Duel at Low Hawk

John Ward stood staring down at the remains of a small campfire in a grove of poplars by the river. He extended one foot and poked around in the ashes with the toe of his boot. From all appearances they had not lingered long at this camp, judging by the amount of ashes. He looked around the little clearing again, somewhat puzzled by the two piles of items left behind: some cooking utensils, clothing, tools, blankets, and other items, as well as the packs that had held them—enough to furnish a household. Lying near the piles were two bridles. For some reason, Boot had decided to cut his pack mules loose. This notion was confirmed a short time later when he picked up their trail out of the camp. Tracks of the two horses alone led off toward the south. A short distance farther on, the tracks were joined by the tracks of the mules. John pictured the two mules tagging along behind Stoner and Lilly even though they had been freed.

It was getting late in the day. There would be little more than an hour left before darkness would force him to make camp. Boot had chosen a good campsite, and John hesitated over a decision to use it himself, or push on for an hour or so before darkness stopped him. The buckskin seemed to be trying to influence him to stay. The horse sauntered over to the bank of the stream and began feeding upon the tender shoots at the water’s edge. “All right,” John said, “we’ll make camp here.”

While he made coffee, he considered the manner of man he trailed. Judging by the direction the outlaw had now turned, John had to speculate that Boot was gradually circling back toward the Nations. He would know that for sure if Boot took a turn back toward the west before reaching the mountains. He felt confident that he was gaining on Boot. Each campsite he found told him so. But he was still not satisfied with his progress. It seemed that every day Boot was not caught provided the potential for another poor soul being murdered. He was already losing track of the number of days he had been on the half-breed’s trail, arriving at the scene of one massacre after another, and always at least one day behind. It was beginning to try John’s usual patience.

While thinking about the man he chased, he also paused to puzzle over Lilly. It was especially disturbing to him to recall the Joplin bartender’s account of the shooting there. According to him, Lilly had attacked the woman called Rose in a jealous rage over the woman’s flirtatious attention to Boot. That didn’t fit with the picture he had of Lilly. The young Creek girl had been like a daughter to Wendell Stoner. It was hard to accept the fact that she might be a willing accomplice to Boot Stoner. During John’s occasional visits to the trading post, Lilly had always demonstrated affection to both Wendell and Morning Light. It just didn’t seem right that the shy young girl would go bad, and willingly ride with the likes of Boot Stoner. It was troubling, but he would be aware of the need to keep one eye on Lilly when he caught up with Boot. These thoughts were heavy on his mind when he drifted off to sleep.

He was awakened by a sharp clap of thunder, followed moments later by a driving rain that fairly soaked him before he could get his slicker from his saddlebags. Cursing loudly while fumbling with the oilskin slicker to keep it from flapping in the wind, he gathered his weapons and blanket in a losing effort to keep them dry. Crouching up under a low oak, he tried to fashion a tent with the slicker while the lightning flashed and the rain poured down in torrents. The storm had taken him totally by surprise, as storms this time of year had a habit of doing. There had been no sign of an approaching storm the day before. It irritated him that he had not seen it coming. Disgruntled, but knowing there was nothing to be done about it, he sat under the tree and waited for morning.

He spent some time searching the area where he had discovered the trail the night before, in hopes that the rain had not erased every single track, but his search was in vain. Although he found some tracks, they were scattered—some horse, some mule, but none in a pattern that would signify a definite trail. Knowing only the general direction Boot had started out, he was left with no choice but to set out in the same direction, and hope to pick up tracks farther on. Without taking time for coffee or breakfast, he saddled Cousin and, with a soggy blanket rolled up behind him, rode off through the trees toward the distant hills. He would ride until the sun climbed a little higher in the sky before stopping to dry his gear and make coffee.

After stopping just before noon, he was back in the saddle and on his way once more, riding blind, for there were no tracks to be found. It was difficult to believe that the storm had smoothed out every track, so he had to assume that Boot’s trail was either to the east or west of him. Following the hunch that Boot would eventually cut back to the west and head for Indian Territory, John decided to continue riding south, and hope to pick up Boot’s cross trail.

Some two miles short of the rugged Boston Mountains, his hunch appeared to have borne fruit. Riding between two hills, he crossed over a trickle of a stream and paused to let Cousin drink. While he waited, his eye caught sight of a clearly defined hoofprint in the sandy shoulder of the stream. He immediately dismounted to look for more. Looking closely at the print, he determined that it was from one of the mules. Evidently they were still following Boot and Lilly. The hoofprint was pointing west, crossing his trail. Needing at least one more for confirmation, he walked carefully along the bank, his eyes searching the ground. Suddenly, there it was! A second print, also that of a mule, and pointing west, like the first. This seemed to be confirmation, but he stopped to debate it in his mind before committing. There was no print from a horse, and there were only two mule prints. He squinted his eyes and looked to the south, where there were no tracks. Then he considered his hunch that Boot was heading back to Indian Territory. He decided to follow the tracks. He stepped up in the saddle and turned Cousin’s head to the west. With no other tracks to follow, the only option was to follow a hunch. With one last look toward the mountains to the south, he uttered, “Hell, I’d just be wastin’ time wanderin’ around in those mountains lookin’ for a trail.”

After some solid food and two nights’ sleep, she was at the point where she could put Boot Stoner out of her mind for long periods of the day. She felt safe for the first time in weeks. And Burley was obviously pleased to have her company. She studied the round little man’s face as he knelt over the fire, and she could not picture him riding with a gang of bushwhackers. Bright blue eyes that seemed a contrast to the bushy dark eyebrows fairly sparkled with good humor when he talked about his days with Bloody Jack Wheeler. The thick gray bush that served as a beard bore traces of acorn coffee and was complemented by gray tufts of hair protruding from each nostril. It was a picture that fascinated the slender Creek girl.

For his part, Burley was thoroughly enjoying the company. The Indian girl did not, in fact, talk a great deal, but Burley hardly noticed, as he was so busy carrying the conversation without her help. Her presence served to demonstrate to him just how lonely he had been for human company, and he found himself thinking about risking a trip back to find his wife and daughter. Maybe he might even offer to go back with Lilly. But thoughts of Union patrols searching the countryside for outlaw bands like the one he had ridden with still caused him to hesitate. His existence was a lonely one, but certainly preferable to living out his years in a prison cell. Besides, he had been a hermit for so long now that he wasn’t sure he would even be able to leave the security of his mountain cave. Maybe it was best that he didn’t realize exactly how many years had passed since he had made his home here, and that Union patrols had long since given up looking for holdouts like Burley Chase. For the time being, he was content to enjoy Lilly’s company. It would be best for the girl to linger here awhile in case the crazy savage who was after her was, in fact, looking for her in these mountains.

Outside, the air was fresh and crisp. Spring in the mountains lagged behind the lower climates, but it was finally showing signs in the budding trees and bushes. Soon the foliage above the waterfall would be thick with leaves that would screen any animal from sight. On this early spring day, however, the trees had not filled in to that point, and if Burley or Lilly had chanced to glance up toward the top of the waterfall, they might have noticed the solitary figure standing there.

Boot had almost given up on his search for Lilly, having lost her trail several times before stumbling onto it again. He had found her tracks at the creek when she had joined someone else, an occurrence that had infuriated him. But he lost their trail when they crossed the river. So for a day and a half after that, he had roamed the mountain, looking for some sign until he decided it was useless to continue. And then he heard a single shot from a carbine on the far side of the mountain. He followed the sound, and searched again until he found the spot where a deer had been killed. It was easy to follow the trail from there. And now, there they were, trapped in a box canyon with no escape. He could feel the adrenaline pumping in his veins as he anticipated the pleasure of the reunion.

Lilly finished her supper of fresh venison and took her plate to the edge of the stream to wash it. Bathed in the afterglow of the setting sun, she lingered there for a moment more to watch the last rays of sunlight filter through the mist at the base of the waterfall. Suddenly she felt a chill race along her spine when she heard the whisper of an owl’s wings passing directly over her. This was a bad sign, and she sensed something wrong. When she looked up to find the owl, her gaze drifted to the cliff high above her, and the solitary figure standing there. Dismissing it as a shadow, she shifted her gaze again, looking for the owl, but her gaze was instantly drawn back to the figure.

It was him! For a moment, her heart stopped, then resumed its beating with a rapid pounding in her breast that threatened to explode. She rocked back on her heels. The plate, forgotten, dropped from her hand and drifted a few yards downstream before settling to the bottom. Unable to speak, she simply stared at the apparition for long moments, praying desperately that it was no more than that, a ghost, conjured in her mind, and would disappear as suddenly as it had come. Paralyzed by her fear, she could not move until Boot suddenly made a move, releasing her from the spell. She screamed as he pulled his rifle up and aimed.

Startled by the girl’s sudden scream, Burley tried to scramble to his feet. In the next instant, a shot rang out, the bullet catching Burley in the shoulder. The impact of the slug spun him around sideways, causing Boot’s second shot to pass harmlessly by his chest. “Run!” Burley yelled as he lunged to his feet. The two of them ran for the waterfall, just managing to disappear behind the cascading water before two more shots ricocheted off the cliff wall behind them.

Puzzled by the flight to the waterfall by the pair below him, Boot stood waiting for a minute, expecting them to show on the other side of the water. When they did not, he figured there had to be a cave behind the fall. Although the thought served to irritate him, he was smug in the knowledge that they were still trapped. Keeping his eye on the waterfall, he led his horse as he began to work his way down the side of the cliff on foot. He had found her, and she was going to learn a harsh lesson for trying to escape from him. The thought brought a thin smile to his face.

Inside the cave, Burley and Lilly hurried past the horses in the outer chamber and through the narrow opening to the larger cave. His brain in confusion, Burley immediately grabbed his rifle and, with blood running down his arm, knelt down and trained it on the passage between the two chambers. Lilly ran to him to try to tend to his wound. “Boot!” she kept repeating as she fumbled with his shirt, attempting to clean the wound.

Seeing the young girl’s panic, Burley tried to calm her, even though he was close to that state himself. “We’re all right,” he assured her. “He’s got to come through that openin’ to get to us. And if he does, I’ll pepper his ass good.” Gradually, the glaze of fear left Lilly’s eyes. “Are you sure that’s the man chasin’ you?” Burley asked again. He asked the question with the thought in mind that the shots had been fired at him.

“Well, like I said, he’s got to come through that crack to get at us, so we’ll just wait and see what he does.” Seeing the panic about to reappear in Lilly’s eyes, he tried to reassure her. “We’ve got food and a little bit of water. We can hold out for a good spell, and from what you’ve told me, he ain’t hardly the patient kind.” Reading her face again, he added, “And don’t worry about this wound. I’ll be all right.” He managed a smile for her, then turned his full attention to the opening.

Moving with the utmost caution, Boot Stoner worked his way down to a point next to the stream, where he paused to take a long look at the sheet of water dropping from the cliff he had just left. It was impossible to see any outline of a cave, if in fact there was one. He had to also allow for the possibility that there was nothing more than a hollow behind the fall and that they might be waiting in ambush. Leaving his horse by the stream, he moved quickly to the other side and dropped to one knee, again waiting and listening.The light was fading fast, so he deemed it best to wait a few minutes more until darkness started to set in.

He managed to wait for a while, but being a man who had never known patience, he started creeping toward the fall before a hard dark set in, his rifle ready to return fire. But there were no shots as he approached the wall of the cliff. He slowly edged along behind the curtain of crashing water until he came to the opening to the cave. Dropping immediately to the ground when he heard movements inside the dark opening, he peered into the cave, searching for a target. Still there were no shots to greet him.

He lay there for a few moments, his eyes gradually adjusting to the darkness. As he stared, the moving objects slowly took shape, and he realized then that they were horses. Beyond them, a faint light revealed a narrow opening in the back wall. Moving up beside the opening, he hesitated to expose himself long enough to look inside, so he took his hat off and placed it on the end of his rifle barrel. Staying close to the wall, he held the hat out in front of the opening. It was immediately knocked off the rifle with a bullet hole through the crown, just as he expected.

Burning with rage over the apparent impasse, Boot took a few steps away from the wall, enough to give him an angle to shoot through the opening without exposing himself. The sudden explosive combination of gunfire and startled horses reverberated around the outer cave as he pumped half a dozen shots through the narrow passage. His fury demanded some restitution, even though he knew there was very little likelihood he would hit anything. He listened as the sound of ricocheting bullets came back to him from inside. On the other side of the opening, Lilly and Burley hugged the wall on one side as Boot’s slugs found purchase in the hard clay and rock of the inner chamber.

Seconds ticked away. Boot knelt, glaring at the narrow opening, his frustration growing with each moment.Still there was no sound from inside the cave. I might have hit one of them, he thought, maybe both of them. He thought it over, considering the odds of charging through the entrance, blazing away. And they might just be playing possum, hoping I come through that opening. The more he thought about it, the bigger the likelihood seemed that they wanted him to come in. He had to admit that they were at an impasse. They couldn’t come out, and he couldn’t go in after them. Then another thought occurred to him, one he had forgotten about.

Remembering, he chuckled to himself. “I got just the thing to take care of them two,” he said. Running back to his horse, he reached into his saddlebags and retrieved the two sticks of dynamite he had taken from Fannin’s store. Hurrying to return to the cave, he quickly crawled up beside the opening. Placing the sticks near the foot of the narrow entrance, he lit both fuses, waited for a brief second to make sure they were lit, then ran back outside. Giving the explosives plenty of room, he passed behind the sheet of falling water and ran toward his horse.

Feeling the ground tremble beneath his feet, Boot stood transfixed for a long moment, in awe of the magnitude of the explosion. Then, delighted with the apparent results, he made his way back into the cave, holding his bandanna over his mouth and nose as he moved through the thick black haze. Reaching the back wall of the outer chamber, however, he found that instead of blowing a hole in it, the dynamite had caused the dividing wall to collapse, effectively sealing off the entrance completely. “Damn!” he swore. Taking out his knife, he made a few futile stabs at the wall of dirt and rocks in a desperate attempt to dig a hole through. He soon realized that it was impossible, and his anger threatened to choke him.

Reeling with frustration, he backed away a few steps to glare at the wall he had created. Gaining some measure of control over his emotions, he took a calmer look at the problem. “All right,” he conceded. “I can’t get in, but by God, they can’t get out.” Stepping back closer to the wall, he yelled, “I told you to come outta there, you coyote bitch. Now you’re in the ground for good. I bet you wish you was with ol’ Boot now.”

Inside the earthen tomb, Lilly crawled on hands and knees, trying her best not to breathe in the thick, dirty air that filled the chamber. Faint sounds of Boot’s ranting from outside came to her, but she could not make out the words. Her concern was for Burley. The round little man had not called to her after the explosion, and the air was so thick with dirt and smoke that she could no longer see him. Making her way across the littered floor of the cave, she found him. Half his body was buried under a massive mound of dirt and rock, and his eyes stared unseeing into hers. She at once recoiled in horror, then reached out to touch him. There was no response, only the cold, sightless stare.

Panic-stricken at first, realizing she was sealed in this silent tomb, she backed away from the body and sat weeping on the floor. Her confusion lasted for only a short while before her will to survive returned to calm her. Her one chance for escape came to her then—the smoke hole. In frantic eagerness, she crawled over to the fire, still glowing with dying coals. Looking up to the top of the cave, she could just barely make out the small opening some twenty feet above her. From the floor of the cave, she found it hard to judge if she could squeeze her body through it. The problem was secondary to the question of whether or not she could climb up the back wall of the cave to reach the hole. She told herself that, if she could somehow reach it, she would damn sure find a way to squeeze through it.

There was little effort required to reach a stone ledge about six feet above the fire pit. After that, there was a long expanse before reaching a narrow rocky shelf. Standing on the ledge, she went to work with her knife, carving out hand- and footholds. It was not easy, and she almost decided it was impossible, but when she thought of the alternative, she forced herself upward, inch by painful inch. By the time she reached the rock shelf, she was climbing in almost total darkness, feeling her way up the wall, holding on with one hand while digging hand- and toeholds with the other.

Straining to get both feet on the shelf, she felt her strength draining away, and a new feeling of panic began to overcome her. She thought that if she could just get her feet up under her, she could rest for a moment. This was when she felt a faint whisper of fresh air upon her face. It was enough to encourage her to continue climbing, for she knew she was getting close to the opening. Reaching deep inside her frail body for strength, she pushed upward, digging each handhold, until finally she reached up and felt the edge of the opening.

Flushed with the excitement of reaching the hole, she pushed her body up high enough to clear it with her head. A new sense of panic struck her. The hole was not big enough to get her shoulders through! Immediately, the blood in her veins turned to ice when it seemed apparent that she was doomed to die in the tomblike chamber. Just managing to hold her body against the wall of the cave with one hand and her feet wedged in the tiny footholds was almost more than she could do. But knowing that she could not remain in this position forever, she tried to enlarge the opening with the one free hand she could risk. The edges of the hole were solid rock, and she remembered then that Burley had explained that the flat ceiling of his cave was a rock slab.

Feeling her self-control slipping away, she looked down at the tiny glow of the fire some twenty feet below her. She had a sudden impulse to simply let go. Then she fought back against the feeling of doom, telling herself that she would not die in this cave. With a new determination, she crouched low enough to pull her head back down. Then she extended her free hand up through the hole, and with her chin tucked tightly against her breast, thrust upward with her legs as hard as she could. Her body was wedged into the narrow opening, seemingly stuck. Though awkward and painful, she laboriously forced her foot up to the next foothold, jamming her body even tighter in the unforgiving passage. Once again she strained against the opening, her shoulder throbbing with pain and threatening to break. Trying with all her might to extend her trailing shoulder in an effort to make her body smaller, she pushed and pushed until she feared her rib cage was going to cave in. It was no use. She could not make herself any smaller. Now, effectively stuck, unable to go up or down, she feared this was going to be the place of her death. Resigned to her inevitable ending, she felt her pounding heart slowly settle into a normal rhythm, and she exhaled in a great sigh of surrender. As soon as she did, she felt her body slip a fraction of an inch. Reacting instantly, she pushed up with her legs, mustering all the strength she could, and suddenly her hand grasped a limb. She remembered then that Burley had dragged a couple of logs over on each side of the opening. With a good firm hold on the limb, she pulled herself up until she felt the skin being scraped from her trailing arm as her shoulder moved upward. Suddenly her shoulder was free and she pulled her arm up until it was out of the opening, and she was now free from the waist up. Her heart pounding again, this time from joyous excitement, she placed her hands on both sides of the hole and drew her lower body up. When at last she swung her feet over the top of the hole, she pulled her possessions up, and then lay exhausted beside the log on one side of Burley’s smoke hole.

She did not rest there long. Thoughts of the unfortunate little man buried beneath the rubble below her caused her a few moments of grief before the brooding image of Boot Stoner descended upon her mind. As if to remind her of her peril, a bright three-quarter moon stared down at her like an unblinking eye in the dark heavens above the trees. On her knees at once, she peered over the log to see where she had emerged. As best she could determine, she was about halfway up the slope rising to the top of the waterfall. Looking all around her, there was no sign of anything but the dark trees and underbrush, but she still felt an urge to run before Boot suddenly appeared. With her few belongingsand Boot’s pistol, she started making her way down the mountain. On foot now, and not certain if she was even fleeing in the right direction, she set her determination on Low Hawk in the Creek Nation.