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Rivers and Barge must help me guard our place with that gun. It isn’t a buffalo gun, but it would stop the likes of those outlaws today.”
    Spotted Horse reached for the carbine and set it across his lap. “Plenty gawd damn good. No one will come here but friends. The Osage will guard this fort.”
    â€œWe need to go hunting tomorrow.”
    The Indian shook his head. “There will be more snow. Sleep and rest, then we go.”
    Perhaps he knew more about the weather than Noble did. He thanked the Indian and excused himself. Outside, he studied the star-studded sky and questioned the Indian’s forecast. Shaking his head, he went back into the small house.
    Fleta was washing her leg by the fire light. She instinctively drew her skirt down at his appearance.
    â€œWhat did Spotted Horse say?” she asked.
    â€œThe Osage will protect us. They will keep their word.” He paused. “There sure ain’t many Osage left.”
    She resumed her bathing. Why had he not stayed just a a little longer, so she could have finished. She studied him for a moment before proceeding with her bath. Noble did not seem to be paying any attention to her. He was looking at something on the wall.
    â€œWhy don’t the Osage have more children?” she asked curiously.
    He shrugged. “Diseases, I guess. Indians been dying of white man’s diseases for a long time.”
    â€œI guess you’re right. Oh, you can start your bath now.”
    A grin tilted his lips. “Are you hinting I smell like an Osage?”
    â€œWell ...”
    Noble pulled his shirt away and lowered his nose to it. He grimaced. “Guess I do at that.”
    They both laughed, then he followed her sharp look up at the sleeping boy in the loft and guiltily they became quieter.
    Fleta busied herself picking up clothing while he bathed. Tonight, they would commence their private life again. A small tinge of excitement coursed through her. The days on the trail had been long, tiring and suspenseful. Their affection had been limited to a hug or a quick kiss, but they were home at last.
    She took pains to carefully shave Noble’s chapped face, feeling a certain pleasure looking into his eyes. After she finished, she prepared their blankets on the floor.
    When Noble joined her, they rekindled their long suppressed passion. Afterwards, they lay exhausted in each other’s arms.
    Noble held Fleta securely by his side. Before his heavy lids fell shut, he remembered one last vision—the leering face of Izer Goodman, the squaw killer.
    The following morning, to Noble’s dismay, Spotted Horse’s forecast for more snow was accurate. He worried about their dwindling food supply, but the continuing snowfall and the cold spell that followed kept Noble close to the fort for five days.
    When the weather finally cleared and began to warm, Noble went to see Spotted Horse. “One man must go with me hunting. Two must stay and guard the fort.”
    â€œRivers can go. He is good man. Barge and I will protect this place,” Spotted Horse said.
    â€œGood, tell him we leave shortly.” He left the Indians and went back for his rifle and the provisions that Fleta had prepared.
    â€œNoble,” she said hesitantly, “don’t be gone longer than two days if you can help it.”
    He raised his hand and gently stroked her cheek. “As soon as we get a few buffalo, we’ll be back.”
    She pulled his wool coat together. “I know, I just worry about you.”
    Rivers joined Noble in the yard. The Indian was a short, powerful man, his face flatter and his eyes more almond shaped than the other Osages. He wore a turban around his head and a stiff buffalo coat hung to the tops of his high top boots.
    Noble sensed that the man spoke some English when he felt like it. As they mounted up, Noble wondered if Rivers would talk to him.
    Sun warmed the snow-blanketed prairie. The glare caused Noble to