons,” Sudan said. “We can look for Rivers there. They have whiskey, women and gambling.”

  “Be a good place to start,” Noble agreed, studying a large bank of afternoon thunderheads forming over the mountains to the north. An eerie foreboding swept him with the cooling winds off the growing storm.

  The ferry bumped into the dock. The chugging steam engine forced them to hold the excited horses tighter as the muddy water slapped the sides of the boat.

  A train whistle pierced the air, smoke belched from its stack. A paddle boat’s shrill whistle added to the bustling city’s noise. Even on the rampway, the horses were still excited by all the sights and sounds around them.

  Whiskey Row lay ahead. Traffic including drays, wagons, riders on horseback, even some bicycles, surged in all directions. In mid-afternoon, the barkers worked the passersby on the sidewalk, extolling the virtues or sins available at their respective establishments.

  Noble rode up behind a parked wagon to speak to one of the men loafing on the sidewalk. “I’m looking for someone,” he said, leaning over in the saddle.

  “Who?”

  “Name’s Izer Goodman.”

  The man looked at the fellow beside him; they both shook their heads blankly. “We don’t know him.”

  “Thanks,” Noble said and reined the bay out in the traffic. He signaled for Sudan to follow with the pack horses.

  A woman’s loud laughter, followed by a grumble of thunder in the approaching storm, rolled over the sounds in the street.

  “Noble!” someone shouted. Both men turned and watched an Indian they barely recognized come across the street, dodging conveyances. Dressed in ragged clothes, Rivers hurried toward them.

  “It’s Rivers!” Sudan shouted.

  Noble nodded, already dismounted. “Are you all right?”

  “Plenty good, now you come.” The Osage’s brown eyes glowed with relief at the sight of his friends.

  “Move them damn horses!” a teamster cursed. “This ain’t the damn Injun Territory!”

  Noble waved Sudan on. He didn’t want trouble here. When the freighter passed, Noble gave him a cutting glance before he turned back to Rivers.

  “Where is he?”

  “Izer is upstairs in a place called Fanny’s. He just came back.” The Osage pointed to the second story brick building in front of them.

  “Is he alone?” Noble asked grimly.

  “No. Izer sneaks in to see his woman,” River shouted above the wind.

  Noble wondered how to get upstairs. A sharp gust swept Noble’s hat from his head and thunder rumbled directly over them. He quickly recovered and restored it on his head.

  Sudan joined them, obviously he had hitched the horses around the corner for Noble could not see them.

  “Are there back stairs?” Noble asked.

  “Yes,” Rivers said.

  “Sudan, you cover the back way out. Rivers, where is he at in the building?”

  “Back row, that side,” he pointed west. “I have seen him from the roof over there.”

  Noble studied at the tall brick building; the Osage had been done his job well. “Does he have any of his gang here?”

  “No, bunch of breeds stay across the river.”

  “I can’t understand why some law doesn’t arrest him.”

  “Don’t know him.” Rivers shrugged. “No beard, short hair, no buckskins.”

  They didn’t know the outlaw on sight. Noble nodded in agreement. He didn’t have to tell Sudan a thing. The black man and Rivers moved to go around to the alley. Noble’s attention was riveted on the second floor. People were hurrying inside as the rain began in earnest. He never noticed the weather as he elbowed his way through the crowd.

  Inside the sour smelling, smoke filled barroom, he spied the staircase and started up them.

  “Hey, you got business up there?” a bartender challenged him.

  Noble swept his coat back exposing his gun holster. “Yes.”

  The man taken aback, merely nodded. A hush fell over the crowd, the tinkle of glasses faded. Outside the wind and rain rushed around with the roar of a lion. Noble’s foot steps caused the stairs to creak in protest.

  At the head of the stairs, a young woman, wearing a filmy gauze gown, met him. Her smile faded as she noted the hard look on his face and his right hand on the butt of the Colt. He swept her aside and drew the pistol.

  “I want Izer Goodman,” he said coldly.

  “He ain’t here,” she lied openly as if to challenge him for rejecting her.

  Noble looked down the long hallway to the last side door. “Get downstairs. Now!”

  Outside the forces of the storm grew more intense. The gale forces tore at the building. A window shattered below. In one of the rooms, a woman screamed. She stumbled out directly in Noble’s path.

  “Get out of the way!” he said harshly. She blinked at his gun hand and rushed away.

  Other ladies came rushing out of their rooms, frightened by the violent weather battering the building.

  “It’s going to blow us away,” one woman screamed, trying to pull on a duster as she fled by him. “There’s a tornado in this!”

  Finally Noble stood alone a few steps from the last door on the right. Voices from the room grew louder. Outside, something crashed against the building causing the structure to tremble. Noble tried to imagine the damage, then he drew a deep breath and cocked the hammer back on the .44.

  Lifting his foot, he aimed a well placed kick directly at the brass knob, and burst open the door.

  Izer Goodman stood on the far side of the bed. His galluses were down, exposing his gray underwear. His cold beady eyes went from Noble to the gun on the dresser. Then he made a try for the weapon.

  Noble aimed and fired. Gunsmoke filled the room in a fog, nealy obscuring Izer from his vision. The woman on the bed screamed louder than the storm outside.

  Izer made a second attempt to reach the pistol. Slower this time. Blood soaked the left side of his underwear where the first slug found its mark. Noble’s next bullet smashed Izer’s left eye and the outlaw slipped on the floor.

  Noble lowered the smoking gun barrel. It was over. Izer Goodman could not hurt anyone ever again.

  Noble backed into the hall and holstered the gun. Still numb, he tried to sort out his thoughts. He opened the back door and faced the full force of rain and wind as he stepped out. Sudan waved to him from the base of the steps.

  Noble cast a last glance back at the open door. Yes, Izer was dead. He hurried down the stairs and took the canvas coat from the black man’s outstretched arm.

  “Izer Goodman will not trouble anyone anymore,” Noble said and mounted the bay. “Let’s go home.” Both men nodded at
him. As he rode out of the alley, Noble fought the urge to look back one more time. It was over, he kept reminding himself.

  The ferrymen grumbled about the storm, pointing to the rough water in the inky river. Noble felt little patience with the man.

  “It’s worth a twenty dollar gold piece,” Noble said.

  “Well, in that case ...”

  The engine chugged as they left the dock. Noble and his two companions held the horses close as the lights of Fort Smith faded in the abating rain.

  Noble knew Fleta was waiting for him. The beautiful woman from Arkansas who became his wife. The cold spray of rain reminded him of their first snow together with the Osage. He closed his eyes—and pictured all them waiting for him in Kansas: Fleta McCurtain, Luke, and the Great Western Company.