Duel at Low Hawk

by Charles G. West

  Doug Fannin gazed fondly at the carved nameplate that resided on the right-hand corner of his desk. JAMES DOUGLAS FANNIN it proclaimed. Given to him by his wife, Joyce, when he finished law school, it had never graced the desk of a practicing lawyer. Instead, Doug, as his friends called him, decided his fortune lay in the field of trade, and the new frontier. In the summer of 1865, he journeyed west until he reached the little settlement of Oswego in Kansas Territory. Seeing potential for the little town nestled in a crook of the Neosho River, he decided to plant his roots right there. Due to his shrewd business sense and a fair-dealing attitude, the trading post he established soon became a thriving store that did business with settlers and Indians alike. These were thoughts that occupied his mind on this spring morning in May, thoughts interrupted by a call from the front of the store.

  “Doug,” his wife called, “there’s a man outside that wants to talk trade with you.”

  That usually meant a man with no money, a poor farmer in hopes of trading worthless possessions for needed staples, or maybe an Indian hoping to acquire tools or utensils. At any rate, it was certain to be of no gain to Douglas Fannin and family, for Doug was a kind man and his trading often amounted to little more than charity. With a sigh of resignation, he got up from his chair and started toward the front of the store.

  Upon first glance at the customer awaiting him outside, Fannin sensed a feeling of caution. The man was a lean, rawboned individual, dark of complexion— Fannin guessed a half-breed—wearing a smirk of contempt. There was a young woman with him, a girl really, he decided on second glance. Riding two horses, they had two mules on a lead rope, packed with an odd lot of household items. When Fannin walked past his wife, he said, “Honey, go in the back room and tell Ed to come out here.”

  “Good afternoon to you, friend,” Fannin greeted the man cordially in spite of his initial assessment of him. “What can I do for you?”

  “I got some things I’m lookin’ to trade,” Boot replied as he sized Fannin up. Without taking his eyes off the merchant, he nodded toward the pack mules.

  “Looks like you brought a whole household on those mules,” Fannin said.

  “Yeah, it does, don’t it?” His tone was almost surly.

  Fannin was somewhat puzzled at the man’s attitude, considering he should be currying his favor. “What are you looking to trade for?” he asked.

  “I don’t know”—Boot shrugged—“a gun, some ammunition, some whiskey maybe.”

  “I don’t sell whiskey,” Fannin came back, “or guns either, but I do carry some cartridges and shotgun shells.”

  “Is that so?” Boot replied, not really caring. He had no plans to trade anything, anyway. “Well, I’ll just go inside and see what you’ve got. You can take a look through them packs to see if there’s anything you wanna swap for.”

  Fannin glanced up at Lilly, who was still seated on her horse. He was about to ask if she would like to dismount when Ed appeared in the doorway. “You send for me, Mr. Fannin?”

  “Yes, Ed, go on back inside and help this gentleman.” Ed Swadley was not endowed with an especially active brain, and Fannin didn’t expect him to help a customer with anything, since he was barely able to help himself. Fannin had given the simple man a job, another of his charitable acts. It primarily consisted of cleaning the store and outhouse. He had, in fact, sent for Ed simply because he didn’t want Joyce to be alone in the store with a man who looked capable of violence.

  Predictably, Ed responded with, “Help him do what?”

  “Nothing,” Fannin replied in exasperation. “Just go on back in the store while I look through these packs.”

  Confused, Swadley shrugged. Just then, Boot turned to go inside, coming face-to-face with Fannin’s bumbling employee. “Well, I’ll be danged,” Ed blurted. “Boot Stoner.”

  “Shut your mouth!” Boot hissed. “Do like he told you.” Both men were equally surprised. Boot looked back to see if Fannin had heard the exchange, but the storekeeper was already on the other side of one of the mules, giving no indication that he had.

  Stumbling along before Boot, Swadley asked, “When did you get out?” He almost tripped on the door sill as a result of the shove helping him along.

  Once inside, Boot looked quickly around to make sure no one else was in earshot. The store was empty except for the two of them, Joyce Fannin having gone into the office. When he was satisfied no one could hear, he lit into Swadley. “What the hell are you doin’ here?” Ed Swadley was perhaps the last person he had ever expected to encounter, especially in a settlement like Oswego. A petty thief and pickpocket, Swadley was known to him in prison, but not a man Boot would associate with, even there.

  “I work here,” Ed answered. “Mr. Fannin gimme a job.”

  “Is that so?” Boot growled. He was on the verge of threatening him to keep his mouth shut when it occurred to him that he might make use of the simpleminded man. Changing his tone, he said, “So you work here, do you? What does he pay you?”

  “Fifty cents a day,” Swadley replied.

  “Fifty cents a day,” Boot repeated. “How’d you like to go partners with me and make you some real money?”

  Ed’s eyes lit up at that. While in prison at Little Rock, he had never had the guts to approach Boot Stoner lest the fearsome half-breed slit his throat. “You mean I could ride with you?”

  “Yeah, you could ride with me,” Boot replied, making a halfhearted effort to hide his disgust for the half-wit. “All you gotta do is make sure that back door ain’t locked when he closes up tonight. You can do that can’tcha?”

  “I don’t know, Boot. He don’t let me lock up. He puts a padlock on both doors and carries the key on him.”

  “What about the windows?”

  “He locks ’em and latches the shutters.”

  Losing his patience, Boot growled, “Well, god-dammit, you oughta be able to sneak around behind him and unlock a window.”

  Ed thought about that for a moment before his eyes brightened and he answered, “Yeah, Boot, I bet I could do that.”

  “One of them in the back, away from the street,” Boot felt it necessary to say. Ed looked puzzled, but Boot didn’t have time to explain before Fannin walked in. “Don’t let on you know me,” Boot whispered. He received a large, exaggerated wink of the eye in reply.

  “Ed, you can go on back to cleaning up the storeroom now,” Fannin said as he came in. Directing his comments toward Boot then, he said, “Mister, I didn’t see a whole lot of things I could sell in your packs. Some pots and pans and some blankets and tools was about all I could use.”

  Boot cocked his head around to look directly at the storekeeper, a hint of a smile on his face. “Well, that’s all right. I didn’t see nothin’ in here I wanted, anyway.” He turned and left the store.

  “Well, wasn’t he the odd one?” Fannin commented to Ed, who was still standing there. He shook his head and sighed. “I’m just as glad he decided to leave. He had a mean look about him.” He smiled then, and added, “He didn’t have anything of value that I could see, anyhow, nothing but well-worn household goods.” He walked to the door then to take another look as Boot and Lilly slow-walked their horses down the dusty street. “Yes, sir, Ed, there’s some strange folks who pass through here.”

  “Yes, sir,” Ed replied, following with a foolish grin. “I’ll get to that storeroom now.”

  It was well past dark when Boot guided his horse up to the back of Douglas Fannin’s store, with Lilly following close behind. He had no sooner dismounted than a figure emerged from the shadows by the corner of the stockroom. “It’s me! Ed Swadley!” Ed blurted as Boot’s pistol was trained on him in a flash. Like a faithful dog, the simpleminded thief had been waiting for Boot’s return.

  “Well, you almost got your ass blowed away,” Boot returned crossly. Holstering the pistol, he told Lilly to get down off her horse. Turning back to Swadley, he asked, “Which one of them winders did you fix?”

  “Well, see,
” Ed began, “that’s just it, Boot. I didn’t get to unlatch any of ’em. I was goin’ to, but Mr. Fannin, he run me out before he locked up.”

  “Why you dumb . . .” Boot started. “Hell, then what good are you to me?” He considered putting a bullet into Ed’s skull right then, but he had further use for him. Disgusted, he pushed past the bewildered simpleton. Walking up to the back door, he tried it several times, even though the padlock was plainly visible. “There’s a choppin’ ax packed on one of them mules,” he said to Lilly. “You go fetch it while I take a look to see if there’s anybody around. He moved up the side of the store, keeping to the shadows, until he reached the front of the building. There was a saloon about seventy-five yards up the street, and the sound of piano music and boisterous voices drifted on the chill evening air. Other than that, the town was quiet.

  When he returned, walking back along the opposite side of the building, Lilly was waiting with the ax. Boot grabbed it and shoved it into Ed’s hand. “Chop me a hole through that door,” he ordered.

  Ed did as he was told. “Mr. Fannin ain’t gonna like this,” he said as he buried the blade deep in the door.

  “Whadda you care?” Boot smirked. “You’re ridin’ with me now.”

  “Yes, sir,” Ed said, remembering then, “I shore am!” With the enthusiasm generated by that thought, he set into the door with a vengeance.

  The door was stout, but it had to eventually yield to Ed’s determination, and finally, one last blow splintered the timber next to the hinges and the door sagged open. “There she is,” Ed panted triumphantly and pulled the broken door back on its lock.

  Boot entered the darkened storeroom. He took two steps inside and had to strike a match to see his way to the door that connected the room to the store. “Another damn locked door,” he complained. “But at least the hinges are on this side. Find me somethin’ to knock these hinge pins out with.”

  “Best keep to this side with that there match,” Ed said while he groped about for a tool on the workbench.

  Boot was about to ask why when he turned to hold the lit match toward the other side of the small room and discovered several cases of dynamite stacked against the wall. “Jesus!” he gasped, drawing the match back so quickly that it almost went out. “Damn you. Why didn’t you tell me there was dynamite in here?” When Ed was unable to come up with a reason, Boot grumbled, “Get that damn door off the hinges.”

  Once inside the store, Boot wasted little time in ransacking the shelves for anything that appealed to him. Hesitant about lighting a lamp, the three of them groped around the shelves, the two men gathering up ammunition, knives, and tobacco, and Lilly, at Boot’s direction, collecting what foodstuffs she could find. “Hell, that’s all I can pack on them mules,” Boot finally announced, and grabbed Ed by the sleeve. “Where’s he keep the money?”

  “There’s a drawer under the counter,” Ed replied reluctantly. He had hoped Boot would forget about the cash money, so he could take it when Boot’s back was turned.

  Boot picked up a crowbar from a shelf of various tools and made short work of the lock. Opening the drawer, he was disappointed to find no more than fifty-five dollars in currency. “Damn,” he swore. Looking at Ed, he demanded, “Is this all there is?” Remembering how Billy Sore Foot and Henry Dodge had bragged about the rich pickings waiting in Douglas Fannin’s store, Boot felt cheated. He had expected several hundred. Angry, he picked up a shovel and threw it across the room. “I know that son of a bitch has got more money than this,” he snarled.

  “Most of the time he takes it home and puts it in his safe,” Swadley volunteered.

  “Well, maybe we oughta go and pay him a visit,” Boot said while filling his pockets with the contents of the cash drawer. “Lilly,” he called, “finish up them packs.” Hearing voices, he stepped to the front window and peered through the shutters. The voices he had heard came from the last stragglers from the saloon down the road. He stood watching while a couple of men made their way unsteadily along the middle of the street. As they were opposite the front door of the store was the moment when Ed Swadley dropped a large glass container of peppermint sticks. The crash of glass on the plank floor was plainly heard by the two drunks, causing them to pause and stare at the store for a few moments before exchanging words that Boot could not make out, but could well guess. When they promptly turned around and scurried off down the road again, Boot swore, “Damn you, Swadley. You’ve give us away.”

  Thoughts of a safe filled with money at Fannin’s house had to be abandoned. There was no time now before who knew how many would come running to investigate the mysterious noises coming from the store. Boot was furious. His anger was directed at the clumsy Swadley, but also at Fannin for the simple reason that his plans had been thwarted. “Get in the saddle, Lilly,” he ordered. She immediately obeyed.

  “I’ll get my horse,” Swadley said, and started for the door.

  Falling in behind him, Boot said, “You ain’t gonna need no horse.” A second later, Ed exhaled forcefully as Boot’s knife plunged deep into his side. Too stunned to react to protect himself, he simply stood there while Boot’s other arm locked around his throat, holding him while he withdrew the knife and thrust it in again. Two times more the slender blade struck deep inside his body before Ed slid limply to the floor.

  “You dumb turd,” Boot growled contemptuously. “You cost me money.” He hurried to join Lilly out back, but when passing through the storeroom, he saw one last way to take out his anger against Fannin. Acting quickly, he hazarded another match. Busting the lid of a crate, he took out a stick of dynamite. Yanking the fuse from one of the other sticks, he tied it to the one in his hand, making a longer fuse. Hurrying back inside, he placed the dynamite in Swadley’s hand and lit the fuse. “Here’s your share of the goods, partner,” he snarled, and made a hasty retreat, pausing only to pick up a couple more sticks of dynamite. “These might come in handy,” he said.

  Outside, he ran for his horse. With one foot in the stirrup, he yelled, “Ride!” They galloped away into the darkness. In a matter of seconds, there was a sudden explosion, sending flaming timbers shooting up into the darkness, and the night sky lit up the tiny settlement behind them. Startled, Lilly’s horse skidded sideways, almost throwing her from the saddle. She grabbed the saddle horn and held on as her frightened mount charged after Boot, whose wild and eerie laughter, ringing out in the night air, would remain in her memory for quite some time after.

  It was a town still devastated that greeted John Ward two days later. Walking Cousin slowly up to the charred ruins of Douglas Fannin’s store, John could only assume that the wreckage was most likely associated with the man he trailed. There was a man standing in the middle of what apparently was once a store, pulling splintered timbers aside and poking under piles of debris. John stepped down from the buckskin.

  “If you were looking to buy supplies,” the man said, “I’m afraid you’re a little late.”

  “I expect I might be lookin’ for the man who did this,” John replied. “At least, that would be my guess.”

  “Who might you be?” Fannin asked.

  “John Ward.”

  Fannin dropped the smutty timber he was holding and walked out of the wreckage. “Are you a lawman?”

  “Yes, sir,” John said. “From Fort Smith.”

  “Fort Smith? Arkansas? Do you know you’re in Kansas Territory?”

  “I reckon,” John replied. “I’ve been trailin’ an outlaw from south of here in the Nations, a half-breed. His name’s Boot Stoner. Has a young girl with him. And I’m bettin’ this is some of his work.”

  “I wish to hell you had been here two days ago,” Fannin said.

  “Yes, friend, I wish I had, too.”

  “It was the man you’re after, all right,” Fannin continued. “Half-breed, had an Indian girl with him. Couldn’t have been anybody but him. He acted mighty strange. Said he wanted to trade. Then, after he looked around in the store, he said there
wasn’t anything he wanted, and left.” He wiped the smut from his hands with a bandanna. “It was him, all right. We thought at first he got blown up with the building. There were pieces of some poor soul scattered about the place. Turned out it wasn’t him, though. We found a belt buckle like one my hired man wore. It was driven halfway into a solid timber, and he hasn’t been seen since. His name was Ed Swadley. We buried as much of him as could be found. What I can’t figure out is how he happened to be in the store.” He shrugged and shook his head. “Maybe poor Ed stumbled on him robbing the place, and tried to stop him. I reckon I can build the store again,” he mused, now mostly to himself. “I was planning to tear it down sometime, anyway, and build a bigger one.” He paused a moment. “Why in God’s name did he blow the damn place up? Why didn’t he just take what he wanted and leave?”

  “Hard to say,” John said. “Seems he’s carryin’ a powerful hatred for just about the whole world.” Looping the buckskin’s reins over the hitching post, the only thing left standing after Boot’s departure, he started looking around the area for tracks that might tell him where the renegade had headed. Fannin resumed his search through the ruins of his store.

  It took some time and careful examination of the ground because of the multitude of tracks left by the town’s curious after the explosion, but he finally settled upon a trail left by two horses leaving the back of the store. They led off to the east, and were a day or two older than most of the other tracks. He returned to the hitching post and stepped up into the saddle. With a brief farewell to the disgruntled storekeeper, he rode out of Oswego. About a mile out of town, he came to a creek. Close to the bank, in a wide patch of switch-grass, he discovered multiple tracks and droppings that told him Boot had left the two mules there while he raided Fannin’s store. Certain now that he was on the proper trail, he nudged Cousin for a little increase in speed. Crossing the creek, he followed the tracks east toward Missouri.

  Chapter 8