Iron Eyes the Spectre

by Rory Black

  It sounded like crazed hornets to the outlaws as Delmer allowed Caleb to lead the barely conscious Spike to safety and then fired his trusty Colt again. With arrows raining down upon them, Delmer blasted the last of his six-gun’s bullets into the howling braves.

  Two of the painted Indians toppled off the backs of their ponies and crashed into the shadows but the rest of them kept up their pursuit. The Indians spread out behind the terrified outlaws and unleashed more venomous fury.

  Delmer holstered one gun and drew another.

  There was hardly a pause in the outlaw’s feverish firing as he tried to kill the warriors before they killed him and his brothers. The desert lit up every time the eldest of the Holt clan fired his six-shooter but to the seasoned rustler’s surprise, the Indians were not scared by the deadly shots.

  They kept chasing and firing their arrows at the galloping outlaws. Delmer rammed his spurs into the flanks of his mount as his thumb pulled back on his gun hammer.

  Shot after shot erupted from the seven-inch barrel at the charging Indians but they still kept chasing. Delmer could not understand why his smoking gun seemed unable to stop the Indians.

  They were totally unafraid.

  As his mount kept thundering through the starlit desert, Delmer glanced ahead at his brothers and then holstered his gun before leaning forward and dragging his Winchester from its saddle scabbard. He hauled the rifle up as he looked back at the charging warriors.

  It was like looking at his own tombstone.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Iron Eyes rested on his knees as he studied the Indians below his high perch. He had noticed that they were sharing jugs of liquid and the more they drank, the more fevered they were becoming. The gaunt bounty hunter had heard tales of the effect some of the desert plants had when distilled like whiskey. They were said to have almost hypnotic qualities when consumed in large enough amounts. His narrowed eyes told him that the stories must be true as he observed many of the braves and females looking worse for wear.

  Iron Eyes rubbed his scarred jawline thoughtfully.

  Maybe he could use this to his advantage, he thought. Yet how could he do that? His remained crouched on the tiny ledge as his eyes darted all around him in search of inspiration.

  Sally was definitely down there. He had heard her distinctive yells from halfway up the steep rock face. There was no mistaking her voice, especially when she was mad.

  A smirk traced his brutalized face. He wondered how long the strange looking warriors would last if he did nothing and just left the fiery female where she was.

  The Indians would not be dancing around the massive bonfire, he thought. The poor critters would be throwing themselves on to the flames.

  Iron Eyes mopped the sweat off his brow on the back of his hand and then found what he had been searching for. A formation of rock that he could secure his rope to. He cautiously stood and then turned toward the rocks bathed in the blackest of shadows.

  He removed the rope from his shoulder and uncoiled its lasso until it fitted over the craggy surface of the jagged rock. Then he tightened the loop and carefully turned back so that he was looking straight down at the campfire.

  Iron Eyes sighed.

  A hundred doubts flashed through his mind. He knew that to attempt climbing down to the ground would not work. By the time he got halfway down its length, he would be filled with arrows.

  There had to be another choice.

  He leaned against the rocks with the coiled rope in his bony hands. The only other option that he could think of was to throw himself off the ledge and swing into the mouth of the cave.

  That would be fast and help him avoid being peppered with arrows as he descended, but once down on the sand, he would be at their mercy.

  Iron Eyes only had twelve shots available to him before he would be forced to reload, his calculating mind reasoned. Iron Eyes was fast, but was he fast enough at reloading his prized guns? He sighed again.

  ‘I need me a distraction,’ he quietly muttered. ‘But what kinda thing would get them Injuns looking in the wrong direction?’

  It seemed hopeless, but the pitifully thin bounty hunter kept staring down like an avenging angel at the flames which licked the sky and sent scarlet orbs floating into the night air.

  ‘Sure wish I had me a few sticks of dynamite,’ he rasped as he held the rope firmly in his skeletal grip. ‘That would sure scare them critters long enough for me to get to Squirrel and figure out how to get out of here.’

  Iron Eyes shook his head.

  ‘I need me a cigar,’ he whispered angrily.

  His bony fingers had only just dipped into one of his deep trail coat pockets when his busted eyebrows rose in sudden realization. Beneath the sharp spurs that he had pushed into the deep pocket earlier, Iron Eyes could also feel dozens of bullets milling around where he always kept them.

  ‘I don’t need dynamite,’ he grinned. ‘I got me a few dozen bullets in my pockets. Bullets explode just like dynamite does if you toss them into a hot enough fire.’

  The ghostly eyes looked back at the massive campfire below his high perch. He started to nod to himself knowingly as he gripped a handful of bullets in hand.

  ‘Reckon that fire is plenty hot enough,’ he said coldly.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Delmer Holt cradled his Winchester as he thrust his spurs into the exhausted horse beneath him. Arrows flew across the head and neck of the animal as its master dragged on his reins and forced the horse between two mountains of sand. More lethal missiles flew into the ground ahead of the flagging outlaw. As his horse pounded beneath him he pushed the hand guard down and then pulled it back up. He swung around, levelled the rifle barrel at the Indians and fired.

  The dunes to both sides of him lit up for a fraction of a heartbeat as a white-hot plume of deadly venom sped from the rifle barrel. Another of the Indians was punched from the back of his painted pony by the force of the bullet and sent crashing into the sand.

  ‘I got me more bullets than you got braves,’ Delmer shouted at the remaining Indians and then rapidly cocked his weapon again. As the gunsmoke cleared, the smile faded from his hardened features.

  To his surprise, the rest of the Indians were still chasing him and his brothers. The fact that he had already whittled them down did not seem to matter to the braves. It only fuelled their desire to get even with the uninvited horsemen who were trespassing on their land.

  ‘Damn it all,’ Delmer raged.

  He cocked his rifle and fired again. The blinding flash from his Winchester came at the same time as the deafening sound echoed around the starlit dunes.

  Then Delmer watched in horror as at least half the Indians primed their bows with more arrows. Terror ripped through the outlaw. He turned, gathered up his long leathers and whipped the tail of his flagging mount with his rifle barrel.

  He did not have to see the warriors fire their arrows.

  His ears heard them clear enough.

  Within seconds the lethal projectiles passed him on all sides. He watched the arrows land behind the hoofs of his brothers’ horses and then breathed a sigh of relief. He swung around, cocked the mechanism of his rifle again and raised the long weapon to his shoulder.

  The ear-splitting bullet had only just left his rifle barrel when he felt several sickening blows hit him in his side in quick succession.

  As Delmer went to cock the Winchester again he suddenly realized what had just happened to him. He stared under his raised arm at the arrows which were skewered into him.

  They had found their range, he thought as agonizing pain ripped through him. As the horse continued to pound across the sand he caught the taste of blood in his mouth.

  Delmer summoned every scrap of his remaining strength and pushed his rifle’s hand guard down. A brass casing flew from the magazine and floated into the distance. He was about to pull the hand guard back up when another arrow suddenly appeared through the darkness and hit him in his neck.

/>   The outlaw buckled as blood poured from his mouth.

  His Winchester flew up into the air as his gloved hands stiffened. Delmer’s glazed eyes watched the rifle hit the sand and then looked up and stared helplessly at the approaching warriors.

  The stricken outlaw fell from his saddle and crashed violently into the sand. With blood pouring from his hideous wounds, Delmer rolled over and over again as the Indians unshod ponies trampled over him.

  The Indians raced after Caleb and Spike.

  Their painted ponies tore through the eerie starlight and continued to chase the two remaining outlaws through the ocean of sand. The small muscular ponies were better suited to this parched terrain and quickly closed the distance between the saddle horses of their prey and themselves.

  Caleb glanced at his brother and then stared into the darkness behind them as they tackled yet another dune. He reached out, grabbed Spike’s bridle and drove his spurs into his own mount. The outlaw realized that Spike was more dead than alive and screamed at him.

  ‘Wake the hell up, Spike,’ he bellowed. ‘I need your damn help. Wake up.’

  His words fell on deaf ears.

  As Caleb led his unconscious brother’s mount up the dry shifting sand dune he suddenly became aware that Delmer was no longer keeping pace with them.

  A chilling thought came to the outlaw. Without Delmer, Caleb knew that the odds of them surviving had become a lot slimmer.

  Caleb pulled back on his reins and abruptly halted their horses. The loose sand shifted under the hoofs of their lathered-up mounts. He screwed up his sand-filled eyes and looked back into the black shadows.

  ‘Delmer,’ he shouted. ‘Where in tarnation are you?’

  Then he saw them. The determined warriors had circled the mountain of sand and were coming at him and his semi-conscious brother from all sides. As he held his horse in check he suddenly spotted something behind a few of the Indians. As the braves rode out of the shadows into the starlight, he spotted Delmer’s saddle horse being led by one of the warriors.

  Then Caleb saw something far more unnerving.

  Delmer was draped lifelessly over the saddle of his mount. As the Indian led the horse into view Caleb could see blood sparkling in the starlight.

  Caleb winced as he saw the arrows protruding from his brother’s dead body. Engulfed in grief and anger, the outlaw pulled his guns and cocked their hammers.

  ‘You bastards,’ he feverishly shouted at the Indians. ‘You done killed Delmer. I’ll make you pay for that.’

  Caleb started to fire but his bullets came too late.

  Arrows flew into both the Holt brothers from every direction with venomous precision. Both Caleb and Spike were lifted off their saddles into the eerie light and fell from their horses’ backs.

  The desert suddenly fell into a sickening silence.

  The remaining warriors closed in on the Holt brothers’ bodies and stared down at the last of the intruders. There was no sign of emotion on the faces of the young braves. They had simply done what they and their predecessors had always done and protected their scared ground.

  As the outlaws’ bodies lay on the sand, sparkling dark shadows spread out from their stricken forms. It pooled around the Holt brothers and glinted in the eerie illumination.

  Even starlight could not lessen the horrific sight of blood as it spread from the crumpled outlaws.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The spectre that was Iron Eyes stood on the ledge above the chanting Indians with bullets in both hands and surveyed the scene like an eagle on a warm thermal observing its unsuspecting prey. Nothing escaped his bullet-coloured eyes as they watched as all preying creatures watch. He could still hear Squirrel Sally’s voice cutting through the sound of drumbeats and intoxicated chanting.

  It was either the late hour or the effects of the potent beverage they were consuming, but Iron Eyes had noticed that at least a quarter of the Indians had succumbed to sleep. His cold, calculating mind told him that he had to act now. There was no more time.

  Iron Eyes lowered his head and then tossed the bullets out into the air and watched them fall into the centre of the campfire. The flames swept up around the ammunition as it rested in the heart of the inferno. He pushed a cigar between his teeth and scratched a match with his thumbnail as he waited for the inevitable.

  He lit the end of the twisted cigar and sucked smoke into his emaciated body. Iron Eyes brooded and waited as smoke drifted back through his teeth.

  The bounty hunter had lit the fuse and now he had to wait for the bullets to start exploding below him. He returned the cigar to his lips and inhaled the acrid smoke deeply and then adjusted the cutting rope in his hands.

  His mind considered the shots he had heard echoing in the distance a few moments earlier. He wondered who else had made the mistake of venturing into this land. Whoever it had been was now silent. They had stopped firing their weaponry and there were only two reasons why that was so.

  They had either won their short war or they had died trying. There was no other reason as far as the gaunt bounty hunter could figure.

  After what had seemed like an eternity Iron Eyes tapped an inch of ash from the end of the cigar as the bullets began to start exploding below him. Iron Eyes glanced down and inhaled the familiar scent of gunsmoke as it rose with the flames.

  Iron Eyes watched the random tapers of deadly bullets shooting out of the massive fire. The red-hot bullets sped in all directions. Some hit the mountainside that he was standing upon. The sound of ricocheting bullets rang out as some of the lethal lead hit the rocks.

  The Indians started to scatter hysterically. Those that were too slow were hit by his bullets emanating from the flames. Screams matched the sound of the ammunition.

  No Fourth of July celebration could have equalled the bloody mayhem he had created. Iron Eyes pulled the cigar from his lips and tossed it away as he grabbed another handful of bullets from his pocket and threw them into the flames.

  As the confusion spread like wildfire around the massive fire, Iron Eyes moved along the crumbling ledge until he found a firmer foothold.

  Then he held on to the rope and leapt like a mountain lion away from the narrow ledge. Iron Eyes flew over the flames that licked at his coat tails. The rope tightened in his hands and pulled him back toward the cave mouth. Iron Eyes hurtled downward as bullets exploded beneath him and shot all around him.

  Iron Eyes came speeding through the cloud of smoke like the devilish monster he resembled and hurtled toward the mouth of the cave. His bony hands then released his hold on the rope. He flew the last half dozen feet and landed on his mule-eared boots.

  The momentum caused his thin body to run straight into the cave mouth to where Sally was spread-eagled on a smooth slab of stone.

  No sooner had his boots hit the ground than his narrowed eyes saw the helpless Sally before him. A dozen or more Indians in their finery surrounded her. Some had knives drawn as though preparing to silence the fearless female.

  His left hand drew one of his Navy Colts from his waistband and started firing at the warriors that were looming over her as his right pulled his Bowie knife from the neck of his boot.

  Faster than he had ever moved before, the bounty hunter ran to the foot of the slab and swiftly cut the leather bonds around Sally’s bare feet.

  The startled Indians could not believe their eyes and were in total shock as the monstrous bounty hunter fired at them before they could turn their crude weaponry on the petite female.

  With the deafening sound of exploding bullets behind his wide back, the notorious Iron Eyes used his empty gun to fight off the braves who were swinging their hatchets at him, and then with his long knife blade severed the leather laces that secured Sally’s hands.

  Once the knife had achieved its goal, he slid it back into the neck of his boot and fended off the attacks of the few remaining Indians.

  He thrashed his smoking gun across the skulls of the last remaining braves in the cave entr
ance and then moved to the side of Sally as she slid off the slab.

  Another few Indians ran into the mouth of the cave with their hatchets raised. Iron Eyes pulled one of his razor-sharp spurs from his pocket and punched the first warrior across the jaw. As blood cascaded from the hideous wound, Iron Eyes grabbed the injured warrior and snapped his neck.

  Sally swung one of the clubs she had salvaged from the dead Indians behind them and knocked the other Indians senseless.

  Iron Eyes pushed his blood-soaked six-shooter into his trail coat pocket and then dragged its twin from his belt and resumed firing out of the cave. Within a matter of only seconds, the fearless bounty hunter had managed to free Sally and stop the Indians.

  With blood dripping from the club in her hands, Sally nestled into the back of her saviour. She was shaking as the towering bounty hunter rested a shoulder against the cave wall.

  Iron Eyes glanced down at her as the club fell from her hand. He ruffled her hair and tried to look reassuring as he stared out at the campfire, which was still spewing bullets in every direction.

  ‘We’ve gotta try and get out of here, Squirrel,’ he said breathlessly. ‘Trouble is there’s a whole heap more of these critters outside this cave.’

  With Sally at his side, Iron Eyes paused as his narrowed eyes studied the chaos he had caused. Bullets were still tearing from the massive fire in all directions as he thrust his gun into Sally’s hands.

  ‘Why’d you give me this?’ Sally asked looking at the gun as smoke trailed from its long barrel.

  ‘Just hold the damn thing while I reload, Squirrel,’ Iron Eyes told her. ‘I’m running low on notions of what to do next.’

  ‘Ain’t you got a plan, sweetheart?’ she purred at the horrifically scarred man as he pushed the loaded six-gun into his belt and took the other from her hands.

  He glanced briefly into her eyes and shrugged.

  ‘Nope, I didn’t expect to get this far, Squirrel,’ Iron Eyes answered as his bony fingers removed the spent casings from the gun and then pushed fresh shells into the smoking cylinder. ‘I figured they’d have killed me by now. Damned if I know what our next move oughta be.’