Duel at Low Hawk

by Charles G. West

  “John Ward will come after you,” Lilly said. It was not meant to be a warning. She simply stated a fact that she knew was as inevitable as the morning sun.

  “Is that right?” Boot snorted. “Well it’ll be hell to pay for him if he does.”

  Chapter 6

  Lucinda Summerlin stepped off the short back stoop of her father’s modest frame house, carrying a basin of bloody water. Waiting until she was well away from the house, she scattered the contents of the basin across the bare ground and stood, idly watching the dusty soil soak up the water. The boy she had just stitched up had been brought to see her father after he fell from a horse and landed upon his hunting knife. The wound was not as serious as it first appeared, but it did require four stitches. Lucinda, or Lucy as her father called her, was very adept at minor first aid, having helped her father since she was a young girl. That was quite a few years back, more than she liked to think about.

  Sometimes she would permit herself to wonder what her life might have been had her mother not died when Lucy was only thirteen. It was a long, painful illness that reduced her mother to little more than a skeleton before she was finally taken by God. The loss of his beloved wife was more than Walter Summerlin could reconcile. Devastated by what he perceived as an uncalled-for cruelty to one so innocent, his desperate recourse was to turn to the bottle in an attempt to drown his grief. After an extended absence, he finally resolved to deal with the loss of his wife and return to his practice. Unfortunately for him, however, alcohol had taken a firm grip upon him, and he found it impossible to function without it.

  Her father’s battle with grief and alcohol was a heartrending experience as seen through the eyes of a thirteen-year-old. As much as she grieved her mother’s passing, she felt more compassion for her father. She had felt it was her responsibility to take care of him, so she stood by him in his darkest moments, forsaking a life of her own in order to help him carry on. Still, she found herself wondering how different her life might have been if she and her father had been able to remain in the east.

  “Little use in spending wasteful thoughts on what might have been,” she lectured herself and turned to go back to the house. When she turned, her gaze fell upon a rosebush she had planted near the kitchen door. Maybe I should have dumped the basin on my roses, she thought. The blood might have nourished the soil. She permitted a little chuckle for her thought and started toward the door, but paused again when something across the valley caught her eye. Shielding her eyes with her hand, she stared toward the hills on the far side, making out two horses. As they got a little closer, she could see that there was one rider, while the second horse was pulling a travois. It was not an uncommon sight. Many of their Indian patients were transported to her father’s clinic by travois.

  I’d best go tell father that another patient is coming, she thought, although she hesitated a few moments longer. There was a familiar look about the rider on the lead horse, and she continued to stare hard in an effort to get a better picture. It didn’t appear to be an Indian. A few moments more and she suddenly felt a tiny flutter in her heart. “John Ward,” she uttered, barely above a whisper. Although still over a hundred yards away, there was no mistaking the solid, wide-shouldered form of the deputy marshal.

  With no further hesitation, she immediately turned on her heel. Without pausing as she passed the pump, she set the basin down and hurried into the kitchen. “Dad,” she called out as she breezed through the kitchen, untying her apron as she walked, “someone’s coming.” She didn’t wait to find out if her father had heard her, going straight to her room.

  “Who is it?” Dr. Summerlin called back from the front room.

  “Looks like John Ward,” Lucy answered from her room. “He’s hauling somebody on a travois.” To herself, she muttered, “Damn, damn, damn,” as she fussed with her hair in a frantic attempt to put some semblance of order to her rebellious tresses. He would have to come this morning when I’ve just washed my hair and can’t do a thing with it. Smoothing it down as best she could, she decided it would have to do. A long, scrutinizing look in the mirror caused her to frown as she examined each familiar line and wrinkle. She then heard her father greeting their visitor from the front porch, so she gave each cheek a pinch and offered one little sigh in memory of her youth.

  “Well, John, looks like you’ve run down another outlaw,” Dr. Summerlin called out in greeting.

  “Howdy, Doc,” John returned. “Not this time. This is a friend. Got shot up pretty bad last night. There’s two slugs still in him—name’s Two Buck.”

  John dismounted while Dr. Summerlin stepped off the porch and walked around to the travois. While the deputy stood silently by, the doctor examined the two bullet wounds in Two Buck’s chest.

  “He’s a good man, Doc. I’d be obliged if you can patch him up.”

  After a brief examination, Summerlin stood up straight and gave Two Buck his prognosis. “Well, young fellow, I guess if you’re still alive after bouncing across the hills on that travois, then you’ve got a pretty good chance of making it. Let’s carry you inside.”

  Eyes wide open, but saying not a word, Two Buck lay still while John and Dr. Summerlin lifted him up from the travois. With John at his shoulders and the doctor at his feet, the injured man was carried toward the porch. Lucy stepped out on the porch and held the door for them. “Hello, John,” she said as he passed by her.

  “Miss Summerlin,” John replied politely, briefly exchanging glances with her before turning away lest she might think he was staring.

  “Miss Summerlin,” she clucked impatiently. “I swear, John, you can call me Lucy, for goodness’ sakes.”

  “Yes, ma’am, Lucy,” he replied meekly. Why, he wondered, do I turn into a complete fool every time I see her?

  “I’m gonna need your help, honey,” Dr. Summerlin interrupted. “Let’s get him on the table and get that shirt off of him. Better pump some water into that basin so we can clean him up a little. John, you can wait in the kitchen if you want to. Make yourself at home. There’s some coffee on the stove that’s probably still got some kick to it.”

  “Much obliged,” John mumbled, suddenly aware of Lucy Summerlin’s eyes upon him. The lady had a way about her that made him feel self-conscious. Once Two Buck was settled upon the table, John turned to make a hasty retreat to the kitchen. Going through the doorway, he glanced back once more only to meet Lucy’s gaze again. He looked quickly away, still afraid she might think him too bold.

  In the kitchen, he found the coffeepot sitting on the edge of the stove just as the doctor had said. Looking around in the cupboard, he found a cup and filled it with the black liquid. One sip and he almost walked to the back door to spit it out. He appreciated strong coffee as much as the next man, but this had no doubt been sitting there since early morning. The thought occurred to him that maybe Doc required coffee stronger than sheep dip to bring him down off a drunk. He had noticed an Indian woman and a young boy riding away from the clinic. Lucy might have found it necessary to sober her father up so he could doctor the boy.

  Thoughts of Lucinda Summerlin caused him to reflect upon the strange effect the woman had upon him. Lucy was a fine-looking woman, tall and strong—no nonsense about her, either. She was not what he would call a beautiful woman. How many women were who lived in this wild country? But he would bet she had been a handsome young girl in her day. Hell, he thought, she still cuts a fine figure. He thought about that for a second before admonishing himself for wondering about things that were none of his business. It occurred to him then that he never considered himself a lonely man until he was in her presence.

  His mind still on the doctor’s daughter, he absent- mindedly took another gulp of the coffee. “Damn!” he blurted. “I ain’t man enough to drink this stuff.”

  It was over an hour before the door to Dr. Summerlin’s surgery opened and the doctor came out. Going straight to a lower cupboard, he took out a bottle and a glass, poured a drink, and downed it
before bringing the bottle to the table. Only then did he acknowledge John’s presence. Settling himself wearily into a chair, he sighed, “I’m too damned old to do this work anymore. I swear, whiskey is the only thing that keeps me going.”

  “What about Two Buck?” John asked. “Is he gonna make it?”

  “Who?” Summerlin replied, pouring himself another drink. “Oh, the Indian. Yes, he’ll live. You can take him out and get him shot up again. But not for a couple of weeks.”

  Lucy came out of the room then, carrying another basin full of bloody water. She paused when she saw John sitting there drinking coffee. “Are you drinking that awful stuff? It’s been on the stove since before sunup.”

  John grinned. “I made some fresh. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “In that case,” she said, smiling back at him, “I’ll have some, too, as soon as I get rid of this.” She paused again before reaching the back door. “Your friend is resting easy right now, but he won’t be ready to ride for a week or so.”

  “Much obliged,” was all John replied, but he was thinking that he could not afford to wait around for Two Buck to heal. As much as he had come to like the young Cherokee, and even though Two Buck was desperate to rescue Lilly, John still had no intention of letting Boot Stoner’s trail grow cold.

  When Lucy returned, she poured herself a cup of coffee and sat down opposite John. After a couple of sips of the dark liquid, she complimented him. “Well, John Ward, I have to say you make passable coffee.” She cocked a mischievous eye at her father, who was lost in his postoperative balm. “When the doctor makes coffee, he uses more beans than water.”

  “Yes, ma’am, I know,” John said, having recently sampled some of the doctor’s brew. There followed a rather awkward silence between them before he finally asked, “Is there some place around here where Two Buck could lay up for a while till he gets his strength back?”

  “He can stay in the spare room till he gets on his feet. I thought you might be staying with him,” Lucy replied, obviously disappointed. Then, with a quick smile to hide her feelings, she said, “We thought we might have some company for a few days.”

  “I wish I could, but I was chasin’ a murderin’ half-breed when Two Buck got himself shot. I need to get back on his trail just as quick as I can. I’m afraid he might have already given me the slip. I’m much obliged to you for takin’ care of Two Buck. I’ll see that you get paid for the doctorin’ and his keep.”

  “Well, there’s no use starting out this late in the day. You might as well stay for supper. It’s probably been a while since you’ve had a decent meal.” She paused to fix him with an impish smile. “I don’t suppose you’ve gotten yourself married since we saw you last.”

  John shook his head. “No, ma’am, I doubt if anybody’d have me. I thank you for the invitation, but I really oughta get started back. I reckon I’ll look in on Two Buck for a minute, and then I’ll be off.”

  “You’ll be missing a good supper. Lucy’s a damn good cook.” This was the first comment from the doctor for quite some time.

  “Yes, sir, I know she is, but I don’t wanna put you folks out any more than I already have.” The desire to stay and visit Lucy Summerlin for a while longer was strong, but he couldn’t ignore his responsibility for the capture of Boot Stoner.

  “Well, suit yourself,” Lucy said curtly, having become impatient with him.

  After looking in on his wounded friend, John unsaddled Two Buck’s horse and turned it in with the doctor’s horses. He was checking Cousin’s girth strap in preparation to leave when Lucy came out of the kitchen with half a cake of cornbread wrapped in a dish towel. “Here,” she said, “this is left over from earlier. There’s no telling when you’ll stop to eat.”

  “Well, thank you, ma’am,” he said, and turned to put it away in his saddlebag. When he turned back to face Lucy, it was to find her gazing intently into his face. It was an expectant gaze and he sensed that he was called to respond somehow, but he was dumbfounded as to the nature of that response.

  After a long moment with no response from him beyond the blank expression of confusion on his face, she shook her head in exasperation. “I swear, John Ward, sometimes I wonder if there’s anything going on inside that head of yours.” She stepped back, leaving him to puzzle over her remark. “Take care of yourself,” she said, and turned to leave. She took no more than three steps before spinning on her heel. Stalking back up to him, she reached up and planted a kiss on his lips. It was quick, but firm, as if she meant business. Then, without another word, she turned and marched to the kitchen, leaving him mystified and mesmerized. Maybe that will make him think about something besides chasing murderers and thieves, she thought.

  He watched her until she disappeared into the house and the door had closed behind her. His mind revolving in a whirlpool of bewilderment, he could still feel the burn of her lips upon his. He had a feeling that the sensation would dwell in his mind for a long time, giving him something to puzzle over until he could sort out the confusion it generated. He found it hard to believe that a fine-looking woman like Lucinda Summerlin could possibly have any affection for a weather-beaten range rider like himself. He didn’t remember climbing up into the saddle, and was mildly surprised when Cousin broke into a lope passing the doctor’s front gate.

  Inside the house, Dr. Summerlin greeted his daughter. “I saw that little farewell through the window,” he said with a slight chuckle.

  “You did?” She flushed, then shrugged, unconcerned. “I guess he’s still trying to figure out what happened. He’s so damn smart in some ways, and so dumb in others.” She glanced at her father’s face, which was still bearing an amused grin. “Hell, Papa, I’m not getting any younger.” She had waited for John Ward to notice her for two years, and she was getting older. She wondered what on earth he was waiting for. She was certain that he had special feelings for her. She had often seen it in his face, as well as his instant embarrassment when she caught him looking at her. The big dumb clod, she thought. He’d better speak up soon or to hell with him.

  With a shake of her head and a long, tired sigh, she turned back to her father. “I expect I’d better throw some supper together. You’d best get some food in your stomach to mix with the whiskey you’ve already downed today. I’ll look in on John Ward’s Indian friend after supper.”

  Chapter 7

  Lilly waded out into the river up to her knees, her legs numb in the chilly water, her skirt tied up around her waist. Shivering, she slowly lowered her bottom into the water, being careful not to let her skirt fall. Some thirty yards behind her on the shore, Boot Stoner sat by the fire, rolling himself a smoke. He would be satisfied for the night now, permitting her to sleep unmolested. Her mind long since adapted to the half-breed’s use of her body, she no longer tried to resist his assault. It had become almost mundane as she lay waiting for him to reach his satisfaction. She had learned early on that to protest and resist only brought physical pain to accompany the ordeal.

  At this point in the shallow river, she was almost a third of the distance across. With Boot lounging by the fire, she could easily push out into the deeper water and swim to the other side. She would be gone before he even took notice of her absence. There was no thought of escape, however. She had resigned herselfto the fact that she was now simply Boot’s property, like his horse or his rifle. What good would a few hours of freedom do, anyway? He would only come after her, and the punishment would be far worse than before. Even if she did manage to evade him, where would she go? The only place she had relatives was Low Hawk, and that was a long way away from this river on the Kansas border.

  “Hey!” A roar came out to her from the riverbank. “Get your lazy behind outta that water. I’m hungry.”

  She responded to his command immediately, wading ashore and hurrying up to the fire. Standing before the fire, she rubbed her legs vigorously with her skirt in an effort to dry them, all the while being careful not to expose too much of her legs so as
not to arouse his interest again.

  She need not have worried. Boot’s mind was on another passion. In a talkative mood, he proceeded to voice his intentions while she prepared his meal. “If Billy was right, Oswego can’t be far from here. We oughta make it before noon tomorrow.” She worked away in silence while he talked. He didn’t expect conversation from her. “ ’Course, Billy Sore Foot and Henry Dodge was both born liars, but if what they said was true, that store in Oswego might be easy pickin’s.”

  “No more flour,” Lilly said, holding up the empty sack for him to see, her voice submissive as if it were her fault.

  “We’ll stock up tomorrow,” Boot cheerfully replied, his spirits up with the prospect of a plum ripe for the picking. His mind skipped back to another subject then, one that concerned him, even though he would not admit it. “What do you know about this lawman that took a shot at me the other night?”

  She looked up from her cook fire to meet his intense gaze. “John Ward?” she replied with a shrug. “He stopped at my father’s house several times.”

  “My father’s house,” Boot immediately corrected. “Wendell Stoner weren’t your daddy. This John Ward—what’s he supposed to be, some kinda big-dog lawman or somethin’?”

  “I don’t know. They say he will never stop until he gets his man.”

  Her answer angered him. “I’m damn sure not afraid of John Ward, or any other two-bit lawman. I hope to hell he does keep comin’.” He fumed for a few moments more before saying, “He won’t follow us in Kansas, anyway.”