Duel at Low Hawk

by Charles G. West

  The cash in Boot Stoner’s pocket was beginning to burn against his thigh, and he was itching to spend some of it on some strong spirits, and maybe a little gambling. His last drink had been with Billy Sore Foot, and there was no whiskey among the goods he had taken from Fannin’s store. He was developing a craving for a little fun when he led Lilly and the pack animals down into the Joplin River valley.

  He halted the horses after rounding a bend in the river to discover a cluster of shacks in what appeared to be a mining camp. Looking the assembly of structures over, he determined all but one were living quarters for the miners. The one remaining was built larger and a bit more substantially. Boot was certain it must be a saloon. “I need me a drink,” he announced, and jammed his heels into his horse’s sides.

  Pulling up again before crossing a narrow creek that emptied into the river a dozen yards away, he sat there for a moment or two studying a roughly carved sign that proclaimed the camp to be JOPLIN. The proclamation was wasted on both Boot and Lilly, for neither could read. Finally, he grunted his indifference and prodded his horse toward the building in the center of the settlement. As was the case regarding the sign at the creek, he could not identify the individual letters in the crudely painted sign nailed over the door of the building, but he recognized the familiar arrangement of them to mean saloon. Tying the horses at the rail, he opened the door and stepped inside. The fumes that greeted his nose told him that he was in the right place. He stood in the doorway for a moment, looking the room over while he waited for Lilly to catch up. Small and dark, but large enough to offer a short bar on one side and three tables near the back, the saloon was windowless except for one shuttered opening beside the door. Consequently, it was dark and dusky. What scant light there was came from two kerosene lamps, one at each end of the bar.

  Two men sat at one of the tables, playing two-handed poker. They both looked toward the door when Boot entered, followed by Lilly. A third man got up from a chair at the end of the bar and shuffled casually over behind it. “That there gal looks Injun to me,” the bartender said in greeting, “and I can’t sell no likker to no Injun.”

  “I didn’t hear nobody say she wanted likker,” Boot snarled in reply.

  The bartender studied his customer for a moment longer in the dim light before commenting, “You know, you don’t look exactly all white to me, either.”

  Boot’s eyes narrowed in a deadly frown. He brought his rifle up level with the bar and said, “This Winchester says I’m damn sure white enough to drink in this pigpen.” He slapped some hard cash on the bar and said, “Now suppose you pour me a drink.”

  In that moment, the bartender realized he had picked the wrong half-breed to hassle. “Whoa, mister!” he exclaimed, taking a step backward. “I didn’t go to rile you. Sure, you can have a drink, no hard feelin’s.” In his haste to comply, he wasted a generous amount on the bar around the glass.

  The slight altercation at the bar attracted the attention of the two card players at the table. The two ten-dollar gold pieces Boot slammed on the bar were of special interest, prompting one of the men to rise from his chair and approach the bar. Boot cocked a suspicious eye toward the man and stood ready to act.

  “I’m Reese Freeman,” the man said. “Don’t pay no mind to Barney there. He don’t mean no harm.” He favored Boot with a wide grin and tipped his hat to Lilly before continuing. “I don’t believe I’ve seen you around here before.” He cocked his head at the bartender. “That sure is a helluva way to welcome a stranger, Barney.” Back to Boot, he said, “Why don’t you come on over and set down with Jake and me, and I’ll buy you another drink?” He stepped aside and gestured toward the table and the man identified as Jake. “Me and Jake was just playin’ a little poker to pass the time. Maybe you’d care to play a few hands—just friendly stakes, you understand.”

  A thin smile appeared across Boot’s face. Gambling appealed to him, especially since he was secure in the knowledge that, if he lost, then the winner was dead sure of getting bushwhacked on his way home. “Yeah, I’ll play some poker,” he said. He started toward the table, then paused long enough to send Lilly to sit on a stool in the corner of the room.

  As could be expected, Boot’s luck was strong in the beginning, and he won four of the first five hands. There was a great deal of friendly banter while the cards were dealt, all of it generated by Reese and bouncing off of a stoic Boot Stoner. The whiskey glasses were never allowed to go dry, and Barney brought a fresh bottle to the table before nonchalantly slipping out the side door. The flame in the lamp on the end of the bar flickered slightly from the draft when he opened the door a few minutes later, followed in by a buxom lady wearing a long kimono, the top of which was unbuttoned almost to her navel. She sashayed casually over to stand behind Boot.

  Boot paused to look the woman over, then returned his attention to the card game. It struck him that he was the only one playing with hard money, while Rafe and Reese bet with paper. He voiced his concern. “This place looks like a mining camp to me. Ain’t you got any hard money?”

  Reese laughed. “It is a mining camp,” he said. “But there ain’t no gold. It’s a lead mine.” He winked at the woman behind Boot’s chair. “You wouldn’t think too kindly of us if we was to bet with lead dollars.” Boot merely grunted in response.

  Eager to get a share of Douglas Fannin’s gold dollars,the woman placed a hand on Boot’s shoulder. “Hey, darlin’, my name’s Rose. You might wanna spend some of that money to have a little fun.”

  “I might,” Boot replied, “when I get done here.”

  Rose bent low over him, causing her gown to gap even more, and placed a hand on his thigh. “I can guarantee you a good time,” she whispered, and planted a wet kiss on his mouth.

  Boot grinned. “I bet you could,” he said, and rested a hand on her generous backside.

  She gave him a playful slap on the hand and stepped away. “Naughty, naughty,” she teased. “No free samples.”

  While Reese and Jake chuckled patiently at the interruption of the card game, there was a converse reaction from the spectator on the stool in the corner. When she witnessed Rose’s advances upon Boot, and Boot’s obviously welcome reception, a hailstorm of confusing and conflicting thoughts went racing through Lilly’s mind. She had been long battered and abused by the cruel half-breed, and her young brain had been sufficiently broken that she could no longer remember what life was like before becoming Boot Stoner’s property. Confronted with the seductive performance of the saucy but overripe saloon whore, she momentarily lost all sense of reality, seeing it as a direct threat to her rightful position. A rational person would find it difficult to explain what took place next.

  Still taunting playfully, Rose took a step back toward Boot and puckered her full painted lips as if to tempt him with a kiss. Boot started to grab her again, but beforehe could raise a hand, Rose’s head was suddenly jerked back and she screamed in pain. Her face twisted in surprise and agony; she tried unsuccessfully to maintain her balance. With a handful of dyed black hair and a knee in the woman’s back, Lilly hauled back on the unfortunate whore’s neck until Rose had no choice but to collapse. Flat on the floor now, Rose struggled to free herself and retaliate, but Lilly was upon her like an irate wildcat defending her young. Still clutching the handful of hair with one hand, she pummeled and kicked the screaming predator unmercifully.

  It had happened so fast, and so unexpectedly, that the spectators to the assault were stunned into paralysis for a few moments, and none more so than Boot Stoner. At first he was amused by Lilly’s reaction to the advances of the other woman. Then the thought of her presumption angered him, and he was the first to take action to stop the attack. Without a word, he got up from his chair and delivered a hard right-hand punch that knocked Lilly across the room. Following the stunned Creek girl, he struck her again when she tried to scramble to her feet. She crumpled against the wall and stayed there.

  “That goddamned Injun bitch!” Rose
screamed as she staggered to her feet. Seeing Lilly totally subdued, she thought to extract further retribution from the now defenseless girl. One look from the cruel eyes of the angry half-breed stopped her before she took another step.

  A sudden pall fell over the dark room while the startled spectators waited to see what was going to happen next. For a few extended moments, there was no sound in the saloon except the pitiful whimpering of the injured whore. All eyes were on the half-breed as he stood glaring back at them, his rifle in both hands now. Reese sought to ease the tension. “Nothing but a little whore fight. Let’s have a little drink and get back to the card game.” He didn’t like the look in Boot’s eye, and he feared that he might lose the money he and Rafe had invested to set the half-breed up for the fleecing. The thought of those ten-dollar gold pieces rolling out of town was almost more than he could bear.

  “I’m done playin’ cards,” Boot said. With one hand, he reached down and dragged Lilly to her feet. “Go get on your horse.” With a cut lip and a swelling red lump beside her eye, she dutifully followed his orders.

  “Ah, don’t go lettin’ this little scuffle rile you,” Reese pleaded. “Hell, we was just gettin’ started good, and you’re ridin’ a pretty good lucky streak.”

  “I’m done playin’ cards,” Boot repeated. Then, before Lilly reached the door, he stopped her. “Lilly, rake that money off the table.”

  Seeing that the game was up, Jake protested, “Now wait a minute, friend. You can’t quit while you’re way ahead without givin’ us a chance to get even. That money stays on the table.” He glanced at Reese for support. “We ain’t gonna let you walk outta here with all that money.” Seeing the way things were going, Rose made a sensible decision and slipped out the side door to the spare room.

  Lilly quickly swept the money from the table into her skirt. She recognized the cold, almost lifeless look in Boot’s eyes as he stood there motionless, his rifle held loosely before him. She had seen the same look moments before he murdered Jacob Mashburn, and again just before the slaughter at Billy Sore Foot’s shack. She hurried out the door.

  “You drank up a helluva lot of whiskey that ain’t been paid for,” Barney interjected from the bar.

  Without turning his head, Boot replied. “I put two ten-dollar gold pieces on the bar when I came in. That’ll take care of any likker I drank.” His main concentration was on the two men he had been playing cards with. Neither wore a pistol, but he suspected there might be a derringer in an inside coat pocket of either or both. “I’m leavin’ now, so I expect all three of you best get over in that corner so I can keep an eye on you.” He brought the rifle up to emphasize his instructions. Seeing no recourse but to obey, all three shuffled over to stand in the corner while Boot backed cautiously toward the door.

  Inside the spare room, Rose inspected the damage done to her hair and face. Forgetting the sensible decision she had made in retreating, she became more and more angry as she stared into the mirror. She stalked back to the door and pressed her ear against the crack to listen, just in time to hear Boot order the men to move to the corner of the room. Her gaze fell upon the shotgun Barney kept propped against the wall beside her, and she decided to take matters into her own hands.

  On the other side of the door, Boot continued to step backward toward the front door, keeping his eye riveted to the three watching anxiously from the corner. He had just moved past the side door when one of the lamps on the end of the bar fluttered from a sudden draft. Without hesitation, he wheeled around and fired. Rose dropped the shotgun and fell back on the floor. Instantly, he wheeled back to cover the three men. “Who wants to go next?” he said with a smirk. No one moved.

  Once outside the saloon, he wasted no time in making a hasty getaway. Lilly was seated in the saddle, holding his reins. He jumped in the saddle and they galloped away, weaving their way through the assembly of shacks and tents of the miners. Behind them, Lilly could hear shouts of alarm from the three men, now outside the saloon and running after them. They soon left them in their dust.

  Following the river, Boot drove the horses hard until they came to a shallow ford. Crossing over then, he drove them on until he was forced to let them rest. Selecting a copse of poplars and oaks, he led the horses in among the trees and dismounted. There had been no sign of anyone chasing them, even though they had been slowed considerably by the pack mules—so much so that Boot decided he was tired of bothering with them. “Ain’t nobody chasin’ us,” he said. “Make me some coffee. After that, you can go through them packs and get out anything you need for cookin’. I’m cuttin’ them mules loose. I’m tired of foolin’ with ’em.”

  Lilly proceeded to go through the mechanical movements required to gather wood, build a fire, and boil a pot of coffee for him. But her mind was elsewhere, hovering between the reality of her present state and that of a mere few weeks past. What had happened to her that had caused her to attack the woman in the saloon in what could only be described as a jealous rage? She had actually fought to defend her claim as victim of a man who had savagely beaten and raped her. Now that fact came down hard enough on her to cause her to question her sanity, and she was suddenly shocked with the reality of her situation. She could no longer surrender to her status as his piece of property. The incident in the saloon made her realize how debased she had become and how hopeless her future would be. It would be better to be dead. Her decision was made at that moment to attempt escape, no matter the cost.

  After resting the horses, Boot took the bridles off the mules and set them free. In the saddle again, he led out toward the south, planning to cut back to the west before reaching the Boston Mountains. Lilly followed dutifully. Looking back over her shoulder, she could see the mules tagging along behind them. Boot figured that his greatest safety would lie in Indian Territory where, except for the rare individual like John Ward, lawmen hesitated to venture. Before he went to prison, there were several spots along the Cimarron that served as outlaw havens. Perhaps they were still in existence.

  They made another five miles before approaching darkness dictated the need to select a campsite. In a country of gently rolling hills, there were many likely spots to choose from. Boot picked one by a narrow stream. Without being told to, Lilly immediately began setting up their camp and building a fire. While her thoughts dwelled upon her resolve to escape her evil master, Boot’s were of a smug and self-satisfied nature. Thinking back now with a chuckle, he amused himself with the image of an infuriated Lilly, furiously kicking and scratching the woman in the saloon. He had broken the Creek girl’s spirit. Of that there could be little doubt. These thoughts served to trigger his lust, and he availed himself of the pleasures of his property. Lilly submitted to his pawing and thrusting impassively. When he was satisfied, he rolled away from her and went to sleep, knowing that she would be there when he awakened.

  Following her usual practice, she went to the stream to cleanse herself when he was through with her. While she bathed in the clear, cool water, she was startled for a few moments by sounds in the brush on the other side of the stream until she realized what had made them. The mules had continued to follow along behind them. She looked back at the sleeping man by the fire to see if he had heard. Her question was answered by a loud snore.

  Moving about as quietly as she could manage, she saddled her horse and packed the few things she felt she needed, all the while watching Boot for any signs of waking. If he awoke, there would be no explanation that would satisfy him to explain why she had saddled her horse. Knowing that to be true, she took the risk of tiptoeingback to his blanket to lift his pistol from the holster. If she was discovered trying to escape, she vowed to defend herself. Bending over the sleeping man with the pistol in her hand, she hesitated for a brief moment. The temptation to kill him was strong, but her fear of the man was such that she could not pull the trigger. What if the gun misfired? What if there was no bullet in the chamber and he was awakened by the click of the hammer on an empty cylinder? She
had witnessed his rattlesnake-quick reactions. He would be on her in a split second. Rather than risk failure in the deed, she resigned herself to simply fleeing and hoping that he would lose interest in following her after a while.

  When all was ready, she led her horse quietly out of the camp, across the stream, and into the hardwoods along the bank. In an attempt to slow his pursuit, she took Boot’s bridle with her, and threw it into some brush about fifty yards away from the camp. Once that was done, she paused to listen. There were no sounds, save that of an owl’s low hoot floating softly on the night air. With one deep breath to steady her already frayed nerves, she climbed up in the saddle and pointed her horse toward the dark silhouette of the mountains to the south. Her thought was to first attempt to lose him in the mountains. After that, the only place she knew where she might be safe was with her people in Low Hawk. It would be a long journey, but there was nowhere else a young Creek girl could go, especially one who had been ruined.

  Chapter 9

  The buckskin moved at a comfortable pace that effectively chewed up the miles, a pace the broad-chested horse could maintain for hours on end. It was for this and other reasons that John Ward rode a buckskin. The breed had more stamina than most others, more determination, harder feet, better bones, and a willingness to stand up to tests that might cause other horses to back down. John needed a strong horse. He was a big man.

  Passing through patches of heavy sedge two feet tall, John Ward followed an obvious trail that never veered from an eastward course. It was late in the spring now. Already there were signs of budding on the sage. In spite of being in Kansas Territory, and soon to be in Missouri, if the trail continued east, John gave no thoughts toward the matter of jurisdiction. As long as he had a warm trail, he would follow it to the end, no matter where it led. Considering the manner of man he pursued, however, he was mildly surprised that Boot had not fled back to Indian Territory where there was a scarcity of law enforcement.