Duel at Low Hawk

by Charles G. West

  Boot dropped his bundle and propped the shotgun against it. “Well, if it ain’t Mama and Papa come out to meet me,” he said, a smirk displayed prominently across his surly lips. “You two don’t look like you’re too glad to see me.”

  “What the hell are you doin’ back here, Boot?” Wendell Stoner demanded. “Did you break outta prison?”

  Boot laughed. “Hell, no. I served my time, so they had to let me out.” He shifted his gaze to his mother, who simply stood wringing her hands in despair. The sight of the quiet Cherokee woman’s anxiety served to amuse him. “I knew my mama would wanna see me as soon as I got out,” he chided. Back again to Wendell, he said, “I need some things.”

  “I told you when you started running with Billy Sore Foot and that bunch not to come round here no more. You’ve caused me and your mother enough grief, so you’d best just keep right on walkin’.”

  Boot smirked and grunted contemptuously. “Now ain’t that a fine way to welcome your only son back home?” The smirk vanished from his face then, replaced by a deadly serious frown that indicated he was tired of playing around. “Like I said, I need some things. The sooner I get ’em, the sooner I’ll be on my way.”

  Reluctant to help his belligerent offspring, but grudgingly willing to do whatever was necessary to be rid of him, Wendell replied, “There ain’t much I can help you with. Some food, some clothes maybe. That’s about it.”

  “And a horse, and a rifle, and some cartridges,” Boot said. He was about to say more when a slight movement from the corner of the cabin window caught his attention. “Who the hell’s inside?” he demanded.

  “Nobody,” Morning Light quickly replied.

  “Nobody, hell,” Boot snapped back. “I just saw somebody peepin’ out that window.”

  “It ain’t nobody,” Wendell said. “It’s just your sister. Leave her be.”

  “My sister?” Boot exclaimed, surprised. “Hell, I didn’t know I had a sister.”

  “She ain’t really your sister. She’s a little Creek girl we took in two years ago when her parents was drowned. She ain’t no concern of yours.”

  “Well, I’ll be . . .” Boot said, stroking his unshaven face thoughtfully. “Come on out here, sister,” he yelled, “so’s I can take a look at’cha.” When there was no response, he lost interest and quickly changed the subject. “You know, I’ve been walkin’ a long way. I’m tired and hungry. Looks like when a man comes home after twelve years, he oughta be offered somethin’ besides rude talk.”

  “I reckon we can give you somethin’ to eat,” Wendell said, “but don’t go gettin’ no ideas about stayin’.” He nodded to his wife. She went inside immediately.

  “What’s my sister’s name?” Boot asked.

  Wendell hesitated, then said, “Lilly, if it’s any of your business.”

  Boot snorted, amused. “Yessir, this is one fine homecoming,” he said sarcastically.

  In a few moments, Morning Light returned with a plate of food and handed it to Boot. He immediately set upon it with a ravenous appetite, gobbling down half of it before coming up for air. “Cold beans and biscuits,” he said. “Some banquet for my home-comin’.”

  “That’s all there is right now,” Morning Light said.

  “Ain’tcha got no coffee?”

  Morning Light fixed an impatient frown upon him before calling to her adopted daughter. “Lilly, pour a cup of coffee and fetch it here.”

  A few moments later, a slight Creek girl appeared in the cabin doorway holding a cup of coffee. Boot looked up, obviously surprised. “Well, Lilly,” he said with a broad grin, looking her over with an unabashed scrutiny, “no wonder they was hidin’ you. You ain’t no little girl a’tall. How old are you?”

  Instinctively protective, Morning Light took the cup from her daughter, and stepped between the girl and the unwelcome guest. “She ain’t but fourteen, near as we know. Never you mind about her.”

  Boot merely smiled in reply, but continued to ogle the young Indian girl. When Lilly had returned to the cabin, Boot cleaned up the last of the beans and tossed the plate on the ground. “All right,” he announced, “let’s go in the store and see what I need.” Without waiting for Wendell’s reaction, he pushed by his father and walked into the store.

  Following immediately behind him, Wendell informed the unruly half-breed, “I worked hard for this merchandise. I ain’t plannin’ to give it all away to the likes of you.”

  “Hell, I don’t want all of it,” Boot replied as he took inventory of the shelves. “I just want what I need.”

  “I don’t owe you a damn thing,” Wendell stated.

  “Well, somebody does,” Boot snapped back, “and it looks like you’re the only one standin’ here.” He began picking items off the shelves—a pair of trousers, a shirt, some tobacco, a coat—and laid them on the counter. “I need a rifle,” he said. “I see cartridges, but I don’t see no rifles.”

  “You know I don’t sell guns.”

  “But I bet, by God, you’ve got a couple in the cabin,” Boot shot back. “I expect I’ll be needin’ one, and a pistol, too.”

  “You can take them clothes there,” Wendell stated forcefully, “and that’s all I’m givin’ you. Take ’em and leave us be.”

  Boot paused to give his father an impatient glare. “Old man, you don’t understand, do you? I’ll decide what I’ll take. When I get through here, we’ll take a look at them two horses you got in the corral back there. I’m damned tired of walkin’.”

  “I’ll be Gawdamned,” Wendell exclaimed, drawing the line. “You ain’t takin’ no horse!”

  “We’ll see about that,” Boot said, and pushed through the door to the cabin with Wendell right behind him. He knew exactly where he was heading. Striding past the startled Creek girl, he made straight through the curtain that closed off his parents’ bedroom. “I see you keep ’em in the same place,” he said as he picked up one of the two rifles propped in the corner by the bed.

  “Put it back, Boot.”

  Ignoring his father’s command, Boot held the rifle up to examine it closely. Turning it one way and then another, he marveled, “This is one of them new Winchesters, ain’t it?” He glanced briefly at the other rifle propped in the corner. “I remember that old Remington, but this here Winchester, that’s a helluva rifle. An old man like you ain’t got no use for a rifle like this.”

  “I’m warnin’ you, Boot,” Wendell threatened, determined to stand up to his renegade son. Boot continued to ignore him, still admiring the new rifle. Realizing that his threats were toothless, Wendell compromised. “You can take the Remington, and I’ll give you cartridges to go with it. But I need the Winchester.”

  Boot laughed. “That old Remington is good enough for you, old man. You ain’t got nothin’ to shoot at but jackrabbits and groundhogs. I’ve got better use for this one. Hell, I’ll even leave you my shotgun.” He started to walk out. “Now, I’ll need your saddle.”

  “I ain’t got no saddle to spare, and I’ll be damned if I’m gonna let you take mine or Morning Light’s.” Wendell reached out and grabbed Boot by his sleeve as he started toward the door, determined to fight for his property. “No horse and no saddle!” he screeched. “Now get the hell off my land.”

  His anger flaring, Boot jerked his arm free. “I’m warnin’ you, old man.”

  Wendell lunged for the rifle in Boot’s other hand, but his son was quicker than he. He stepped back quickly and struck Wendell with the butt of the rifle. Lilly, too terrified to make a sound up to that point, screamed when she saw her father crumple to the floor. At the sound of the scream, Boot whirled around just in time to confront his mother with a pistol in her hand. His lightning-quick reaction was to level the Winchester and pull the trigger, though he wasn’t even sure it was loaded. The crack of the rifle split the room, the bullet slamming into Morning Light’s breast. The pistol dropped from her hand, clattering on the plank floor. Morning Light stood staring wide-eyed for a brief moment before slidin
g down the wall to collapse on the floor. Wendell, on hands and knees, staggered to his feet and lurched toward Boot in an attempt to avenge his wife. Boot easily avoided the attack, cocked the rifle again, and put a bullet in his father’s forehead.

  Rendered paralyzed by the horrible scene playing out before her young eyes, Lilly was unable to move for several long moments. Standing over his murdered parents, Boot stared dispassionately at the bodies that had given him birth. “It’s their own damn fault,” he stated coldly. “They shouldn’ta come at me like that.” Suddenly realizing that she might be next, Lilly brought herself out of her paralysis and bolted for the door. Boot charged out after her.

  The young Creek girl was lithe and swift, but she was no match for Boot in an all-out sprint. The half-breed overtook her before she had run fifty yards, taking her down as he dived for her legs. The two of them rolled over and over in the meadow grass with Boot winding up on top. “Ain’t no use in you runnin’,” he panted. “I ain’t fixin’ to kill you—little sister,” he added with a malevolent grin. “I got better use for you.” Keeping a firm grip on the girl’s arm, he got to his feet and pulled her up. “Now I expect we’d best get ready to travel.”

  Boot tied Lilly hand and foot and left her lying on the floor next to her adoptive parents while he ransacked the store and cabin for anything useful. Satisfied that he was now armed and supplied, he went out to the corral to saddle the two horses. Just as he was about to lead the horses out of the corral, he saw two riders approaching the trading post. He paused to study them for a few moments before deciding they were harmless visitors.

  With rifle in hand, he walked out to the front of the store and awaited them. When they were a little closer, he identified them as Cherokees, probably regular customers of his father’s. “Howdy,” the older man greeted Boot, speaking in English and obviously curious about being greeted by a young man with a rifle. “Need flour and salt,” he said. “Where’s Wendell?”

  Boot did not reply at once, still studying Wendell’s customers, a cynical smile on his face. When the old man started to repeat his question, Boot spoke. “Wendell ain’t here. Him and Mornin’ Light’s gone on a trip.” The two Cherokees exchanged confused glances, not sure what to think. To the older man there was something familiar about the stranger. He felt sure he had seen him before, but he would have to give it some thought before it came to him.

  “The store’s closed,” Boot said.

  The Cherokees considered the surly young half-breed standing before them, casually cradling Wendell’s rifle, and decided it best to take their leave. Without further questions, they wheeled their ponies and departed.

  Boot went inside the cabin and announced, “Come on, girl, it’s time to go.”

  Chapter 2

  Wendell Stoner’s saddle was nothing a man could brag about. Old and worn, the girth was frayed on both edges, causing Boot to wonder how much longer it would be before the strap separated and dumped his behind on the ground. It would have to do for a while, he decided—at least until he had an opportunity to find a better one. Morning Light’s saddle was in much the same condition, bearing evidence that neither saddle had been used very often. It was a light Indian saddle, made of wood, with carved cantle and horn. When he placed the saddle on the little gray mare’s back and drew up on the girth, it caused the weathered wood to split. Disgusted, Boot pulled the saddle off and threw it aside. Glaring at the girl cowering in the corner of the corral, her hands tied to the rail, he snarled, “You an Injun, ain’tcha? You can ride bareback.”

  Boot assumed from the condition of the saddles that the horses had not been ridden recently, so after he threw the saddle on Wendell’s bay pony, he stepped aboard to test the spirit of the animal. As he had suspected, the horse had been allowed to get a little rank in attitude and was not at all inclined to carry a rider on its back. Lilly watched wide-eyed and terrified as the horse bucked around the corral, but Boot proved to be more than the bay could handle. Unable to buck its burden out of the saddle, the horse then attempted to scrape Boot off against the rails. As before, Boot avoided catastrophe and remained in the saddle. When the bay exhausted its efforts and submitted to its new master, Boot dismounted. Then he tied the reins to a post and fetched a pitchfork from the lean-to that served as a barn. Approaching the weary horse again, he whacked it repeatedly across the face with the handle of the pitchfork until the handle broke in two. With the animal screaming in pain and jerking at the reins, Boot then grabbed the bridle and pulled the bay’s head down. Looking the horse in the eye, he snarled, “I reckon you know who’s the boss now, you son of a bitch. The next time you try to buck me off, I’m gonna put a bullet in your pea brain.” The horse must have understood. When Boot stepped up in the saddle again, the bay was as polite as could be, having learned a little about its new master.

  Untying Lilly then, Boot pulled the cringing Creek girl over to the mare. Holding her wrist in one hand, he grabbed a handful of her hair with the other, jerked her head back, and glared down into her face. “These horses, these rifles, this pistol, these packs—they all belong to me, because I was strong enough to take ’em. You understand?” When she was too terrified to respond, he yanked her head back harder. “You understand?” he demanded.

  Fearing for her life, she replied in a barely audible voice, “Yes.”

  “This horse tries to run away, I shoot him,” he said. “You understand that?” She nodded. “You belong to me, just like that horse and those rifles. You understand that?” Again she nodded, her eyes filling with tears. He gave her hair another jerk. “You ever try to run away, you get the same as the horse.” He did not have to ask if she understood again. Her eyes answered without being asked. He put her on the mare’s back then and, holding the reins in one hand, climbed up on the bay. Crossing over to the west bank, he headed north, following the river.

  Dusk found them only two hours away from the grim scene Boot had left behind. He continued on until he found a place to camp that suited him. Leading her pony down near the water’s edge, he instructed Lilly to gather wood for a fire while he unsaddled his horse. Aware of his eyes constantly watching her, she did as she was told. Longing to escape, but afraid to try, she moved among the cottonwoods, picking up dead branches until she had gathered an armload. With fingers trembling almost uncontrollably, she built the fire, using flint and steel that Boot had found in the cabin. While she bent over the flame, blowing it into life, he sat down with his back against a log, watching her. When the fire showed signs of permanent life, he pointed toward the packs and said, “Cook me somethin’ to eat.”

  After he had his fill of bacon and beans, he told her to eat. Still too terrified to be hungry, she nevertheless attempted to stuff some of the food down. When she finished, she started to take the pan down to wash it, but he stopped her. “Leave it for now,” he ordered. “You can wash it later. C’mere.” The moment she feared had come. There was no mistaking the look in his eye. “I said come here, dammit!” he demanded when she hesitated to obey. The stark expression of fright in her eyes brought a malicious smile to his face. “I ain’t gonna hurt’cha. Hell, we’re gonna have some fun.” He got up and went to her.

  “Please don’t,” she whimpered, taking a step backward, but too terrified to run. “Please don’t hurt me,” she begged as he grabbed her wrist and pulled her close to him. “I’m your sister,” she pleaded in desperation.

  He laughed. “Hell, you ain’t my sister. Even if you was, it wouldn’t make no difference. I been locked up for twelve years and I’m damn sure overdue.” Twisting her arm, he forced her down on the riverbank and immediately started pulling at her clothes. She fought against him at first, until he tired of the struggle and slapped her hard several times. Hurt and afraid, she submitted, crying uncontrollably while he savagely attacked her body. Though seeming an eternity, it finally ended when his lust had been sated and he rolled away from her. The sweet mystery she had anticipated for several years was now revealed as a
horrible nightmare of pain and bleeding, and a sickening stench of sweat and tobacco. Her precious virginity had been ripped from her body like a man would gut an animal. It was a nightmare that would reoccur daily for the next few days.

  Feeling as if she were treading between the light and darkness, Lilly forced her body to respond to her captor’s demands the following morning when they broke camp and continued north along the river. With no certainty that this day would not be her last, she trailed along behind the stoic half-breed in silent despair, the image of Wendell Stoner and Morning Light’s corpses constantly returning to haunt her mind. A little before noon, they neared a small cluster of buildings.

  Jacob Mashburn hauled back on the traces, pulling his mule to a stop when he spotted two riders approaching down near the river. He leaned on the plow for a few moments while squinting against the sun in an effort to identify them. It appeared to be a man and a woman, and they were evidently coming to his place since they had veered away from the river.

  Jacob didn’t get many visitors, something that satisfied him, but his wife lamented. He and Lucille had carved out a respectable little ranch in the Cherokee Nation, raising a few head of cattle and growing what vegetables they needed on a small patch by the river. His only regret was that they had no children. He didn’t know who was to blame, he or Lucille, but it was evidently God’s will, so he didn’t question it.