by Rory Black
‘At least he ain’t toting a gun,’ Knox sighed thankfully.
Hardy rubbed sweat from his brow.
‘That kid would be plumb lethal if he got hold of a six-shooter, by my reckoning,’ he said.
Charlie Knox loosened his bandanna. ‘Luckily he’s only got a bow and a pouch of arrows. If he tangles with anyone toting a Colt Peacemaker or the likes, he’ll get his tail feathers shot off.’
The lumberjacks laughed, but the solemn blacksmith did not join in. He just rubbed his jaw with his thumbnail and brooded silently. Finally he leaned back and looked at both men in turn before speaking.
‘There ain’t nothing to be joshing about. Everything in Silver Creek is new to that boy,’ Hartson warned as he took a long swallow of his whiskey. ‘He’s gonna make mistakes and for his sake I sure hope they ain’t bad ones.’
‘But he ain’t got no guns,’ Luke repeated.
The blacksmith took a swig from his whiskey bottle and then rested it on his knee. Sweat still rolled down his face from his sparse head of hair.
‘Some folks don’t need guns,’ Hartson declared. ‘Iron Eyes might be green when it comes to mixing it with townsfolk, but I’d bet this livery stable that he could win any fight against anyone. That boy is what they call a feral child. Raised by wild critters until he actually is as wild as they are. If them Injuns ain’t bin able to get the better of him, none of us in Silver Creek got a chance.’
Charlie Knox rubbed the sweat from his face and stared fearfully at the wide open barn doors. A shiver traced his spine and he shuddered.
‘It’s lucky there ain’t no law in this town,’ he said. ‘I got me a feeling that Iron Eyes would fall foul of the law pretty damn quick.’
‘But if he upsets the wrong folks in Silver Creek,’ Luke added fearfully, ‘They’ll surely lynch him. Folks around here ain’t the forgiving type.’
‘They might try to lynch him,’ Bo Hartson sighed heavily and reloaded his pipe bowl thoughtfully. ‘But I got me a feeling that Iron Eyes ain’t the sort to die easy, boys.’
‘You reckon?’ Charlie asked. ‘We’ve seen half a dozen folks getting their necks stretched by the mobs around here, Bo. And none of them looked or acted anything like Iron Eyes.’
Hardy shrugged. ‘Charlie’s right. There’s a lot of loud-mouthed bullies in Silver Creek that’d kill anyone just for looking different. You gotta admit it, Iron Eyes sure looks different and some folks get scared by things like that.’
Hartson gave a wry smile. His eyes twinkled at the thought of anyone trying to get the better of the unusual young hunter.
‘A forest full of Injuns ain’t managed it yet, have they?’ Hartson struck a match and raised it to his pipe. ‘I just hope and pray that nobody riles that youngster. God only knows what would happen if they riled him.’
‘But nearly every varmint in Silver Creek got guns, Bo,’ Charlie argued. ‘Iron Eyes is just a kid. If they aim them guns in his direction, the boy’s a gonner.’
‘Are you sure about that?’ Smoke billowed from his mouth before the blacksmith blew the match flame out and tossed the blackened ember at the forge.
For the first time since they had entered the large wooden structure, both the burly lumberjacks were silent. Even though every ounce of logic they had thrown at their muscular friend seemed to say that the naïve youngster had little if any chance of bettering the heavily armed menfolk in Silver Creek, they knew Hartson was probably right.
Iron Eyes looked young and scrawny, but he also looked like someone who indeed would not die easily.
CHAPTER SIX
Three of the powerfully-built lumberjacks had been making the most of their first day off from felling trees in over a month. They had been drinking steadily since before sunrise and had been causing trouble for the last hour as they moved between the numerous saloons in Silver Creek.
The trio of large men were well known in the remote logging town for causing trouble. It seemed that the more hard liquor they consumed, the more infamous they became. Hog Barker was the self-proclaimed leader of the bunch. He was a humourless soul who never failed to get even more so when he was drinking whiskey. Drew Smith was a bitter character who carried a chip on his shoulder which was as big as a giant redwood. He had already killed three men in the territory for various reasons and intended to add to his tally. Like Barker, Smith could not hold his liquor and grew meaner with every sip of the powerful whiskey.
Both men had each downed at least two bottles of rotgut since they had started drinking that morning. They were like so many of their kind in the logging wilderness and hated anyone they deemed different to themselves. To them, all men who they considered to be better looking than themselves were fair game. They would taunt and mock until their chosen target got angry enough to react and then proceed to beat the person up. The largest and quietest of the three was a lumbering soul known as Shake Norris.
Norris was a man of few words and even fewer friends. He would work harder than most and do what other folks told him to do. Norris might have been the biggest of the bunch and probably the strongest, but he was basically not a man who ever started a fight.
Yet like so many others, Norris was easily led. He tended to tag along with Barker and Smith like a faithful hound dog so that he could convince himself that he had friends.
In truth, Barker and Smith only wanted Norris in their company because his sheer size frightened those who might give them trouble.
As the three men left the Tall Tree saloon, they caught sight of the unusual sight of Iron Eyes as he made his way toward the hardware store to sell his furs. For some reason, the sight of the tall lean figure seemed to anger both Hog Barker and Smith.
His youth angered them because it reminded both loggers of their own advancing years. His pitifully lean form drew them like a magnet for they knew that most men built the way that Iron Eyes was built were very easy to beat to a bloody pulp.
But the main thing that had caught their attention was the mane of long black hair which hung impressively on Iron Eyes’ wide shoulders.
Hatred for Indians of any type had been instilled in both the lumberjacks from childhood. Like so many men of their generation they truly believed that the only good Indian was a dead Indian.
Besides, you could kill Indians in practically any of the states and territories without ever being charged with murder. It seemed that even the law was blind when it came to people of a certain colour.
Barker and Smith watched from across the wide street as the tall hunter headed to the hardware store to trade his furs for goods. They kept pace with Iron Eyes as Norris tagged behind them as usual.
‘Who is that weird looking critter, Hog?’ Smith asked as he shared a bottle of whiskey with the older lumberjack. ‘What’s he doing in Silver Creek?’
Barker grew angrier the longer he cast his evil stare upon the tall youngster. ‘I don’t know who that varmint is but he don’t belong here. We’re gonna have to teach him that we don’t like Injuns in our town.’
Smith started to chuckle as they continued to keep level with Iron Eyes on the opposite boardwalk. He turned and looked at the lumbering Norris.
‘You ready to stomp on an Injun, Shake?’ he asked his bigger friend. ‘Stomp him into pulp.’
Norris gave a nod of his head and continued to trail his two companions. As always he followed their lead.
The afternoon heat showed no sign of easing up across the high clearing where Silver Creek stood. The sun beat down mercilessly upon the weathered structures that had served for years as a home for its cast of misfits gathered between its unmarked borders. The various aromas common in such places grew even stronger as the lean figure of the hunter made his way along the wide street. Yet he either did not notice the stench of numerous outhouses in need of lime, or his mind was on something else.
The thought of getting his hands on strong cigars and cheap whiskey filled the youngster’s every thought. Nothing else mattered to the strange
r as he made his way along the boardwalk to the general store.
Iron Eyes looked baffled by the sight in and around Silver Creek as he strode on. The sandy ground of the street showed all the signs of a place where the brutal prize fight had just occurred only a half hour earlier.
Blood, teeth and lumps of scarlet gore littered the sand where the two mountainous men had battered one another to a pulp to earn themselves a few dollars and entertain the baying crowd.
The sand at the exact spot where the street had been roped off was stained a sickening shade of red. There was no mistake what had occurred there, Iron Eyes thought as he passed by the hideous evidence.
Yet no matter how hard he tried, Iron Eyes still could not understand the reason why grown men would fight this way. It made no sense to him as he stepped down and strode across the sandy ground to the boardwalk outside the large store.
He had grown up in what these people regarded as the wilderness, but Iron Eyes knew that none of the forest’s inhabitants would ever indulge in such acts. Not even the most vicious of wild beasts would fight for the sake of fighting.
Although he loathed the Indians who had stalked him for his entire life, Iron Eyes had never seen any of their warriors engage in any similar pointless actions.
In the forest animals of every kind might use their prowess to establish their superiority over rivals, but that was as far as it went. They killed for food and never wasted an ounce of energy on anything else.
Iron Eyes mounted the store’s steps and moved up toward the shade of the porch overhang. As his hand reached toward the door knob of the general store, he heard the sound of blatant laughter behind his broad back.
He stopped and turned.
His eyes squinted hard until they were almost shut.
His long black hair swayed in the afternoon breeze that travelled along the dry shimmering street. Then he saw the large men on the opposite side of the street. Three men were standing outside one of the many saloons dotted along the wide street and they were looking directly at him.
Iron Eyes could not tell what they were calling out between their laughing, but he instinctively knew that they were not being complimentary.
It was obvious even to the naïve Iron Eyes that they were mocking him for some reason. He could not understand it, but the gaunt youngster grew no less angry.
Kermit Lang, the owner of the store, was known to the youngster and had purchased several furs from Iron Eyes on his previous visits. He opened the store door and moved beside the tall figure. He held his broom in his small hands and brushed the dust off the boardwalk.
The old man knew exactly what the intention of the three lumberjacks was. He had seen Hog Barker and Drew Smith taunt many less physically capable men before. He had also seen Smith gun down an innocent drummer in the street just for the sheer pleasure of it.
‘Don’t pay them no mind, Iron Eyes,’ Lang said as he brushed the sand off the edge of the boards in a vain attempt to stem the tide of dust that perpetually made its way into his store. ‘They’re drunk and probably lost most of their money betting on the loser of the prize fight. Get in here.’
Iron Eyes tilted his head and glanced at the storekeeper before returning his terrifying attention to the loud men opposite.
‘Men angry?’ he asked Lang.
‘Yep,’ Lang nodded and shrugged his ancient shoulders as he turned and started back into his store. ‘Men like that bunch are always angry, Iron Eyes.’
Iron Eyes spun on his heels and trailed the older soul into the general store. He was confused by the fact that men that he had never encountered before would obviously try and rile him. He closed the door behind him and walked after the older man.
‘Why they shout at me?’ he asked Lang as the older man rested his hands on the counter of his store. ‘They do not know me.’
Lang sighed and rolled his eyes.
‘They’re liquored up,’ Lang said. ‘They seen you and they figure that they’ll feel a whole lot better if they can lure you into a fight and beat the tar out of you.’
‘Beat the tar?’ Iron Eyes repeated the words but did not understand what Lang was getting at. ‘Why they want to fight Iron Eyes, Kerm? Not even the dumbest critter in forest picks a fight for no reason.’
Lang smile from behind his trimmed white moustache.
‘They figure that you’re a tad scrawny, son,’ Lang said as he glanced through his large glass windows at the drunken trio on the other side of the street. ‘Men like them are always on the lookout for critters they can best in a fight. Beating folks up makes them feel bigger, I guess.’
Iron Eyes shook his head. He did not understand.
Lang leaned closer to the tall hunter.
‘I got me a saying,’ he chuckled. ‘The smallest dogs always bark the loudest. Big old hound dogs don’t have to bark coz they already know that they don’t have to prove themselves.’
Iron Eyes understood the words and grinned. ‘You give dollars for my furs, Kerm?’
‘Top dollar,’ Lang added as he accepted the furs and studied them carefully. ‘You want dollars or goods?’
Iron Eyes looked at the small storekeeper, ‘Whiskey and cigars. Dollars no good in forest.’
Lang brushed the pelts and blew at the furs before carefully hanging them up behind the counter. He then studied the tall youth with seasoned understanding. He pulled out a box of cigars and handed them to Iron Eyes and then reached down under the counter and produced a few bottles of whiskey.
‘That should make us even, Iron Eyes,’ he said. ‘Agreed?’
‘Iron Eyes happy,’ the tall figure said as he went to gather up his goods. He stopped when he spied the three lumberjacks. They had crossed the street and were now standing on the boardwalk outside the double windowed store. Hog Barker banged on the window.
‘Git on out here, freak,’ he shouted.
‘What they want?’ Iron Eyes whispered as his narrowed eyes darted between the three figures. ‘I do not know them. Why they want me out there?’
Lang reached across his store counter and caught hold of his tall friend’s arm. He drew Iron Eyes’ attention.
‘You can use the door at the rear of the store if you like, Iron Eyes,’ he suggested. ‘They’ll surely hurt you if you go out front.’
Iron Eyes glanced at Lang for a heartbeat.
‘Why?’ he wondered. ‘I do not savvy.’
‘Them boys are out to hurt you,’ Lang informed as he sighed. ‘Cut out the back way and you could probably outrun them drunkards.’
‘I no run away from fools, Kerm,’ the tall man growled.
‘You’ll get yourself pistol-whipped, boy,’ Lang warned as he noticed Iron Eyes starting to pull his Indian bow from his shoulder while staring with unblinking eyes at the trio of hefty lumberjacks standing on the store’s boardwalk. ‘Listen to me. There ain’t no glory in getting your brains knocked out by mindless thugs.’
Iron Eyes looked at the storekeeper with a puzzled expression etched on his face. He placed his bow on the shop counter and then unhooked his quiver of deadly arrows from his crude belt. He laid the arrows next to the arrows and nodded at Lang.
‘Guard my weapons and goods, Kerm,’ he muttered before returning his terrifying glare to the men gathered like rabid hounds beneath the porch overhang. ‘This should not take too long.’
‘Don’t go out there, Iron Eyes,’ Lang begged the tall youngster. ‘They’re armed. They got guns and you ain’t. They’ll slaughter you.’
‘I no need guns,’ Iron Eyes said.
‘Trust me, Iron Eyes,’ Lang pleaded. ‘Even if you did manage to best them with your fists, they’ll shoot you down like a dog.’
‘Iron Eyes is not a dog, Kerm,’ he grinned. ‘I am a wolf, though.’
Kermit Lang did not know whether Iron Eyes was brave or just plain stupid as the young hunter calmly started for the door.
‘Where are you going, boy?’ the storekeeper asked.
Iron
Eyes paused and shook his long hair off his face as he looked at the old man with the troubled expression etched into his ancient features.
‘I go to slaughter them,’ he muttered before starting for the door again. ‘I am the hunter. I am Iron Eyes.’
Lang sank his face into the palms of his hands.
He could not look.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Kermit Lang could not bear to watch. He listened to the door handle being turned and then peeked through his fingers as Iron Eyes stepped out on to the porch and then stopped between the three large loggers. The storekeeper clenched his fists and then rested them on the store counter as he heard Iron Eyes start to speak.
‘What you men want of Iron Eyes?’ the emaciated youngster asked as his head lowered and his mane of hair covered his face from the lumberjacks’ curious eyes. ‘I want no trouble. Go now.’
Hog Barker burst into laughter at the painfully thin youngster’s words. ‘Listen to the skinny bastard, boys. He wants us to go. I reckon that’s a warning.’
‘I’m thirsty, Hog,’ Norris said as he rested a shoulder on the wooden upright at the end of the boardwalk. ‘Let’s go and find us some rotgut whiskey. This critter ain’t worth bothering with.’
Barker glanced at the biggest of the lumberjacks.
‘Hush up, Shake,’ he snorted. ‘This long bean-pole needs to be teached a lesson. I don’t hanker being ordered about by a stinking Injun.’
Iron Eyes felt his blood starting to boil as it flowed through his veins. He snorted angrily.
‘I am no Injun,’ he hissed through his gritted teeth.
Barker moved to directly before Iron Eyes and laughed out loud at the motionless young hunter. He jabbed his fingers into the chest of the youngster.
‘Reckon we struck a nerve there, boys,’ the logger chuckled as he eyed the painfully lean man. ‘He don’t like being called an Injun. Hell, no white hombre ever looked like that.’
