by Rory Black
‘Nope,’ Iron Eyes shook his head as he cautiously moved closer to the man he intended killing. ‘Not see guns before coming here.’
The statement caused Smith to fumble with the bullet he was about to slide into the gun chamber. He frowned.
‘You ain’t seen any guns before?’ he repeated.
Iron Eyes shook his head.
A cruel smile carved its way across Smith’s face as he snapped his gun shut and adjusted its ramrod. His thumb pulled back on his gun hammer and he began to grunt with laughter as he stared at the wounded young hunter before him.
‘Reckon you’re gonna die now, you skinny bastard,’ he drawled mockingly.
But Smith would soon learn that Iron Eyes was not so easily killed. The tall youth grunted and growled like a cornered timber wolf as his savage survival instincts rose up within him.
‘I don’t die so easy,’ he whispered.
CHAPTER NINE
Blood covered the sun-bleached boards all around the two very different creatures who faced one another on the store front. Smith’s words rattled inside his head as Iron Eyes felt blood trailing down his side and the various other wounds that covered his skinny body. Every sinew of the elusive hunter sensed that death was closer than it had ever been before. Yet Iron Eyes was determined that he would not be the loser of this final fight.
He stared at the brutal Smith like a mountain lion studying its chosen target and let out a low growl.
‘You are brave,’ Iron Eyes mocked. ‘I have no gun so I cannot be as brave as you.’
The expression on Smith’s face altered.
‘You got a smart mouth, boy,’ he growled. ‘Them teeth of yours are digging your grave, though.’
‘Maybe,’ Iron Eyes said as he shuffled from side to side in a hypnotic manner. ‘Shoot me.’
Without warning, Iron Eyes bolted across the boardwalk to its very edge and then jumped. His bony hands grabbed a wooden upright and swung his lightweight body out over the sand. The momentum increased as Iron Eyes came hurtling back toward his adversary. He released his grip and flew boot-first at the startled Smith. Both his boots caught the lumberjack high in his chest. The impact felt like a mule kick and buckled the sturdy lumberjack. Yet even that was not enough to knock Smith off his feet.
Smith staggered back for a few steps and then steadied himself as he raised his .45. He fired his six-gun at his elusive prey. The bullet went through the porch roof and showered both men with debris. Covered in falling dust, Iron Eyes lashed out with his left boot and caught the logger in his midriff. Pain etched Smith’s face for a few moments as he stared at the defiant Iron Eyes.
‘You shouldn’t have done that,’ he gasped.
Iron Eyes silently agreed with the words. His foot hurt where it had collided with Smith’s belly. It was far harder than it looked. He narrowed his eyes and rubbed blood from his face.
Suddenly Smith charged into the pitifully lean hunter.
Iron Eyes was lifted off his boots as Smith charged into him. Both men staggered across the boardwalk until Iron Eyes succumbed to the lumberjack’s weight and crashed on to the boards. Like a slippery eel, Iron Eyes slithered and squirmed beneath his adversary. As Smith started to rise, Iron Eyes grabbed one of the logger’s legs and then tripped him over on to his face. Smith hit the ground heavily but managed to fire his gun again at the more agile Iron Eyes.
The bullet ripped through the back of Iron Eyes’ shirt and grazed his flesh before exiting close to his mane of long black hair.
No branding iron could have inflicted more pain. It felt as though someone had set fire to his back as Iron Eyes grabbed the lumberjack and wrestled him into the wall of the general store.
The sound of their skulls colliding with the sturdy wall echoed along the porch. As blood trickled down his face Iron Eyes threw two punches and clambered to his feet. Half dazed, Smith snorted and got to his feet just as Iron Eyes stepped back and kicked him between his legs. Smith squealed like a cornered pig and then pushed Iron Eyes back.
The sheer force sent the taller man halfway down the boardwalk before he could steady himself. Iron Eyes was about to charge into Smith again when he heard the unmistakable sound of the six-shooter being cocked again.
‘No more shooting,’ he snarled and waved his left hand at the burly logger.
Smith might have laughed if he had not been nursing his crotch and trying to straighten himself back into an upright position. He glanced to where he had last seen Norris standing but the giant lumberjack was gone.
‘Shake,’ Smith yelled out.
Iron Eyes gritted his razor sharp teeth and shook his fist at the lumberjack. He was amused that Smith seemed to be looking for reinforcements.
‘He run off when you started shooting,’ Iron Eyes informed the big man. ‘Him smart. He not want to die.’
‘He’s just a yella belly,’ Smith snarled as he rested his back against the wall. ‘Gutless.’
Iron Eyes could see that Smith was still in agony as he fearlessly squared up to him. The .45 was shaking in the logger’s hand as he attempted to aim its smoking barrel at Iron Eyes.
‘Big mistake, fat man,’ the blood-soaked young hunter snarled. ‘Big mistake.’
Smith forced a grin. ‘You’re just like all Injuns. You’re a coward like Shake.’
Anger rippled through the young hunter. Iron Eyes gritted his teeth and hissed through them.
‘I not Injun,’ he repeated.
Smith eased himself away from the wall and took a couple of faltering steps until he was facing the wounded young hunter. He glanced down at the smoke still trailing from his gun barrel and then back at Iron Eyes.
‘Whatever you are,’ he started, ‘you’re gonna be dead pretty soon.’
Iron Eyes looked down at his right boot. He could see the hilt of his long knife tucked its neck. He knew that he had only one chance of survival and that meant using the lethal stiletto before Smith squeezed his trigger again.
‘Are you ready to die now, Injun?’ Smith spat.
‘Iron Eyes ready,’ Iron Eyes replied.
The lumberjack was grinning as he aimed straight at the lean figure. Then Iron Eyes bent forward and lowered his arm until his skeletal fingers found the handle of the knife.
‘What you doing, Injun?’ Smith snarled at the unusual sight before him. ‘Straighten up, damn it.’
Suddenly Iron Eyes did exactly that. He pulled the knife free from the neck of his boot and propelled it at the lumberjack with every last drop of his strength. The dagger sped across the boardwalk and embedded into the centre of Smith’s chest. The sound of the impact was like the beating of a war drum.
A solitary thud.
Never taking his eyes off the stricken lumberjack, Iron Eyes swayed and tried to remain upright. His burning stare focused on the hilt of his weapon sticking out of Smith’s massive chest. The logger looked shocked as it suddenly dawned on him that he was dying.
‘What the hell?’ Smith exclaimed.
The mocking smile disappeared from Smith’s face as blood began to rise up into his mouth and drip from the corners of his mouth. He exhaled and stared down at the knife buried up to its hilt in his shirt front.
The logger watched in stunned horror as blood crept around the knife hilt and spread over his shirt.
The smoking gun fell from the logger’s grip and bounced on the boardwalk. Bewildered, Smith looked up at his bleeding adversary in disbelief. He tried to speak but only crimson gore spluttered from his mouth.
Emotionless, Iron Eyes watched as the far bigger man fell on to his knees. The lumberjack’s eyes darted all around the area as though seeking help, but he was beyond any form of help. All Smith could do was die.
Then he toppled on to his side.
A strange gurgling sound came from the logger’s mouth and his eyes suddenly went blank. He then arched and sank into a deep sleep. It was a sleep that he would never awaken from.
A sleep only shared by the dead.
<
br /> Iron Eyes pushed his long hair off his face and then sighed heavily before glancing down at the blood that was still pulsating from his side. He pressed his hand against the wound and then strode unsteadily toward the body of the lumberjack.
There was no sign of regret in what he had just done.
For Iron Eyes knew that when anything was trying to kill you, there was only one thing you could do, and that was to kill it first.
The gangly young hunter stared down at Smith and pointed at the dead man. He jabbed the air.
‘I am Iron Eyes,’ he snarled at the body before reaching down and extracting the knife from Smith’s chest. Blood clung to the long twelve-inch blade as he wiped it clean on his pants leg. ‘I am not Injun.’
When satisfied that he had removed the warm blood from the razor sharp blade he slid it back into his boot neck and turned back toward the stores open doorway. Before Iron Eyes could take a step toward it, Kermit Lang came scurrying out on to the boardwalk and moved straight to the body.
Startled, Iron Eyes watched as the store-keeper checked the lumberjack’s various pockets until he located what he was looking for.
‘What you got there, Kerm?’ the wounded youth asked the store-keeper.
Lang waved the bag of coins under Iron Eyes’ nose.
‘I got me his money, boy,’ he replied. ‘That bastard is gonna pay for the repairs on my store. Besides the undertaker would only steal it.’
Iron Eyes watched as the smaller man hurried back toward the open doorway. He was confused by Lang’s words and actions as he turned to face him. Lang snapped his fingers and got the bleeding young hunter’s attention.
‘Are you coming in here?’ he asked.
Iron Eyes gave a sharp nod of his head. ‘Yeah, I got to get goods and bow.’
Lang raised his eyebrows.
‘Then come on in here so I get tend them wounds of yours, boy,’ he said with a curl of his finger. ‘You need stitching up real bad before you end up like that damn lumberjack.’
Iron Eyes was about to do as he was told when another thought came to him. He walked back to Smith’s body and plucked the gun off the boards, tucked it into his pants and then stepped down on to the street sand and retrieved the unconscious Barker’s six-shooter as well. He stepped up on to the boardwalk and trailed the smaller man into the store.
Lang could not see what the blood-covered youngster was holding in his skeletal hands as he entered the general store and moved to where Lang was standing.
‘What you got there, boy?’ Lang asked without turning around as he made his way to the long counter.
The slender youth gave out a muted laugh.
‘Guns, Kerm,’ Iron Eyes said excitedly. ‘I got guns.’
CHAPTER TEN
It was more than an hour later when Bo Hartson looked up at the mysterious Iron Eyes as the tall youngster rounded the corner and entered the livery. Hartson barely recognized the youngster decked out in brand new shirt and pants as he walked back toward where the blacksmith was seated.
Iron Eyes was labouring under the weight of carrying his boxed goods. Every hidden graze hurt as the cardboard box rubbed against the simple clothing Lang had given him. The burly blacksmith got to his feet and looked at the bruised and battered Iron Eyes as he strolled toward the forge and then carefully laid down a cardboard box next to his muscular pal.
‘Iron Eyes got whiskey and cigars.’ The youngster beamed as he pointed at the box. ‘We smoke and drink now.’
The blacksmith stroked his whiskered chin and stared at the clothes his protégé now sported.
‘How’d you get these new duds, boy?’ he asked.
‘Kerm give me,’ Iron Eyes answered. ‘He find lot of dollars on dead man.’
Hartson raised his eyebrows. ‘Exactly what dead man would that be, son?’
Iron Eyes looked at his curious friend.
‘The man I killed in fight, Bo,’ he shrugged as he inspected his goods in the box like a child staring into a jar full of candy canes. ‘He not need money. Him dead.’
The blacksmith exhaled and plucked two tin cups off the side of his forge and placed them on one of the upturned barrels he used as seats. He then moved closer to Iron Eyes and cautiously asked.
‘Was that anything to do with the shooting I heard?’ he asked his young pal as he silently noticed the cuts and bruises that covered his gaunt features.
Iron Eyes nodded.
‘Two big men start shooting at Iron Eyes,’ he explained with a casual shrug. ‘I made one sleep but the other kept trying to shoot me with gun. I killed him with knife.’
Hartson gave a big sigh and rubbed his neck. He walked around the lean figure and then looked down into the box at the goods within it.
‘Looks like you got a good deal with old Kermit, boy,’ he noted. ‘You did darn well for yourself.’
‘Kerm is good man,’ Iron Eyes agreed before reaching down and lifting the cigar box up. He opened its lid and offered one of the black cigars to the blacksmith. ‘We smoke now.’
‘You bought most of his store by the looks of you, Iron Eyes,’ Hartson said as he picked one of the cigars as sniffed it carefully. ‘Why’d Kermit give you these clothes, boy? Your other clothes looked OK.’
‘Clothes bloody,’ Iron Eyes said. ‘Ripped by fatman and his bullets. Kerm said these better.’
The blacksmith nodded as he visually inspected Iron Eyes’ new wardrobe. He rubbed his chin.
‘They are kinda smart,’ Hartson said. ‘Darn fancy.’
‘Will snare many furs for Kerm,’ Iron Eyes said.
The blacksmith placed the cigar in his mouth, leaned over the forge and lit the long thin smoke. He puffed and then returned his attention to his youthful friend. His eyes could see the gun grips poking out of Iron Eyes’ belt as he rested his bulk on to the small upturned barrel.
‘Where you get the guns, boy?’ he asked as smoke drifted from his mouth. ‘Did Kermit sell them to you?’
Iron Eyes shook his head and helped himself to one of his cigars before placing the box back down next to the whiskey bottles.
‘They logger’s guns,’ he stated. ‘I take.’
‘Is that so?’ Hartson muttered.
‘I take guns from them,’ Iron Eyes continued.
The blacksmith raised his bushy eyebrows. ‘Did you?’
‘Now they mine, Bo,’ the thin man copied Hartson’s actions by the forge and used the hot coals to ignite his own cigar. ‘One man was asleep and the other did not have any more use for his gun. Him dead.’
Hartson pulled the cigar from his mouth and blew a line of smoke at the dirt floor. He had spent his entire life studying every known brand of man but he could not fathom Iron Eyes. He sat back down and leaned forward.
‘You said they shot at you?’ he asked.
‘Them bad men. Bad fight,’ Iron Eyes said as he filled his lungs with the strong smoke and then lifted his shirt to display his savage wounds. ‘Look what they did. Skin ripped open.’
Hartson bit his lip as he stared at the hideous grazes.
‘You in pain, boy?’ he asked.
Iron Eyes nodded. ‘Hurt bad.’
‘I figured you were involved when we heard the shooting start up,’ the blacksmith inhaled more smoke and then allowed it to drift between his teeth. ‘Looks like old Kermit got his needle and thread out and darned you up like a pair of socks.’
‘Kerm did good job,’ Iron Eyes said through gritted teeth. ‘Men started fighting Iron Eyes. We fight hard. I had to kill one to stop him.’
Hartson sighed and then returned the cigar to his mouth as he watched the young hunter staring into the flickering flames that danced between the coals. He then looked at the huge barn doors and noticed that the sun was going down. The bright sunlight had been replaced by mysterious twilight.
‘It’s getting dark,’ he said glancing at the tall man as he puffed on his cigar. ‘It’ll be pitch black before you get back to the forest.’
&
nbsp; Iron Eyes gave a nod of his head. ‘Good. It better when it dark. Enemies cannot see you so easy in dark.’
‘Yep,’ Hartson inhaled deeply as his friend’s words sank into his tired mind. He knew that Silver Creek was overflowing with men who might decide to seek revenge for what the naïve youngster had done to one of their breed. It made him nervous but Iron Eyes appeared oblivious to any possible threat. ‘Them lumberjacks might have themselves a few friends that will try to make you pay for winning that fight, Iron Eyes.’
The gaunt hunter stared through his cigar smoke at the blacksmith. He was confused by the words Hartson had just uttered.
‘What do you mean?’
Hartson rested his hands on his knees.
‘They might figure on teaching you a lesson, son,’ he said. ‘They might try to finish what them two lumberjacks started. They might try to kill you themselves.’
Iron Eyes still did not understand his pal’s concerns.
‘Why?’ he asked. ‘Fight over.’
The blacksmith looked at the naïve expression on the face of the younger man. Iron Eyes knew little of the real world, Hartson thought. He knew only the forest and the Indians and creatures that roamed within its confines. There was probably no concept there of vengeance. The lumberjacks were a different breed to those that Iron Eyes was used to. They held a grudge and that could come back to haunt the emaciated young hunter.
‘You made them loggers look pitiful, boy,’ Hartson explained. ‘You whipped them and men like them don’t take kindly to being made to look pitiful.’
‘I no savvy,’ Iron Eyes shrugged as his teeth gripped the cigar. ‘They not scare me. I not run away. I only fight when I have to fight.’
The blacksmith decided to change the subject. He glanced at the gun grips poking from the pants belt of the youngster and pointed at them.
‘You know how to use them guns, boy?’ he asked.
‘I will learn,’ Iron Eyes said confidently.
Hartson smiled. ‘I’m damn sure that you will.’
Iron Eyes looked around the livery and then pulled the cigar from his mouth. ‘Where are men that give you your winnings, Bo?’
