by Rory Black
Iron Eyes the Spectre
Having delivered the body of wanted outlaw Mason Holt to the sheriff at Diablo Creek, infamous bounty hunter Iron Eyes collapses, badly wounded, and his would-be sweetheart Squirrel Sally desperately tries to find a doctor to help him.
However, unknown to Sally, she is heading into a dangerous and uncharted desert where a mysterious tribe of Indians live. Then when Holt’s older brothers discover their sibling is dead, they vow revenge and set out after the man who killed him. Soon both outlaws and Indians alike realize how dangerous Iron Eyes is.
By the same author
Iron Eyes
The Avenging Angel
Spurs of the Spectre
The Fury of Iron Eyes
The Wrath of Iron Eyes
The Curse of Iron Eyes
The Spirit of Iron Eyes
The Ghost of Iron Eyes
Iron Eyes Must Die
The Blood of Iron Eyes
The Revenge of Iron Eyes
Iron Eyes Makes War
The Skull of Iron Eyes
Iron Eyes is Dead
The Shadow of Iron Eyes
The Venom of Iron Eyes
Iron Eyes the Fearless
The Scars of Iron Eyes
A Rope for Iron Eyes
The Hunt for Iron Eyes
My Name is Iron Eyes
The Tomb of Iron Eyes
The Gun Master
A Noose for Iron Eyes
Fortress Iron Eyes
100 Golden Eagles for Iron Eyes
Iron Eyes Unchained
Iron Eyes the Spectre
Rory Black
ROBERT HALE
© Rory Black 2017
First published in Great Britain 2017
ISBN 978-0-7198-2568-2
The Crowood Press
The Stable Block
Crowood Lane
Ramsbury
Marlborough
Wiltshire SN8 2HR
www.bhwesterns.com
Robert Hale is an imprint of The Crowood Press
The right of Rory Black to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by him
in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
All rights reserved. This e-book is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights, and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
Dedicated to my dear friend Maxine Hansen
PROLOGUE
This was a silent place. A place where the prairie filled the ancient canyons between rises of mountainous peaks. Jagged spires of crimson rocks defied the elements and gravity and pointed to the equally quiet heavens. Monstrous mesas rose up into the air like scarlet giants and loomed over everything below their unequalled heights.
Few, if anyone, apart from the various tribes of nomadic Indians, who still controlled the majority of this territory, had ever ventured into this devilish land. Even fewer had survived to tell the tale.
From their perilous perches above the parched canyon a hundred eyes watched the progress of the uninvited intruder as it forged a path between Joshua trees and sagebrush, oblivious to the wrath and danger it was incurring.
The weathered stagecoach was not on any scheduled route for this was a place that only led to Hell. Its driver did not work for any of the various transport companies who plied their trade through the vast regions known as the West. Dust rose up from the hoofs of its team into the dry haze and drifted toward the blue cloudless sky as the young woman frantically whipped the sturdy team of six black horses.
With gritted teeth and determined eyes, Sally Cooke drove her team of valiant horses through the canyon and out toward the lifeless desert.
As the intrepid female urged the horses on, she was totally unaware of the numerous braves who watched from the hidden shadows of the high rocks.
The only thought in the mind of young Sally was to find help. Help for her unconscious cargo. For inside the belly of the stagecoach lay the infamous bounty hunter known throughout the vast heartland of the West as Iron Eyes – the hideously scarred man she loved even though her feelings were unrequited.
Totally lost, the golden-haired Sally had no idea of where she was heading or the deadly interest of her unseen onlookers as they noted the progress of the stagecoach.
The noonday sun filled the canyon with its blistering heat as the six-horse team continued to obey the commands of their tiny mistress and ploughed on.
If Sally had spared the time to look over her shoulder at the high mesas, she would have seen the white plumes of smoke rising from the scarlet peaks. Long before the invention of the telegraph, the plains Indians had sent messages across vast distances to instantly communicate with one another.
Sally did not know it, but her naïve intrusion into the land of blood-coloured rocks had already been noted. Every single warrior within the uncharted territory already knew of the stagecoach and its driver with the golden mane.
Every fibre in her petite form told her that she had to keep going if she were going to find help for her beloved Iron Eyes. Then Sally noticed something far out in the distance ahead of her horses.
A dazzling series of lights from beyond the sickening heat haze caught her attention and suddenly seemed to justify her actions to keep going and not turn back.
‘A town,’ Sally reasoned. ‘I was right. I knew there had to a town out here someplace.’
She cracked her bullwhip over the heads of her team.
The stagecoach forged on into the jaws of Hell.
CHAPTER ONE
The mysterious bounty hunter known throughout the west as Iron Eyes had slept for more than a day inside the body of the stagecoach as it journeyed toward the distant lights of the unknown settlement ahead. The gaunt, emaciated figure was suffering from total exhaustion and blood loss. After locating a town and collecting the reward money for his latest prize, both Iron Eyes and his companion Squirrel Sally had set out on the trail back to Texas. She drove her battle-scarred stagecoach as he had ridden his high-shouldered mount beside the lead horse of her team.
Yet after less than twenty-four hours of heading into an uncharted prairie, Iron Eyes had suddenly buckled and fallen from his magnificent palomino stallion.
Squirrel Sally had grown used to her ‘betrothed’ looking more dead than alive and had not given his gaunt appearance a second thought until he had silently slid from his saddle and crashed into the unforgiving sand.
For what had seemed like an eternity, Sally had thought that the man she was besotted with was dead. His long black mane of hair was spread out from his tortured features. No corpse had ever looked as bad as the bounty hunter did to the alarmed female.
The only sign that Iron Eyes still lived was a vein in his temple that visibly throbbed with every beat of his black heart.
Only after Sally had somehow found the strength to drag him into her stagecoach, and plied him with enough whiskey for his eyes to open again, had she noticed the savage wound hidden beneath his long trail coat. The brutal wound had still been pumping blood when the determined female had cleaned and sewn his flesh back together.
A bullet had hit him, carved a trail through his pitifully lean body and then exited out of his back. His dark red shirt and blood-stained trail coat had concealed his injuries from Sally’s prying eyes.
‘You dumb ass,’ Sally scolded.
; Iron Eyes silently winked and then gave a sigh.
Only then had the man known to his enemies as the living ghost fallen into the deep sleep his body craved. His long skeletal body was propped between the sacks of horse feed and a ten-gallon barrel of water in the interior of the stagecoach.
His scarred head rocked back and forth as Sally steered her team of six large black horses. Iron Eyes was oblivious to everything as his body fought against his savage injuries. Injuries that would have killed most men.
For the first time since she had first encountered the infamous bounty hunter, Sally was fearful that Iron Eyes might be losing his long battle with the Grim Reaper.
She had never seen him look so helpless before and it frightened the normally feisty Sally. She whipped the long leathers across the backs of her team and encouraged them on toward the distant lights.
There was urgency in her wrists.
She had to get her beloved ‘man’ to a doctor as fast as she could. The team of six powerful horses responded to their mistress and moved swiftly across the sand to where Sally was convinced she could see lantern light.
Yet no matter how hard she whipped her team of charging horses, the lights did not appear to get any closer. After more than an hour of racing across the vast desert, the disheartened female eased back on her long reins and pushed her bare right foot against the brake pole.
A cloud of dust rose up into the air as the six lathered-up horses came to an abrupt halt. As the dust settled, Sally picked up her primed corncob pipe and chewed on its stem thoughtfully. Her tiny hands wrapped the long leathers around the pole and then she scratched a match against her thigh. A flame erupted and she sucked it into the tobacco filled bowl.
As smoke billowed from her handsome face, Sally pondered her situation. This was totally different to the way things usually went, she thought. She lifted her Winchester and pushed down on its hand guard before looking into its magazine.
Her trusty rifle was fully loaded and ready should she need it. Her handsome eyes looked around the desolation of her surroundings from her high perch atop the driver’s seat. The sun was low in the sky and the shadows grew longer with every beat of her throbbing heart.
Normally she would be chasing Iron Eyes, trying to catch up with him. Sally was used to that and had never given a second thought as to why the fearless bounty hunter was so intent on trying to shake her off his trail, but this was totally different.
Smoke drifted from her lips. For all she knew, Iron Eyes was lying dead inside the belly of the coach. A cold shiver traced her spine as she held on to the brake pole and started down toward the ground.
‘You better not be dead,’ Sally nervously said as her hand reached up and twisted the door handle. ‘I ain’t busting my back burying you.’
Reluctantly she pulled the door open and climbed up into the interior of the stagecoach. It was stifling inside the confines of the coach as Sally moved closer to the motionless bounty hunter.
Her keen eyes studied him and only when she placed a hand on his chest could she feel his heart still beating. Sally chewed on the stem of her pipe and shook her head. The normally intrepid Iron Eyes looked worse than she had ever seen him and utterly helpless.
Sally wondered what she should do.
She swung around on her threadbare pants and dropped her legs back out of the coach door. Her mind raced in search of answers. Normally she just chased the bounty hunter as he fled her unwanted advances, but now it was she who had to make the decision of what their next move ought to be.
She sucked the last dregs of smoke from her pipe and then tapped its bowl against the body of the stagecoach and watched as the smouldering ash fell over her dangling feet.
‘Think, Sally gal,’ she muttered to herself as she glanced over her shoulder at the unconscious Iron Eyes. ‘What should I do? It’s hard to tell how damn sick that skinny galoot is. He always looks like that.’
She considered her options.
There seemed to be no right answer. She glanced at the darkening sky and then squinted straight at the setting sun. It was clear by her reading of the elements that there was merely an hour of daylight remaining. Sally looked straight ahead to where she could have sworn she had seen the lights of a town.
She straightened up to her full five feet and shook her head. Her golden locks caught the rays of the setting sun as her sharp mind considered the dilemma. The lights were no longer visible.
‘Where the hell have they gone?’ she spat before hauling the sack of grain from inside the coach and carrying it to the horses. After spreading the team’s rations on the ground she walked back and then emptied what was left before the tall palomino tethered to the tailgate. As she went to fill a bucket with water from the barrel inside the coach, she paused again and stared to where she was convinced the lights had been. They were still gone. ‘Now that’s weird. Damn weird.’
Sally finished watering the horses and then checked Iron Eyes for the umpteenth time. The long-legged bounty hunter was still in a deep sleep. She slammed the door and then clambered up the side of the stagecoach with the agility of someone who still had the benefit of youth on her side. Sally threw her leg on to the roof and scrambled up after it. She then straightened up. The surface of the wooden roof was hot under her bare feet as she walked to the driver’s seat and stepped down on to it.
The perplexed female rubbed her eyes and uncoiled the reins from around the brake pole. She released the pole and then slapped the long leathers.
‘Get moving,’ Sally shouted. ‘There’s a town out there and I intend finding it.’
The powerful horses sprang into action and took the strain of the hefty vehicle. The stagecoach began to move again through the expanse of sand. Chains rattled as the six black horses gathered pace and responded to the urging of the feisty female on the driver’s seat.
The sound of the bullwhip cracking in the air was like rapid gunfire. The muscular team were soon up to speed as Sally guided them straight ahead.
She knew where she had last noticed the alluring lights and doggedly kept her horses heading in that direction. Her weary mind could not understand what was happening and wished that she could ask Iron Eyes to give her some much-needed advice.
Yet he was still totally unconscious.
Then as the shadows lengthened her keen eyesight once again spotted the flickering lights in the distance. The thoughtful female bit her lower lip and frowned.
‘What the hell’s going on here?’ she wondered.
She gripped her long leathers in one hand and then rested her trusty rifle on her lap. As the horses continued moving deeper into the unknown, Sally’s index finger stroked the Winchester’s trigger.
‘If some galoot is messing with me,’ she silently warned. ‘They’d best be ready to die. I ain’t in the mood to take prisoners.’
CHAPTER TWO
The rattling stagecoach had travelled another five miles through the arid terrain as the merciless sun slowly began to set. The fearless female had noticed that the high spires of jagged rock had spread out as the prairie gave way to the smooth expanse of sand. The canyon was now nothing but sand dunes. The desert grew darker as Sally cracked her bullwhip above her head and urged the exhausted team on to where she could still see the strange elusive lights sparkling like diamonds in the distant shadows.
Whatever it was out there, it was luring her like a moth to a naked flame and she knew it. Sally was helpless to resist the draw of the hypnotic lights and unable to fathom what they were exactly. All she could tell for certain was that they were not natural.
They had to be lights, she told herself. Either street or house lights. Yet the further she travelled toward them, the more she began to doubt her own sanity.
There was definitely something out there flashing or dazzling at her like a beacon. Sally shook her head and rubbed the sand from her face.
She curled her toes against the rim of the driver’s box, leaned forward and screamed at the black
horses below her. The desert was getting colder as the heat from the sun slowly faded and the shadows melted into the dunes.
A chill in the air seemed to drill right through her flesh and burrow into her bones. But she felt that there was no time to stop and drag out the undertaker’s frock coat that Iron Eyes had given her from the canvas-covered boot.
Somewhere deep inside her head a haunting voice kept telling her to keep going and find someone who could help her companion.
In search for inspiration, Sally glanced heavenward for a brief moment. Night had arrived far faster than she had anticipated.
There was no moon. Just a million stars set against the blackest of skies like precious jewels adorning a black velvet drape. The words of advice that Iron Eyes had once bestowed upon her and repeated for the previous twelve months kept filling her mind as she encouraged the team on toward the mysterious illumination.
A moonless sky was good for the hunted but bad for the hunter. Until this very moment, Sally had not even known what that meant.
Now she knew.
If there was anyone out there ready and willing to try and assassinate her, Sally knew that she would not be an easy target.
The moonless sky would protect her for a while.
Sally shivered again and plucked a half bottle of whiskey from the box at her feet. She pulled its cork with her teeth, spat and then lifted the bottle to her lips. The hard liquor burned its way down into her innards as she whipped her team with her left hand.
The remaining content was devoured in three long gulps and fumes filled her head, but it did not drive the cold from her bones.
Sally threw the empty bottle into the darkness as the stagecoach ploughed on toward the lights which still seemed to get no closer.
Although she was unafraid, Sally was cautious. Iron Eyes had taught her that it always paid to be cautious. He never feared anything, not even death itself, but he was always wary of things he could not see.
