Duel at Low Hawk

by Charles G. West

  Flushed with the excitement of reaching the hole, she pushed her body up high enough to clear it with her head. A new sense of panic struck her. The hole was not big enough to get her shoulders through! Immediately, the blood in her veins turned to ice when it seemed apparent that she was doomed to die in the tomblike chamber. Just managing to hold her body against the wall of the cave with one hand and her feet wedged in the tiny footholds was almost more than she could do. But knowing that she could not remain in this position forever, she tried to enlarge the opening with the one free hand she could risk. The edges of the hole were solid rock, and she remembered then that Burley had explained that the flat ceiling of his cave was a rock slab.

  Feeling her self-control slipping away, she looked down at the tiny glow of the fire some twenty feet below her. She had a sudden impulse to simply let go. Then she fought back against the feeling of doom, telling herself that she would not die in this cave. With a new determination, she crouched low enough to pull her head back down. Then she extended her free hand up through the hole, and with her chin tucked tightly against her breast, thrust upward with her legs as hard as she could. Her body was wedged into the narrow opening, seemingly stuck. Though awkward and painful, she laboriously forced her foot up to the next foothold, jamming her body even tighter in the unforgiving passage. Once again she strained against the opening, her shoulder throbbing with pain and threatening to break. Trying with all her might to extend her trailing shoulder in an effort to make her body smaller, she pushed and pushed until she feared her rib cage was going to cave in. It was no use. She could not make herself any smaller. Now, effectively stuck, unable to go up or down, she feared this was going to be the place of her death. Resigned to her inevitable ending, she felt her pounding heart slowly settle into a normal rhythm, and she exhaled in a great sigh of surrender. As soon as she did, she felt her body slip a fraction of an inch. Reacting instantly, she pushed up with her legs, mustering all the strength she could, and suddenly her hand grasped a limb. She remembered then that Burley had dragged a couple of logs over on each side of the opening. With a good firm hold on the limb, she pulled herself up until she felt the skin being scraped from her trailing arm as her shoulder moved upward. Suddenly her shoulder was free and she pulled her arm up until it was out of the opening, and she was now free from the waist up. Her heart pounding again, this time from joyous excitement, she placed her hands on both sides of the hole and drew her lower body up. When at last she swung her feet over the top of the hole, she pulled her possessions up, and then lay exhausted beside the log on one side of Burley’s smoke hole.

  She did not rest there long. Thoughts of the unfortunate little man buried beneath the rubble below her caused her a few moments of grief before the brooding image of Boot Stoner descended upon her mind. As if to remind her of her peril, a bright three-quarter moon stared down at her like an unblinking eye in the dark heavens above the trees. On her knees at once, she peered over the log to see where she had emerged. As best she could determine, she was about halfway up the slope rising to the top of the waterfall. Looking all around her, there was no sign of anything but the dark trees and underbrush, but she still felt an urge to run before Boot suddenly appeared. With her few belongingsand Boot’s pistol, she started making her way down the mountain. On foot now, and not certain if she was even fleeing in the right direction, she set her determination on Low Hawk in the Creek Nation.

  Chapter 11

  Satisfied that Lilly was as good as dead, sealed in her earthen tomb, Boot spent the rest of the night camped by the waterfall. It was a disappointment to have been cheated of the personal restitution he so desired. Lilly was his property, and he regretted the loss of satisfaction he would have enjoyed in rendering her punishment. There was nothing he could do now but feel smug in the knowledge that she was dying a slow and terrifying death under the ground.

  There were few thoughts spent on the nameless little man who had perished with her, other than the pleasure it would have been to squash him like the bug he resembled. There was a bright side to the event. Boot had gained two horses, although one of them looked too old to be of much value. With the morning light, he rounded up the two. They had not strayed far from the waterfall. He would take them back to Indian Territory and sell them.

  After tying his horses on a lead rope, he returned to the cave under the waterfall to make sure there was no sign of survival of the two trapped behind the wall of debris. With his ear against the wall, he listened for sounds of digging from the other side. Again, he took his knife and tested the wall. Now that the smoke and silt had dissipated, he could see that the narrow opening that had been there had collapsed upon itself, leaving nothing but solid rock between the two chambers. “Ain’t nobody diggin’ their way through that,” he chortled. Then he yelled out, “Can you hear me, Lilly? Ain’t nobody diggin’ outta there.” He threw back his head and laughed. “No, hell no,” he added. Then a worrisome thought struck him, one he had not even considered. What if there’s a back entrance to the cave? The simple possibility of it caused him to scowl once more, and he knew he must have the answer.

  Outside the cave, he stood back and stared up at the top of the fall and the slope down the side of the mountain below it. He tried to estimate the probable point on the slope that would be right above the inside chamber of the cave. Then he looked around himself at the steep cliff on one side of the fall. From where he stood, there was only one way to get back on top of the mountain, and that was the way he had come down the night before. Wasting no more time, he started back up the mountain, leading his three horses.

  At the top of the fall, he glanced briefly up at the peak before crossing over the rushing stream and descending through the trees. His eyes sharply scanning back and forth, he searched for any sign of movement. All seemed quiet and peaceful in the hardwoods as he continued downward. His eye searched for a mound or depression that might indicate the opening for a tunnel. There was none, only the vine- and brush-tangled undergrowth and the trees. Finally reaching a point that he considered too far down the slope, he stopped to decide whether or not to search any further.

  Looking back up the mountain, he felt a confusion of emotions. On one hand, he felt a certain smugness over knowing there was no way out for the slender Creek girl. On the other, he was almost disappointed not to find a back door to the cave. He still resented the fact that he was deprived of dealing with Lilly and her new friend personally. Seeing two trees that had apparently fallen to lie side by side across a rocky flat, he walked over and stepped up on one of the logs to take one last look up the mountain.

  A casual glance down between the logs seized his attention. At first, it appeared to be the home of some burrowing animal, but it was a fairly large hole, although nowhere big enough for a bear. The longer he gazed at it, the more it intrigued him. He stepped down between the logs to take a closer look. He immediately felt his muscles tense. The leaves around the hole had been disturbed, as if someone had lain there. The more he measured the hole with his eyes, the greater he considered the possibility that a slender girl of Lilly’s size might have been able to squeeze through it. “The little bitch!” he hissed, somehow knowing that what he was thinking had actually occurred. Dropping to his hands and knees, he tried to look inside the hole. There was nothing but darkness, but as he continued to peer into the empty darkness, he thought he saw a tiny red glow. After a while, he determined the glow to be the dying coals of a fire. It was not a tunnel he was peering into, but a hole. And the floor of the cave was far below it.

  Certain now that the picture he formed in his mind was most likely what had actually happened, he looked more carefully around the hole for confirming signs. On the other side of the log he had stood on, he searched the ground. She had not left much to find, but there was enough to tell him that she had fled down the mountain. There’s only one ending to this story, he thought as an evil smile creased his scowling features. He started down the mountain after the fl
eeing Creek girl.

  Able to pick up a print here and there, where leaves had been disturbed, or her foot had slid in loose gravel, he followed the trail down through the forest. Hampered by having to lead three horses, he was concerned that she might have been increasing the distance between them. And even though he was not sure when during the night she had escaped, he was confident in the knowledge that he would easily overtake her once the slope was gentle enough to ride. Close to the bluffs of the river, however, his confidence disappeared when he suddenly realized that he had found no sign of her trail for more than fifty yards. Cursing her deceptiveness, he fumed while he wasted time scouting back and forth along the bluffs in search of her tracks. His one thought was that he must find where she had crossed the river, or he might never find where she came out on the other side. After an hour of searching all along the bluffs, he was forced to admit that he had lost her. The thought was sufficient to cause him to roar out his frustration and anger, his voice echoing back from the limestone bluffs.

  Her heart pounding with the fear that he might start toward her hiding place at any second, Lilly lay concealed in a pine thicket barely one hundred feet above him. Like a frightened rabbit with a fox on the hunt, she trembled in her terror, afraid to move a finger lest he detect the motion.

  Exhausted by her efforts to escape the cave, she had made it almost to the river before having to stop. Being careful to hide her trail, she had cut back to a pine thicket where she lay down on a bed of pine needles to rest. With no intention of doing so, she had fallen asleep only to be awakened by Boot’s voice reverberating up the mountainside, venting his anger. Now forced to wait until he had gone, she lay on her bed of pine straw, terrified that he might do a more thorough search of the mountainside. When he finally gave up his search and went down to the river, she scurried out of her hiding place and ran in the direction opposite to the one he had taken. Her thought was to find the hidden opening in the cliff where she had followed Burley up from the river.

  John Ward cursed himself for being a fool. He swung a leg over and stepped down from the saddle. Dropping Cousin’s reins to the ground, he walked over to the brow of the hill from which he had a broad view of the Grand River valley. There below him, happily grazing on the new spring grass, were the two mules. Boot Stoner, Lilly, and their horses were nowhere in sight. He had realized that he was following the mules alone a couple of miles back when he reached a point where the tracks were clear and undisturbed. But he followed them up anyway—just to see the clear evidence of his stupidity, he supposed. So much for following hunches, he thought. The discovery was a setback, but he still felt strongly that Boot would return to the Nations. He was bound to show up somewhere, so John was just going to have to keep looking. With nothing to go on at that moment, he decided to push on across the Grand—the Neosho as he still called it—and maybe check on the welfare of Two Buck. He wasn’t that far from Red Bow and Dr. Summerlin’s clinic. On the way, he could check in with the Cherokee Lighthorse and his friend Jim Big Crow over in Tahlequah. It was beginning to look like he was going to need help finding Boot Stoner, and if he showed up anywhere in the Cherokee Nation, Jim’s scouts would likely get word of it. John wouldn’t admit it, even to himself, but it also served as a legitimate reason for going a bit out of his way to visit Dr. Summerlin’s clinic. As much as he tried to stifle them, thoughts of Lucy Summerlin frequently returned to distract him, especially at night by his campfire. He could still feel the warm softness of her lips when she had startled him with that quick kiss as he was leaving. “Foolishness!” he suddenly blurted to Cousin. “It didn’t mean anything to her. She was just teasin’ me.” The words were meaningless, for deep in his serious mind he could not help but wonder what she might think if he expressed his real feelings for her.

  “John Ward,” Jim Big Crow called out in greeting when he glanced up to see who was approaching the cabin that served as Cherokee police headquarters. Seated in a chair, leaning against the outside wall of the cabin, Jim had been enjoying a cup of coffee while soaking up some early springtime sun. When he recognized the big lawman from Fort Smith, he let his chair settle back down to the ground and got to his feet. “What brings you out this way?”

  “Mornin’, Jim,” John returned. “I just rode over to see if you were workin’ or just sittin’ around on your ass.” He favored his friend with a wide grin and stepped down from the saddle.

  Jim returned the grin. “Damn, John, that’s a mighty hurtful thing to say to a man who was about to offer you a cup of coffee. Besides, I just got back this mornin’—had to go over to Fort Gibson to help the soldiers find a young Cherokee boy that stole one of their horses.” He shrugged it off and changed the conversation. “What are you doin’ over this way?” he repeated.

  “Hopin’ you can give me a little help,” John replied. “I’ve been trackin’ Boot Stoner all over hell and back, and I lost him somewhere over near the Boston Mountains. I thought maybe some of your boys might have heard something. I’ve got a strong hunch he’ll show up back in the Nations somewhere.”

  “I heard you was on his tail,” Jim said. “We ain’t seen hide nor hair of him around these parts, but I’ll let you know if we do.” He opened the door and held it for John. “Come on in, and I’ll get you that cup of coffee.”

  The visit with Jim Big Crow lasted for over an hour. John recounted the bloody trail left by Boot Stoner, and his subsequent flight through parts of Kansas and Missouri before he gave John the slip. Now, John admitted, he had nothing to go on but a hunch. He told Jim that he wouldn’t even rule out the possibility that Boot might return to his father’s trading post on the Grand, and that was going to be his next stop on his way to Red Bow. They parted with Jim promising to see if any of his men had a notion where the half-breed might have gone.

  Approaching Wendell Stoner’s old place from the south, John paused to consider the horse tied in front of the two-cabin trading post. The horse looked rather poor and neglected. John was sure it was not Boot’s. Still a hundred yards away, he watched the cabin for a few minutes longer to see if there was anyone about. Before long, he saw two children appear from the cabin behind the store. Both boys, they were playing a game of chase. Looks like somebody’s moved into Wendell’s old place, he thought. I don’t know if that’s a good idea or not. If Boot did return, for whatever reason, he would not likely greet them kindly.

  When John was within thirty yards of the cabin, a lone Indian man of perhaps thirty-five or forty appeared in the doorway. He stood there for a few moments to judge the nature of the visitor. Although he had never seen John Ward, Nathan Smoke recognized the big lawman from descriptions he had heard. He went outside and took a few steps to meet him, wondering what business the deputy marshal had with him.

  “Howdy,” John offered in greeting.

  “Howdy,” Nathan Smoke returned guardedly. “Mr. Stoner dead, Morning Light dead. All gone.”

  “So you moved into Wendell’s place,” John said.

  “All gone,” Nathan repeated. “Nobody live here now. I take him. I hurt nobody.”

  “That’s all right with me,” John assured him. “I didn’t come here to cause you trouble, but I expect I oughta warn you that somebody might show up here that could make it hot for you. I’m lookin’ for Boot Stoner. He might show up here again, might not, but if he does, it could be dangerous for you and your family.” He paused to look toward the open door of the store. “How many people livin’ here?”

  Feeling more hospitable now that he knew he was not in trouble, Nathan said, “My wife and children.” He turned and pointed to Wendell’s old living quarters behind the store. “My brother and his wife and children live there.”

  John considered that for a moment. “What’s your name?”

  “Nathan Smoke.”

  “Well, Nathan, I don’t know where Boot Stoner is right now. Don’t know if he’s headin’ back here or not. But if he does, I’d advise you to get out of his way. He’s on a
killin’ spree, and he might not like it if he finds somebody in his old home.”

  Nathan nodded thoughtfully. “My brother and me, we are not afraid of Boot Stoner.”

  “Well, that’s mighty admirable, but I’d still recommend gettin’ your women and children outta his way. He kills everybody that gets in his way.”

  “Thanks for the warnin’,” Nathan said, “but we’re okay.”

  John nodded with a finger to his hat brim. “I’ll be on my way. Good luck to you folks.” He nudged the buckskin into motion, then called back as he was leaving, “Tell your brother the sun reflects back off of that rifle in the window.”

  Lucy Summerlin sat up straight in her chair, straining to identify the lone rider topping the rise some four hundred yards to the south. Curious, but not overly so, she watched the rider’s hazy form in the evening dusk as she sipped her coffee. In a few moments more, however, something about the figure in the saddle caused her to slide up to the edge of her chair, frowning in an effort to see more clearly. More seconds passed before she was sure. Then she got to her feet and fled from the porch. “Damn . . . damn . . . damn,” she mumbled. “Why does he always come when I look like a tired old scrubwoman?”

  “What did you say?” Dr. Summerlin asked as his daughter breezed through the room. Still seated at the supper table, although the dishes had long since been cleared away, the doctor was indulging in his evening toddy.

  “Nothing, Papa,” she answered as she went straight to her room. Then, as an afterthought, she informed him, “Somebody’s coming—looks like John Ward.”

  Her father grinned, amused by his daughter’s flustered reaction to the deputy’s arrival. He tossed his drink down, got up from the table, and proceeded toward the front porch to greet their visitor.