Noble's Way Read Online Free PDF

squint. But his companion used a narrow wood mask—notched for his nose—to cut down the snow’s blinding whiteness.
    â€œSmall herd,” Rivers said, pointing to some distant dots.
    â€œLet’s go slow. I’ve seen men shoot them at a distance and not have to charge in.” Noble dismounted, anxious to stretch the muscles in his legs. If they cold maneuver close enough to drop one of the buffalo and not scare the others away, his chances of killing a second one would be better. By this method, they could down several buffalo before the animals discovered they were being shot at.
    Working downwind and leading their mounts, they positioned themselves as close as Noble dared. Rivers held the gray’s reins while Noble laid the hexagon barrel across the seat of his saddle. His first shot crumpled a large bull. Both men grinned at each other, the herd never seemed to notice. Noble hastily reloaded. Carefully measuring the distance he took a bead on the closest animal, a young bull. The herd, oblivious to the first downed buffalo, continued to paw the snow for their grazing. The rifle cracked, but this time Noble’s target bawled in pain. Either he had shot too far back or the gun did not fire as well. The wounded bull staggered forward then sat down dog fashion. His protests spooked the others into a clumsy, snow-churning gallop.
    â€œGood hunter,” River said as the second buffalo toppled over in silence. “See plenty white men shoot all day never kill one buffalo.”
    â€œThey were sportsmen,” Noble tried to explain as he reloaded the .50 caliber rifle.
    â€œPlenty bad shots.” Rivers shook his head.
    â€œWell,” Noble said, sheathing the Hawkins in the saddle boot, “some day they’ll make better cartridge guns than those guys use, then I’ll buy one.” He wasn’t sure Rivers understood.
    They rode down to cut the buffaloes’ throats and bleed them. The Osage women and two of the men could come back the next day and slaughter them. There would be plenty of meat for the fort, Noble decided as he studied the scarlet snow where the steaming blood had pooled. Tonight, everyone could feast on the long purple slabs that Rivers extracted. Nothing would be wasted, even the animals’ small brains would be used to tan their wooly hides.
    The ride home was easy in the powdery snow. Flush from his successful hunt, Noble considered his new position in life with Fleta and the boy, plus a handful of Osages—a strange alliance. Yet, he began to feel confident they would make it through the winter.
    Noble schemed as he rode. He needed all the horses he could muster to make a ride to Fort Leavenworth for those supplies to sell next spring. He would need them when the migration began. A wagon would be too cumbersome to drive back during the winter, either getting stuck in thawing ruts or bucking drifts. No, he needed a pack string. He would speak to the Osage chief about using their mounts. Funny, he wasn’t sure if Spotted Horse was a chief; the Indians never mentioned it one way or the other. He just seemd to be their spokesman.
    That evening, still high from the hunting expedition, he lay on his back beside Fleta. He studied the shadowy underside of the shake roof that was illuminated by the fireplace’s flames.
    â€œI’m going to Fort Leavenworth next month,” he said quietly. “I’ll put us in a stock of supplies, so come next spring, we’ll be ready for the people moving west.”
    â€œWhat if the owners of this place come back?”
    â€œThey can go to hell. We’ve cleaned this mess up and we’re going to hold on to it.”
    Fleta looked at the hard, obstinate set of his jaw and smiled. She laid an arm across his chest. It would be impossible to convince him that this place was not his.
    The weather grew milder the following week. An entire tribe of Wichitas arrived at the fort on one of the clear