by Rory Black
This female named Jane had made him curious enough to alter his plans, if only briefly
He kept thinking of the reward money, waiting for him across the wide Rio Grande, and how he would normally not let anything slow his progress at collecting it. Yet, for the first time in many years, he felt as if there was no hurry.
The money would still be there even if he took another couple of days to reach El Paso. He had killed his way across many territories and was tired of all the blood.
It was time to let the blood on his hands dry before killing any more.
Iron Eyes turned and watched as the canvas flap was opened and a long, blue-denim-clad leg poked out. The rest of Jane’s slim body followed, and she came to ground next to the dripping bounty-hunter, in her hands a towel and some feminine objects like a brush and soap.
‘Morning,’ she said in her usual one-tone voice.
He acknowledged her with a slight movement of his head, and then continued to tend to his pinto.
‘You fall in the river?’ she asked, with something that might have been regarded as a smile upon any other female’s face but hers.
‘What’s your meaning?’ he asked.
Her hand touched his dripping hair.
Iron Eyes shrugged, and leaned over to his saddle-bags. He emptied some oats on to the sand, and watched as the pony started to consume them quickly, before aiming his gaze at her.
‘Where you heading?’ There was an innocence in his question that ill suited him.
‘A gal gotta do what a gal gotta do,’ she snapped as she headed down to the water’s edge.
Iron Eyes watched her as she did what she had to do. She never once tried to hide herself away from his burning eyes. She seemed either unaware of his watching or cared little for his attention.
Iron Eyes wanted her.
Like a dog wants a bitch.
There was nothing romantic in his feelings. He was not sweet on her. He was no female-starved cowboy hitting town with only one thought on his mind. He wanted her for reasons that were totally alien to him.
Without any feelings of guilt, he kept watching her as she did what she had to do. His face strained at the sight of something that he had never before witnessed.
The tall bounty-hunter found it a magnetic draw for his hard eyes.
Rubbing his neck, he finally turned away, long after he should have done so. Strangely, she seemed to have no concern about his watching her every action.
It was as if she were trying to tempt him into acting like a man with blood flowing through his veins rather than staining his clothes and boots.
It was a chance that was even slimmer than his starved body.
She pulled up her britches, and then returned back to the long, dark figure in the long, dark coat. Although he held his chin on his chest and his long wet hair covered his face, she could see his every expression written in his every sinew.
As she brushed past him, the aroma of soap filled his nostrils and made him look up as she tossed the towel and things into the back of the wagon once more.
Iron Eyes grabbed at her slim arm and breathed heavily as he looked at her eyes which were staring back at him. The mutual mind-reading lasted several seconds before he felt his grip loosen.
‘What?’ she asked.
Iron Eyes released his grip and her arm fell from his fingers to her side. He gritted his teeth and grunted in a confused state, before rubbing his nose with his sleeve.
‘Nothing,’ he muttered.
‘You still figuring on heading for El Paso?’ she asked firmly.
‘Yep,’ he replied, feeling as if he had just lost a fight that he did not know he had been involved in. ‘Guess so.’
She pointed at the still-rolling waves that were lashing even more furiously than the previous day
‘You got a long ride south then, Mr Iron Eyes.’
‘How far south?’ He placed his attention on the raging river and focused his keen eyes.
A long ways south.’ The female seemed to know a lot more about the Rio Grande than her bounty-hunting companion. ‘Maybe a hundred miles before this swell widens out to a point where we can get across.’
A hundred miles?’ Iron Eyes felt like shooting the damn river again just for being there. A hundred miles? You’re sure of that?’
‘Nope.’ She spat at the ground. ‘But it’s a fair guess.’
Iron Eyes rubbed the back of his filthy neck and just growled at the thought of his money sitting in El Paso and him stuck on the wrong side of the widest, wildest river in hell. The sun burned down on them as they faced each other.
‘You wanted to join me last night, didn’t you?’ she said in a blunt tone.
He seemed to agree without opening his mouth.
‘Then why didn’t you?’ Her question hit him hard between his cold, steel-coloured eyes.
‘You already shot off one of my ears for doing nothing,’ He answered quietly. ‘I wasn’t gonna risk you shooting off anything valuable.’
She heaved her chest up and kept him firmly fixed in her sights.
‘That was before I knew who you was.’
‘What difference does that make?’ Iron Eyes’ face had a sudden look of curiosity etched across it.
There was no answer to his question, just the glimmer of a hint that he might not have been rejected as quickly as he had assumed.
‘Where you heading with this rig?’ Iron Eyes tried to change the subject that he was clearly finding hard to resolve.
Jane was silent for the longest time before answering the bounty-hunter.
‘South?’ For the first time she witnessed what could only be described as a faint smile cross his lips as he sucked her words into his soul.
‘You figure on joining me on my trip, Jane?’ He somehow managed to spit his words out.
She grabbed a pan off its hook on the side of the wagon, and headed for the ashes of her campfire.
He watched her every step with an interest that was unusual for him. Kneeling down, she placed the pan on to the sand before gazing up at his face.
‘If you get some kindling I’ll fix us some grub.’
Iron Eyes gazed down at her, and found himself obeying her orders willingly.
Chapter Nine
The two remaining Hardy brothers had ridden long and hard before they spied the buzzards circling above the far-off mesa. It was the more observant Tom who reined his mount to a halt first and stood high in his stirrups.
The sight ahead bothered him greatly, and, for the first time since setting out from Rio Drago, he was concerned at what might lie ahead for them.
The dark clouds did little to help him as he pulled up the high collar of his over-jacket to shield his ears from the chilling breeze.
Death lay over the far off ridge, and his guts ached at the thought that revenge might not be such an easy task. He and his drunken brother had to try and catch the bounty-hunter named Iron Eyes before he crossed the Rio Grande and headed into the far more populous Texas to get his blood money It was a task that had soured in Tom’s mouth for the past few hours as the constant riding had sobered him up.
The slower Whit Hardy pulled up to a halt beside his brother, and sat spitting out the flies from his teeth. Swaying in his saddle he could barely focus on his horse’s mane, let alone the far-off mesa which seemed to be occupying his brother’s attention. To Whit the only thought had been to have another drink of his powerful Mexican brew.
It was nowhere near as tasty as whiskey but it served its purpose and kept the reality of their situation at a distance.
‘You see that, Whit?’ Tom balanced himself by holding on to the reins as he hovered in his stirrups.
Whit looked at his brother and then at the distant birds that circled in the far-away sky Removing his Stetson and scratching his lice-infested head, he tried to work out what the fuss was all about.
‘I see a bunch of crows or something. So what?’ he drawled in his usual manner. The sight was hardl
y enough to get him worked up into a lather.
Tom sat back down in his saddle and glared at the man beside him. The expression was one of total frustration.
‘Them’s buzzards, Whit,’ he sighed.
‘So?’ The younger man reached back into his saddle-bag and withdrew a bottle. Finding it empty he tossed it away and fished out another.
This one was full to the cork, which he pulled with his teeth.
‘Buzzards flying around in a circle?’ Tom tried to get a response from his tequila-swigging sibling. ‘Think about it, boy.’
Whit pulled the bottle from his lips and gave a yell of sudden awareness.
‘Something is dead over there,’ Whit ranted, with an excitement in his voice that was as rare as finding him without glazed eyes.
Tom blew long and hard and prodded his horse with his sharp spurs. The mount started to move ahead at a slow pace. He was headed for the mesa and the buzzards.
The younger man followed with reins in one hand and the bottle in the other. He had long forgotten why they were on this journey, and the constant consumption of homemade liquor seemed to keep his brain permanently blurred.
Whit Hardy followed his brother up over the sand dunes until they reached the level top which rolled down on to the almost flat prairie.
Tom sat, leaning on his saddle-horn, glaring at the sight before him. It was totally horrific and at first very difficult to make out, but gradually both riders knew what they had ridden in on.
This was a sight seldom seen.
This was the remnants of a one-sided battle that the shredded bodies before them were testament to.
This was the work of Iron Eyes.
The bodies of the Apache warriors were scattered around, and had been plucked almost free of flesh since they had been slaughtered. The buzzards that circled were waiting their turn at the feast below, as other birds ripped at the rotting flesh. A handful of ponies were away in the distance, having remained close to their fallen masters.
Whit lowered his bottle to his side and turned to throw up. He chucked his guts up into the hot dry sand.
The smell was like nothing either man had ever experienced in all their days.
Even the more battle-scarred Tom felt the bitter taste of vomit in his mouth as he inhaled the terrible stench.
‘Indians,’ Tom managed to say ‘Them bodies used to be Indians, boy.’
Whit continued being sick as the mixture of acrid aroma and cheap liquor filled him.
Soon the two men had left the carnage behind them as they followed the trail left by the unshod pony The bodies might have been getting more distant behind their horses as they proceeded ahead, but the smell lingered in the two riders’ noses. No matter how hard they rode, they could not get the stink out of their heads.
With gritted teeth, Tom Hardy leaned over his saddle-horn and rode toward the far-off golden hills, leading his swaying brother behind him.
Whoever this man named Iron Eyes was, he was sure good with his guns, the outlaw thought.
The sweat ran down his spine beneath his thick shirt.
It was not the sweat of a man suffering from excess heat, but the sweat of a man who was scared of what lay ahead. The trail was easy to follow. It was like the bounty-hunter himself, straight to the point.
The ghosts of his many victims seemed to be howling in the chilling wind. They were being urged on by all the notches upon the guns of Iron Eyes.
Tom Hardy was no gunslinger, he was always the man who followed his daring brother Dan into the banks. He was better than the dim-witted Whit, yet that was nothing to write home about.
After his usual intake of booze, Whit could be outdrawn by his horse.
Tom knew that chasing the deadly Iron Eyes was foolhardy, but continued heading after the bounty hunter anyway.
Who the hell was this varmint called Iron Eyes? It was a question that would ride inside Tom Hardy’s head for the rest of their journey. He had little else to think about as the cold breeze blew at their spines and chewed into their bones.
Who was this Iron Eyes?
Chapter Ten
The thin, ghostlike figure of Iron Eyes sat upon his pinto, holding the reins tightly in his left hand, as he watched the three mounted riders approaching from the south.
The mysterious Jane had pulled her wagon to a standstill behind the bounty hunter, and looped the reins around the long brake-pole at her side.
She had automatically lifted her Winchester out of the box at her feet and cranked it ready for action. She sat on the wooden plank with her foot resting on the brake as she studied the riders over her oxen and the statuesque Iron Eyes.
The large sombreros gave the clue as to where these men were from, but not who or what they were. It was known that bandits were commonplace in the more remote regions of the prairie, but these might be ranchers.
The river flowed to their left-hand side as both Iron Eyes and Jane sat watching the riders.
They had travelled over ten miles along the edge of the wild river, trying to find a suitable place to attempt a crossing.
Iron Eyes sat watching the three men as they grew ever closer, without changing his expression.
His grey pupils were like two musket-balls as they focused upon the men. He had heard the rifle being cocked for action behind him, and knew that the strange female was ready to blow off a few more ears if not worse.
His fingers stroked the pistol tucked over his left hip as they started to pull their horses up. All three men were skilled riders by the way they stopped their headstrong stallions. These were not the sort of horses that just anyone could ride.
These were strong, rampant steeds that only masters of their trade could hope to handle.
Each man sat below his vast sombrero, watching the ghostlike figure and the female on top of the wagon. They were dressed in a fashion that was almost artistic in its detail. All were clad in black, with white-and-silver patterns. Their frilly white shirts and red scarves seemed to highlight their obvious vanity.
‘Well?’ Iron Eyes growled in a slow manner that seemed to question the riders’ right to be before him.
The one rider who seemed to have an understanding of English removed his large sombrero and made a flowing gesture with it as he smiled.
His hair gleamed in the sunshine from expensive oils as he replaced it on to his head.
‘I am Dwan José Valdez, senor he informed in a tone that seemed to warrant applause. ‘Welcome to my humble rancho.’
Iron Eyes gave a backward glance at the female who sat with the Winchester across her lap, before returning his attention to the trio of men.
‘You own this strip of land?’ Iron Eyes asked.
The man who had given his name raised both shoulders and made a curious expression that was partly masked by his long, waxed moustache.
‘Not this exact spot but everything else over here.’ He waved his left arm and pointed away from the wide, rolling river.
‘What do you want of us?’ Iron Eyes continued to thumb the Navy Colt as he spoke to the riders.
The man called Valdez continued to smile at the dark, narrow-eyed bounty-hunter as his two outriders sat nervously looking silently on. They too kept their hands upon the hammers of their pistols.
‘I am here to ask why you have entered our lands.’
‘Just heading south,’ Iron Eyes muttered under his breath, as he lowered his chin until it rested upon his chest. ‘Trying to find a safe place to cross this angry river.’
‘But south is no good.’ Valdez smiled in a manner that was beginning to make the gaunt man angry.
‘Why not?’
‘l own all the land south from here,’ Valdez gestured. ‘I cannot allow people to cross my land uninvited.’
‘You own the river?’ Iron Eyes turned as he heard Jane ask her simple, blunt question. He found yet another smile starting to cross his lips.
Valdez gazed up at the woman in surprise. ‘No, dear lady. I do not own
the river but — ’ he admitted.
‘Quit holding us up and get your fancy backsides out of our way,’ Jane shouted in a way that made all three Mexican riders uneasy .
‘You misunderstand me, dear lady.’ Valdez regained his composure and his smile as he aimed his conversation at the woman with the rifle.
‘How so?’ she asked.
‘I wish you to be my guests at my rancho.’
Valdez bowed as he spoke to her. ‘It is our custom.’
Jane was very unimpressed. ‘You often invite strangers to your home?’
‘We seldom see strangers.’ Valdez was feeling uneasy at the way the dark, long-haired Iron Eyes toyed with the handle of his pistol. ‘We cannot allow you to continue your journey without offering our simple home for you to rest and refresh yourselves.’
‘Why not?’ Iron Eyes grunted.
‘You are not of these parts. It is our custom.’
Dwan José Valdez had imparted a tone into his explanation that seemed to suggest that he would never accept any refusals.
Iron Eyes pulled hard on his reins and forced the pony to step backward until it was level with the wagon. The thin man looked up at Jane. His eyes were as glassy as ever, but he seemed to be urging her to accept the invitation.
‘We better take up the offer,’ he advised.
‘Why?’ Jane seemed ready to blow holes in the bunch of smartly dressed vaqueros. ‘I ain’t afraid of no dandies.’
‘I am,’ Iron Eyes found himself honestly admitting. ‘I learned a long time ago never to underestimate your opponents. It can be costly.’
‘You scared?’ She seemed shocked that he was unwilling to engage in a shoot-out.
‘Nope. I just do not want to get ventilated before I get to El Paso and collect my reward money’ He spat at the sand as he studied the Mexicans.
‘Are you sure?’
‘I reckon they might not take kindly to our refusing.’ Iron Eyes pulled a cigar from inside his coat and pushed it between his uneven teeth.
‘You sure you ain’t scared, Iron Eyes?’ Jane kept watching the three men as she spoke to her companion.
