Duel at Low Hawk

by Charles G. West

  “Don’t lie to me, bitch. I’ll cut your guts out. Where is she?” He glared at the house. “Lilly!” he roared. “Get out here!” When his demands were met with silence, he dismounted and started toward the door. Jimmy, seeing his chance for escape, jumped on his horse. Boot paused for only a moment, just long enough to turn and send a rifle ball to strike squarely between the boy’s shoulder blades. As Jimmy’s body dropped to the ground, Boot turned back to look at Tom. Then he glanced at the shotgun propped beside the door. Words were unnecessary. His look asked the question You want to try for it? Tom backed away.

  Boot picked up the shotgun, broke the breech, and extracted the shells. Then he threw it off the porch and went inside. Blue Woman followed right behind him. “I told you she’s not here. She’s gone where you can’t find her, so you might as well go on away from here and forget about her.”

  Boot cocked his head as he glared into her face. “Old woman, there ain’t no place where I can’t find her. You’re startin’ to grind on my nerves. I just might send you to a place where nobody can find you.” He continued his search of the cabin. There was no one there, but the corner of the front room caught his eye. It was obviously closed off with quilts to make a bedroom. He turned to form an evil grin for Blue Woman. “So she ain’t here, huh? Then what is this? Did you kick your old man outta the bedroom?” He chuckled at his own joke, then turned brutally serious when he demanded, “Where is she?”

  Standing in the doorway, watching the unwelcome guest stalking wantonly through his house, Tom finally spoke up. “She was here, but she left during the night while we was asleep. She can’t be too far away.”

  Blue Woman’s head jerked back, recoiling from her husband’s betrayal of the girl. Boot grinned, amused by the man’s lack of backbone, relishing the fear he knew he generated. “I got a good mind to shoot you for the gutless son of a bitch you are. But I think the old woman is never gonna let you forget it. I’d be lettin’ you off too easy. We’ll just set back and wait for daylight.” He nodded toward Blue Woman. “You can fix me somethin’ to eat while we wait.”

  “I’m not cooking for the likes of you,” Blue Woman spat back.

  “Then I reckon I’ll have to put a bullet hole in that hard head of yours,” Boot said, still grinning. When his threat created no visible sign of fear, he said, “Instead of that, I’ll shoot this worthless man of yours.” He cocked his rifle and aimed it at Tom.

  She hesitated for a moment, hating to concede to his demands, but knowing he just might do what he threatened. “All right, but we ain’t got much to fix.”

  Chapter 15

  Morning brought a light rain that ended an hour after sunrise. It brought a fresh breeze wafting across the east ridge that bordered the valley of Low Hawk. It brought a parting of the dark clouds that had gathered over the settlement the night before. And it brought John Ward.

  Climbing up the east slope of the ridge, he rode easy in the saddle, letting Cousin pick his trail. Behind him, Two Buck followed the buckskin’s lead, pulling up beside him when he paused at the top to take a look over the valley beyond. From the ridge, it was possible to see Jonah Feathers’ store as well as a couple of the closest houses. There were a few horses tied out front of the store, which struck John as odd for this time of day—for any time of day, for that matter.

  “Low Hawk?” Two Buck asked. He had never been in this part of Indian Territory before.

  “Low Hawk,” John answered him matter-of-factly. He nudged Cousin forward, and the big gelding started down the west slope.

  Two Buck followed obediently behind the deliberate lawman, although he wanted to charge down the slope and across the flat. Sometimes the deputy marshal was a little too patient to suit Two Buck, especially since their destination and maybe the answers to questions burning in the young Indian’s mind were so near at hand. Although his recovery from his wounds was not complete, he felt his strength returning gradually as each day passed, and his passion for Boot Stoner’s demise was enough to keep him in the saddle all day.

  Upon reaching the bottom of the slope, John eased the buckskin to a gentle lope, heading straight for Jonah’s store. Flanking him, Two Buck’s eyes searched anxiously as if hoping to spot the fugitive. When they pulled up before the store, John had to caution his Cherokee partner when Two Buck started to bound up the steps. “Keep your shirt on. We’ll find out what’s what.”

  Entering the building, they walked into the midst of a serious discussion among worried residents of the little community. So intense was the concern that no one noticed the two new arrivals until Jonah glanced up from his position at the counter. “John Ward,” he announced respectfully, following it with a small sigh of relief. The group of a dozen or so turned as one to look toward the door.

  “Mornin’, Jonah, gentlemen,” John said, and walked up to the counter to stand beside Jonah Feathers.Before he could say more, the room erupted in a chorus of excited voices, all trying to talk at the same time, all anxious to inform the deputy of the tragedy that had befallen their homes.

  Jonah raised his arms and called for calm. Then he took the floor. “He was here, John! Boot Stoner, he was here. He came lookin’ for ol’ Walking Owl’s daughter. She passed through here, went to Black Rock Creek to find her aunt. He’s killed four that we know of, and Henry Red Shirt’s boy ain’t come back from Black Rock Creek. We’re afraid Boot mighta done for him, too. One of ’em killed was Captain Jack Wildhorse. He brought two men with him, and Boot shot Jack, drilled him right through the head. We formed a posse last night, and thought we had him cornered at George Longpath’s place, but he slipped away.”

  John listened patiently, glancing at Two Buck when Jonah mentioned Lilly. While Jonah related the events of the previous night, the lawman looked at the faces peering anxiously at him. “Where’s the two men Wildhorse brought with him?” he interrupted.

  “They said they was gonna try to pick up Boot’s trail where he left George’s place,” Jonah answered. He then told John of the mission to Black Rock Creek that Jimmy Red Shirt undertook.

  “And you say the boy never came back?” John asked.

  “That’s right,” Henry Red Shirt answered the question. “He never came home. I’m fixin’ to go look for him.”

  “Black Rock Creek,” John said, nodding to Two Buck. “I expect that’s where we’ll start lookin’.”

  “We’ll go with you,” Henry piped up, his words igniting a chorus of willing volunteers.

  John remained expressionless as he replied. “I expect it would be best if you don’t. I work better when I don’t have to look out for anybody else.” He glanced at Two Buck again. “I’ve already got one hot-blooded Cherokee to worry about. I expect that’s enough.”

  “John, I ain’t one to question you,” Jonah insisted. “But you might be underestimatin’ the man you’re fixin’ to tangle with. He’s hell and damnation all by himself. If we had been thinkin’ smart, we shoulda sent to Fort Gibson for the soldiers to come get him.” He shook his head for emphasis, then added, “Maybe you oughta do that, anyway.”

  John nodded as if giving serious consideration to what Jonah was telling him. “Much obliged to you gentlemen,” he said in ending the discourse, “but I expect we’ll just keep the army out of this for the time being. Now I’d appreciate it if you’ll just see to the safety of your own homes, and let me do the job I’m paid to do.” He turned and walked out of the store, Two Buck on his heels.

  Outside, Two Buck could not contain himself any longer. He was at John’s elbow before they had time to mount. “You hear that? He’s right behind her. We’ve gotta find her before he does.”

  “We’ll do what we can,” John replied, stepping up in the saddle. The attack on the saloon girl in Joplin was still fresh in his mind. Why Lilly was now runningfrom Boot was something to be revealed when they caught up with her or Boot. He wheeled Cousin and headed for Black Rock Creek.

  Willy Sharp and Thomas Bluekill, privates in the Cre
ek Lighthorse, were two hours ahead of John Ward. Leading a horse carrying their captain’s body, they had picked up Boot Stoner’s trail at the point where he had followed Jimmy Red Shirt when the boy rode away from George Longpath’s place. The trail had led to Black Rock Creek and Tom Talltree’s home, which they now approached with caution. Seeing the two riders approaching, Tom ran out from the house, waving frantically, lest they might decide to ride on.

  The two policemen wasted no time talking to Tom and his wife. As soon as they learned that Boot had departed there at sunup, following Lilly’s tracks along the creek, they set out after him immediately.

  Over halfway between Low Hawk and Black Rock Creek, John and Two Buck met Tom Talltree leading a horse with a body tied across the saddle. Recognizing the deputy marshal, Tom identified himself, and explained that the body on the horse he was leading was young Jimmy Red Shirt. “I’m taking him back to Henry,” he explained. Answering John Ward’s questions, Tom repeated the details of Boot Stoner’s visit to his home, just as he had told the Creek police.

  “How long ago did the policemen leave your place?” John wanted to know.

  “An hour, maybe an hour and a half,” was Tom’s answer.

  “How much farther is your place from here?” John asked.

  “Half hour or so,” Tom replied.

  “But Lilly left your place sometime last night?” This from Two Buck.

  “That’s right,” Tom answered. “She left while we were asleep. Don’t know exactly what time it was.”

  “And now that devil’s on her trail again,” Two Buck lamented while looking at John impatiently.

  “Much obliged,” John said to Tom. “We’ll be on our way now.”

  The stop at Tom’s house wasn’t an extended one. Lilly’s aunt told them much the same story as they had heard from Tom. She did offer a good deal more about Lilly’s determination to escape from Boot Stoner, however. This information served to increase the flames of impatience galloping through Two Buck’s veins. Watching Two Buck’s reactions as the young man questioned Blue Woman in further detail about Lilly, John made no comment. But it caused him to speculate on how he would feel if it was Lucy Summerlin on the run from some renegade like Boot Stoner. He knew that every hour that passed without catching up to Boot was an extension of the hell Two Buck must be living through.

  Leaving Blue Woman, they led their horses along the creek bank to study the trail left in the sandy soil. Their purpose was to identify the different tracks, so as to have some means of telling them apart. The rain that had fallen earlier that morning helped make the job easier, for there was no question the prints standing out the sharpest were left by the two Creek lawmen. Other tracks were fainter, and in some places they had been washed out by the rain. Still, they were frequent enough to indicate the direction of travel. It didn’t really require much of a tracker to follow the Creek policemen’s three horses, but John wanted to double-check the trail to make sure they were still on track.

  About a mile farther on, the trail left the creek bank and veered toward the west. There was no obvious reason for the abrupt change in direction that John could see. To him, it indicated a frightened girl with no idea where she was going. He stood on the creek bank for a long moment, looking in the direction in which the tracks led. If the trail continued along that line, it would lead them to Okmulgee.

  Two Buck, bending closely over the tracks along the bank, suddenly exclaimed, “Here!” When John walked over to see what he had found, Two Buck pointed to a single moccasin print in the soft sand near the edge of the water. “It’s her footprint!” he said. John nodded in agreement. It was the first real sign they had found that confirmed that Lilly had come this way. The discovery only served to increase the anxiety already at a fever pitch in Two Buck’s mind. Wasting no more time, they were in the saddle again, the sense of urgency increased in both men, for the tracks of the horses appeared to be almost as fresh as the moccasin print. As if to emphasize the urgency, they suddenly heard the sound of distant gunfire toward a low line of hills to the west.

  “Well, lookie here,” Boot Stoner muttered as he looked along his back trail. From his position at the top of a tree-covered hill, he had a view of perhaps a quarter of a mile of the flat he had just crossed. He recognized the riders trailing him as the Creek Nation police who had tried to smoke him out of the barn. A grin slowly crept across his face as he peered back at the three horses, two with riders and one with a body draped across the saddle. “This is Captain Jack Wildhorse of the Creek Lighthorse,” Boot recited, mocking the last words of the Indian policeman brief seconds before Boot’s rifle ball had split his forehead. The sight now of the two remaining lawmen served to distract him from the growing frustration he had developed because of his failure to run Lilly to ground. He had lost her trail somewhere at the foot of the hills, and had turned back to try to find it again. The fact that he had been forced to turn back turned out to be a stroke of luck, for he might not have discovered the two lawmen following him in time to prepare a reception for them.

  Deep down, Boot welcomed the arrival of the two Indian policemen. Crowding his obsession for finding and punishing Lilly was a feeling of invincibility that grew with every life he took. Reaching back into his mother’s ancestry, he rejected all traces of his white father’s bloodline and was convinced that his medicine was strong—too strong to be overcome by any man, white or Indian. There was a special pleasure in the taking of a lawman’s life, for it proved his dominance over the authority that would punish him. Looking around him then, he proceeded to choose the best place for an ambush.

  At the foot of the first hill, Thomas Bluekill reined his horse to a stop and waited for Willy Sharp to catch up to him. “He stopped here,” Bluekill said. “See, his tracks go back and forth across this old game trail.”

  “He followed the trail up this hill,” Sharp added, pointing to a hoofprint farther up the game trail. “We better keep a sharp eye. He might think about doubling back on us.”

  “Maybe,” Bluekill said with a shrug, “but I think his mind is stuck on finding the girl. I don’t believe he knows he’s being followed.”

  “Just the same, I think we better be careful,” Willy said, and climbed back on his horse. He waited for Bluekill to mount and lead the way up the trail, and then he followed, leading the horse with the body tied across the saddle.

  The game trail they followed wound around the first hill, then crossed over a narrow ridge to the next hill. Approaching the top of the hill, Thomas Bluekill rounded a sharp turn to find himself suddenly confronted by Boot Stoner standing boldly in the middle of the trail, his rifle aimed right at him. There was no time for reaction. The Winchester spoke, and Bluekill rolled out of the saddle, dead.

  With little more time to react than his partner, Willy released the reins of the captain’s horse and wheeled his own mount, plunging down through the brush in an attempt to escape. His emotions on fire, Boot emitted a loud war whoop and ran to the edge of the trail for a better position to take aim. His shot struck Willy in the back, knocking him out of the saddle.

  Flushed with the exhilaration of another victorious encounter with representatives of white man authority, Boot hurried down the path to stand over Thomas Bluekill. The policeman was dead. Grunting with satisfaction, he then plunged into the brush after the second lawman. Willy Sharp was still alive when Boot found him, but too badly wounded to defend himself. “You made a big mistake when you came after me,” Boot snarled. Willy could only look up at him with eyes that saw the door of darkness opening before him. At first content to let the man die slowly, Boot relieved him of his weapons and cartridges. He stood leering down at the helpless man for a few moments more before a new thought came to him. He drew his knife and took the policeman’s scalp, then grinned maliciously while showing it to his screaming victim.

  On his way back up the hill, he stopped to take Bluekill’s weapons and his scalp. Feeling pleased with himself, he returned to his
horses and resumed his search for the woman of his obsession. Having seen no footprints since entering the range of hills, he played a hunch that Lilly would continue to follow the game trail. Since it still led in the general direction of Okmulgee, he felt pretty sure that was where she was going.

  A few miles behind Boot Stoner, at the foot of the hills, Two Buck proved to be keener of eye than either the savage half-breed or the Creek policemen. The young Cherokee did not miss the faint toe print that barely disturbed the pine needles beside the game trail. “John Ward,” he cried out, when John had also missed the sign and was already starting up the trail. “She don’t go that way.” He got to his feet and peered through the trees that ringed the base of the hill. “She went that way,” he said, pointing toward the south end of the range.

  John came back to see for himself. After closely examining the faint marks in the needles beside the trail, he agreed that what they were looking at could possibly be traces of a footprint. “I’d like it better if you could find me another print to back it up,” he said. He turned his head to take a glance up the game path where the hoofprints had led, knowing that Boot Stoner was somewhere in that direction, and not too far at that.

  Leaving his horse to follow behind him, Two Buck stepped carefully through the pine thicket, stopping every few feet to search the forest floor. Finally he was rewarded when he found a spot with disturbed needles where Lilly’s foot had evidently slipped on a root. He looked up at John triumphantly, finding fresh hope in this obvious evidence that Boot had lost Lilly’s trail. John nodded in return. There was no decision to be made in his mind; tracking down Boot Stoner held the priority, in spite of Two Buck’s anxiety. It was a fortunate circumstance that the trails had separated. The last time they had cornered Boot, Two Buck had managed to get himself shot.