Duel at Low Hawk

by Charles G. West

  Fearful of what might be coming next, Lilly pleaded, “I’ll go with you, but please don’t kill him. It’s me you want. Leave him in peace.”

  The malicious grin on Boot’s face told her that she was not going to like his response. “Why, that was just what I was plannin’ to do. Since you think so much of him, I decided not to shoot him. Is that what you want?”

  She did not know how to respond, unable to believe that Boot would actually show compassion just to please her. But he checked to make sure that Two Buck’s bonds were secure, then promptly turned away. Grabbing Lilly by the arm, he led her outside. Pulling her back to the horses, he helped her up. Then, as he had done on the day he abducted her from his father’s house, he tied her wrists to the saddle horn. As an added precaution, he looped a rope under the horse’s belly and tied her ankles to the stirrups. “I wouldn’t want you to fall off, darlin’,” he teased.

  Tying the reins to a porch post, he went to the barn and looked around in the dark interior of the building until he found a pitchfork. With a forkful of dry hay, he returned to the house and deposited it in the middle of the front room floor. He repeated the exercise several times until he had a sizable pile of hay in the small room. When he was satisfied with his efforts, he paused to mock his prisoner. “These mornin’s can get pretty chilly, and Lilly wants to make sure you don’t get cold.”

  The brutal half-breed’s intentions were obvious, and Two Buck knew there was nothing he could do to save himself. In a defiant gesture, he spat at his tormenter. The spittle fell short, causing Boot to laugh at his feeble effort.

  “You better start sayin’ your prayers, boy,” Boot goaded. He stood there simply grinning at his captive for a few long moments before going to the kitchen where he had spied a can of kerosene. After emptying the can on the floor and furniture, he paused for one additional moment of gloating. Then he smashed the lamp on the floor amidst the dried hay. A flame immediately flashed, following the path of the kerosene. “Damn!” Boot exclaimed, stepping back from the flame. “I’d like to stay and watch you cook, but this place is gonna be too hot in a few minutes.” He laughed as Two Buck tried to squeeze back against the wall. Staying only long enough then to make sure his fire was strong, he retreated from the burning cabin.

  A man was judged by the way he lived his life—or so Two Buck believed. A man was judged by his bravery in battle, by the way he treated his family and his neighbors, and the way he faced nature’s hardships. And the Great Spirit, who watched man’s trials, also judged a man by the way he faced death. Two Buck’s time to face death had come, and he was determined to pass into the spirit world with dignity.

  As the flames rose higher around him, reaching up on the walls within minutes after Boot departed, Two Buck could already feel the scorching heat closing in upon him. Through the crackling of the fire as it fed upon the table, he heard the sound of horses as his executioner departed. He even thought he heard the sound of Lilly crying, although that could have been the hissing of the turpentine in the log walls.

  Like a great beast with an insatiable appetite, the fire crept toward the corner where he struggled in vain to free himself. The heat was now unbearable, closing in to consume the very air he was gasping to breathe. His skin was so hot that it felt blistered. With all hope consumed by the flames, he began to pray that he could be brave, although he now feared that he could not endure the torture. He called upon his native spirits to come to his aid. As the air became too hot to suck into his lungs, he prayed to the Christian God to take him swiftly.

  Crying out in painful torment against the unbearable heat, he closed his eyes and prayed for death to take him quickly. With failing breath, he began singing his death chant. When he opened his eyes, there appeared to be a form before him, its outline wavering in the hazy, smoke-filled room. An angel? Hardly. The answer to Two Buck’s prayers stood as tall as the door frame, with shoulders that filled the opening. Casting burning chairs and small furniture aside, defying the greedy monster to impede him, John Ward walked through the flaming room. With no time for untying him, he reached down, grabbed Two Buck, and hoisted him on his shoulder. With roof timbers groaning and starting to give way, he retraced his steps to the door and the cool, fresh air outside.

  Without pausing, John carried Two Buck down to the creek and laid him in the shallow water while he cut the ropes that bound him. Unable to talk at once, Two Buck gulped in the cool air. “You gonna make it?” John asked, not sure how close his young friend was to being cooked.

  Finally Two Buck spoke. “I think so, but I wouldn’t have if you’d been a minute later. I thought I was done for.” He pulled himself up to the bank. “How did you know I was in there?”

  John shrugged. “I got here too late to catch Boot. The house was burnin’ like hell. No one was outside. I didn’t figure Boot took everyone with him, and I sure as hell wasn’t gonna go in that burning cabin just to make sure. But then I heard you makin’ that god-awful noise you call singin’.”

  Two Buck nodded, remembering that he had cried out when he thought all was lost. Though not overly proud of it, he was glad now that he had not chosen to meet his fate in silence. His appointment with death now effectively postponed, he remembered his main concern. “Lilly!” he gasped. “He’s got Lilly again!”

  “I figured,” John replied calmly. “What about the folks that lived here?” he asked. “Where are they?”

  “Dead,” Two Buck said. “He shot ’em both.”

  John shook his head slowly in silent exasperation. The murderous rampage had gone on far too long, and he could not deny a certain frustration over his failure to put a stop to it. Now, however, after arriving on the scene of another slaughter too late, he was not far behind the evil savage. This time, he was certain he had finally caught up with Boot Stoner. “How long has he been gone from here?” he asked.

  “I don’t know for sure, but it seems like you came along no more than half an hour after I heard them ride out. I ain’t too sure, though. My mind was on other things.”

  John got to his feet. He glanced back at the burning cabin, and then he looked up at the sky. Already the moon had disappeared behind the hills and the darkness of the sky was softening. Daylight was not far away. “I’m wastin’ time standin’ here jawin’,” he said, even though he knew he would be wasting even more time if he tried to track Boot before there was enough light to see.

  Although still a little shaky, and complaining of an ache deep in his chest, Two Buck said that he was ready to ride. John figured the ache was probably due to the overheated air and smoke the young man inhaled. “Most likely you’ll get over it in a little while,” he said. “Or else you’ll just die,” he added, teasing.

  “I ain’t gonna die,” Two Buck insisted. “If I was gonna die, I’da done it back there.” He gestured toward the house. “I’m startin’ to feel cold right now.”

  “Well, hell, you’re soakin’ wet. Maybe you oughta go stand close to the fire.”

  “I ain’t goin’ close to that fire no more. My clothes will dry out before long.” He was impatient to get under way, imagining any number of atrocities that might be happening to Lilly.

  “Suit yourself,” John said. “Let’s get ready to ride.”

  With Two Buck on his feet again, they went to the barn, where they discovered Two Buck’s horse missing. He took a long, cynical look at Tom Talltree’s old mare, but there was no other choice, so he looked around until he found a bridle and saddle. John watched him patiently while he saddled the mare. When he was done, John unbuckled his gun belt and tossed it over to him. “Here,” he said. “You don’t wanna go after Boot Stoner naked.”

  At first light, they picked up Boot’s trail. It led in the general direction of Low Hawk. With Two Buck certain that Boot had not had breakfast before leaving Black Rock Creek, John was hoping that the outlaw might stop to eat soon after daybreak.

  That was not the case, however. Boot planned to head south to the Canadian River
and beyond to the Chickasaw Nation, and eventually into Texas. His plan included a stop first at Jonah Feathers’ store in Low Hawk, where he intended to pick up supplies for the journey.

  It was still early when Boot rode into the little community of Low Hawk. With no concern at all for the risk of encountering vengeful residents of the town, he rode up to the store leading Lilly’s horse, with Two Buck’s behind hers. He tied his horse up at the hitching rail, pulled his rifle out of the saddle sling, and took a long look around before entering the store. Due to the early hour, there was no one about. Satisfied that he would not be disturbed during his dealings with the store’s owner, he went inside.

  Jonah Feathers almost tipped his chair over backward when he saw who his first customer was. The coffee cup in his trembling hand sloshed hot coffee over the sides and down upon his fingers. The sensationof the hot liquid over his hand went unnoticed by Jonah as his whole body went numb with fright.

  “Don’t shit your britches,” Boot snarled. “I ain’t gonna kill you if you do like I tell you.” He glanced quickly around the store. “Where’s your woman?”

  “In the house,” Jonah managed to squeak, swallowing hard to keep his Adam’s apple from coming up to choke him.

  “Call her in here,” Boot ordered.

  Jonah did as he was told, and in a few minutes, Ruth Feathers came through the doorway from the attached living quarters. “What is it, Jonah? I’m trying to roll out some biscuits . . .” She stopped in midsentence when she saw Boot standing there with his rifle cradled across his arms. “What are you doing here, you murderer?” she demanded, unconcerned with his reaction to the contempt in her tone.

  “You better tell her to shut up,” Boot immediately snarled.

  “Ruth, for the love of God, hold your tongue!” Jonah implored. He could not believe his wife’s disregard for the trouble she might invoke.

  Realizing Jonah’s fear then, she said nothing more, but she fixed the half-breed outlaw with a scorching gaze. Boot answered her gaze with a sneering look of scorn. Then he informed Jonah that he was there to get supplies. He walked around the little store, pointing out items he saw on the shelves and calling out the quantities he needed of each. Jonah hustled back and forth to fetch the items indicated, and placed them in a stack on the counter. Ruth backed away behind the end of the counter, where she stood silently watching. When she was sure Boot’s attention was on something on one of the shelves, she reached under the counter to retrieve the butcher knife used to cut side meat. She slipped it into the deep pocket of her skirt. She was not certain what she would do with it, but she was determined to have some form of protection.

  When he could see nothing else he fancied, Boot said, “All right, load that stuff up on them horses outside.” When Jonah jumped to comply, Boot motioned him back with his rifle. “Not you. Let her load it up.” He stood then, gazing insolently at the frowning woman, waiting for her response.

  Ruth’s eyes narrowed again, her lips pressed tightly together, about to reply, but Jonah spoke first. “Do as he says, Ruth. It ain’t worth gettin’ shot over.”

  “Yeah, Ruth,” Boot repeated, emphasizing her name, “it ain’t worth gettin’ shot over.”

  Still Ruth hesitated, giving her husband a scalding look before she relented and picked up two sacks of supplies. Walking out the front door, she was startled to see Lilly sitting on one of the horses, her hands and feet tied to the saddle. “Oh, dear Lord, child,” she gasped. “That savage found you.”

  With soulful eyes, Lilly replied, “I’m so sorry, ma’am. I’m sorry I brought all this trouble down on you.”

  “It’s not your fault, child,” Ruth insisted. She looked behind her to see if she was being watched as she hurriedly tied the cloth sacks behind the saddle. “I’ll try to cut you loose, and then you run.”

  “Don’t make him mad, ma’am. He’ll hurt you,” Lilly implored, afraid for her.

  “Never you mind that,” Ruth replied, and began sawing the rope that held Lilly’s foot to the stirrup.

  Before she made any progress on the rope, she heard Boot’s voice behind her. “Hey, I didn’t tell you to do no talkin’. Get back in here and get the rest of my goods.” Shielding her knife with her back turned to him, she quickly hid it in her skirt again. Turning around, she marched back inside to get the other sacks. “Put them two behind my saddle,” Boot instructed when she came back.

  Lilly saw the look of dismay in Ruth’s eyes when she realized she was not going to get an opportunity to finish working on the ropes. The captive girl showed Ruth a grateful smile and nodded in way of thanking her for trying. Heartbroken, Ruth returned a smile of apology. She stepped over to stand by Lilly’s horse when Boot stepped off the porch and prepared to mount.

  Standing helplessly by, watching four full sacks of his merchandise about to be carried away, Jonah could not resist saying, “I don’t suppose you’d consider payin’ for those goods.”

  Boot laughed at the notion. “Hell, I am payin’ you for them goods,” he said. “I’m lettin’ you and that old crow you’re married to live. I might could even do you a bigger favor, and shoot your old lady. How’d that be?” He leveled the rifle in Ruth’s direction.

  “No! No!” Jonah quickly blurted. “You take the merchandise.”

  Boot threw his head back and laughed, only to stop cold when he heard an authoritative voice call out from the edge of the trees by the creek. “Boot Stoner! You’re under arrest for murder. I’m givin’ you a chance to surrender peacefully.”

  Boot’s reaction was immediate, and it was not to surrender. Swinging his leg over, he kicked his horse hard, and the animal bolted away with Boot lying low on its neck. Thinking quickly, Ruth severed the lead rope when Boot’s sudden departure pulled the line taut, causing Lilly’s horse to bolt after Boot’s before veering to the side and galloping off in another direction with Two Buck’s horse following. The crack of John Ward’s Winchester split the air as the deputy tried for a lucky shot.

  He knew there was little chance of hitting the fugitive, but he took the shot anyway. If he could have waited until he was within closer range, he would have had a better chance. His instructions from Judge Parker were to always give the fugitive the opportunity to surrender, no matter how heinous the outlaw. He had done that, so he now felt that his obligations to uphold the law were satisfied. From this point on, he considered his job to be that of eliminating a mad dog. As the two galloped up to the store, John yelled to Two Buck, “Go after her!” Two Buck was already riding after Lilly as fast as Tom’s old horse would run. John asked the gray stallion for all the speed the big horse could deliver, and the horse responded, chewing up the grassy plain in huge chunks. At long last, the duel was on. Weeks of frustrating search had finally boiled down to a deadly dash across a grass-covered sea of prairie. This time, John felt certain, win or lose, the issue would be settled.

  The two horses were a match. The lawman could realize no gain, and the outlaw could not increase his lead. Urging his horse desperately, Boot swung back toward the creek that ran through Low Hawk, through a stand of cottonwoods on the bank, and splashed through the creek to the other side. Still, the lawman was relentless, matching stride for stride. Striking a narrow wagon road, Boot turned his horse to follow it. Its hooves thundered along the hard-packed clay as Boot looked back to see John Ward still bearing down on him.

  “Damn him!” Boot complained. There was something in him that feared the relentless lawman. He had boasted of a desire to face John Ward, even convinced himself of his strong medicine. Yet, at the fateful moment, he was not sure of himself. Now his horse began to show signs of fatigue, and he looked back again at his pursuer, hoping to see signs of the deputy’s horse foundering. Then, rounding a curve in the road, he came upon a burned-out cabin with a barn still standing. In the panic of the moment, he failed to realize it was George Longpath’s house, a house he had burned down. Aware that his horse had not much left to give, he swung into the path and u
rged the weary animal toward the barn.

  John rounded the bend in the road in time to see Boot ride into the barn, coming out of the saddle before the horse came to a full stop. He pulled up hard on the gray’s reins, and the thankful horse skidded to a stop. John quickly looked around him for some position of cover. Not a moment too soon he dived behind a large oak about thirty yards from the front of the barn, and cocked his rifle just as shots rang out from the building. He rolled over to the other side of the tree when bullets kicked up dirt around the roots, and fired three quick shots at the barn, then rolled back to the other side of the tree. He didn’t have to wait more than a few seconds before his shots were answered. While Boot fired a barrage of shots at the opposite side of the tree, John watched carefully to pinpoint their point of origin. He’s in the hayloft, he thought as the dull smack of shot after shot struck the oak.

  This could take all day, John thought, realizing they were at a standoff at this point. Determined to bring the altercation to a close, he decided it was time to take a risk. Rolling back to the other side again, he waited for another barrage from the barn. When he figured Boot was reloading, he rose up on one knee and pumped six rounds into the door of the loft. As soon as the last shot rang out, he sprinted for the open barn door. Boot only managed to partially reload his magazine before he realized what was happening. By the time he moved to the door to spot the lawman, John had reached the cover of the barn below him. Frustrated, Boot shot blindly through the loft floor, as John rolled under Boot’s horse. It was only for a moment, however, for the horse reared wildly as the shots kicked up dirt around it; then it bolted through the open end of the barn with John just barely out of the way of its hooves.

  John hustled to the side wall and the ladder to the loft. Boot, distracted by the sudden flight of his horse, ran to the door again. Climbing quickly up the steps with his rifle in one hand, John reached the loft floor just as Boot turned to discover him. Finding himself dead in the lawman’s sights, Boot jumped from the loft door to the ground below. John scrambled up onto the floor of the loft and moved to the door, expecting to see Boot running for cover. Instead, Boot was trying to drag himself back inside the barn, his leg having been broken in his jump from the hayloft.