The Spirit of Iron Eyes

by Rory Black

  ‘Nope. Injuns don’t bother me none, Cap,’ he said. He straightened up with the bag in his arms again and walked towards the other two men.

  Col Wall grabbed hold of Hume’s arm.

  ‘Exactly how many Injuns are we talkin’ about, Matty? Ten? Twenty?’

  ‘I figure that there must be at least fifty of the critters by the way the ground’s all churned up, Col,’ Hume replied, rubbing the back of his neck. thoughtfully.

  ‘Fifty?’ Wall gulped. ‘Fifty Apaches? That’s an awful lot of Injuns. Are ya sure there’s fifty?’

  ‘Nope. I ain’t sure. There might be maybe twice that many of them for all I know. It’s hard to tell. The ground is kinda roughed up a tad,’ Hume answered.

  Tanny Gibson stopped in his tracks again and dropped the bag once more.

  ‘How many?’

  Wall spun on his heels and gazed around the horizon with increased alertness.

  ‘Then how come we’re stoppin’ for vittles, Matty? We ought to be headin’ after them critters before they catches up with old Quaid.’

  ‘That’s a hundred Apaches, ain’t it?’ Tanny Gibson gasped in utter disbelief as he finally managed to calculate what double fifty was.

  ‘Yep! About a hundred sounds right, Tanny.’

  ‘We ain’t got time to waste, Matty. Them Injuns will catch up with Marshal Quaid for sure. He needs our help. We can’t leave him to get scalped,’ Col Wall said.

  Captain Hume shook his head slowly and pointed down at the sand again.

  ‘They’re ahead of Tom Quaid. Look at the sand, Col. The shod hoof-tracks are on top of the unshod ones. That means Quaid arrived here after the Apache rode through here.’

  ‘Huh?’ Wall was confused. ‘What ya trying to say?’

  ‘For some reason, the marshal arrived here trailing Diamond Back Jones and the bounty hunter them folks back at Dry Gulch told us about. I figure that Jones met up with his Apache kin and they gave chase to the bounty hunter. Marshal Quaid decided to keep trailing them because Diamond Back is out there someplace.’

  ‘How come they would chase the bounty hunter?’ Wall asked.

  ‘Iron Eyes is a strange dude. Outlaws hate his guts and so do the Apache.’ Matty Hume sighed. ‘For some reason they reckon that he’s a living ghost or somethin’. He’s killed his share of their tribe over the years and they might have thought about getting their own back.’

  Gibson picked up the bag once again and brought it to the two men. He spoke reluctantly.

  ‘Shall I fix a fire, Cap?’

  ‘Yep. Use some empty flour-bags to make a fire, Tanny. There’s plenty of dry brush around here to get a good blaze goin’. I want to drink me a couple of cups of coffee and fill my guts with some salt pork before we head on out again.’

  Anxiously Col Wall bit his lip.

  ‘So we ain’t in no hurry then?’

  Matty Hume looked at his friend. ‘I ain’t been in no hurry since I first set eyes on them tracks, Col.’

  Chapter Twelve

  Lightning was still exploding in the skull of the emaciated figure as his feet somehow continued to take him along the black cave passage. His innards felt as though they were melting inside his lean frame and the sound of his pounding heart continued to haunt him. More dead than alive, Iron Eyes walked like a zombie in search of sanctuary, his long arms stretched out before him. Every fiber of his being screamed out for him to rest but he knew there could be no rest whilst the deadly snake-venom still surged through him.

  Only instinct was driving the bounty hunter on through the dark cave tunnel now. Iron Eyes had no idea where he was or even if he were still somehow alive. There were no rational thoughts in the bounty hunter’s fevered brain. Only agonizing pain. Step after step, he continued heading into the gentle breeze that drifted through the otherwise stale air.

  He had determined to remain upright and keep walking until he eventually died or recovered his wits long enough to reclaim his mind again. The pain was worse than anything he had ever experienced before.

  How many times had he been stabbed, shot by guns and bows in the past? So many times that only the scars that covered his body kept accurate records. But nothing had been as bad as the pain which had ensued after the sidewinder’s fangs had sunk into his flesh.

  The venom from the rattler’s vicious bite still coursed through his frail body like acid burning through gun metal. He felt icy cold and yet sweat had drenched his long, heavy trail-coat and his trousers until he looked like someone who had been caught in a cloudburst.

  Fever confused the tall man’s usually calculating mind until he no longer had any faith in anything except the cool draught on his face.

  Was any of this real? he asked himself.

  Iron Eyes continued to lurch forward, wondering if he might be caught in the middle of some horrific nightmare. One caused by drinking bad liquor or tainted water.

  Could he trust any of this?

  Every step that he took allowed pain to race through him unchecked. The entire cave was still in total darkness and yet his mind was filled with blinding lights that tortured his every movement.

  Surely no nightmare could be this torturous, he thought.

  Iron Eyes staggered from one side of the cave tunnel to the next as blood poured from the countless wounds which covered his thin body.

  Yet he did not notice them.

  There was nothing apart from confusion in his mind. Delirium fogged every thought a split second after the tall bounty hunter became aware of it.

  With every beat of his racing heart, it got worse.

  Iron Eyes felt the ground beneath his boots fall away sharply. Somehow he stopped himself from falling, his hands managed to reach to either side of the cave walls as he stumbled.

  But there was no strength left in his arms.

  He felt himself falling face first but could not work out how to move his arms in front of him to try and break the fall. The bounty hunter fell straight down into a black pit.

  To his fevered brain this was just another nightmare.

  Then his face hit the sand, hard.

  His entire body shook as it crashed on to the floor of the cave tunnel. He just lay there, winded, unable to move any part of his spread-eagled body.

  He was drowning in just two inches of soft sand.

  Iron Eyes tried to breathe but could not find any air. Only granules of fine sand filled his nostrils. He tried to force himself up but there was no power left in the long weak arms which lay at his sides.

  Then a strange screaming seemed to reach his ears. Iron Eyes tried to open his eyes but the sand made it impossible. He heard his name being called out over and over again, then suddenly realized that the voice he heard so clearly was his own. Somewhere in the depths of his subconscious mind, he was screaming out at himself with a fury only he could muster.

  Iron Eyes moved his hands and dragged them across the soft sand until they touched the sides of his head. His fingertips clawed at the sand to either side of his face until they touched his bruised and bleeding skin. He forced the fine sand away from his mouth and managed to tilt his head over on to its side.

  At last his open mouth managed to find fresh air. He filled his lungs.

  It tasted good.

  Iron Eyes knew that he was still alive. Bruised and battered, but still somehow alive. He had to be. Only being alive could hurt this much, he thought. He turned the palms of his hands until they were facing down and then pushed at the sand with all his might.

  Somehow he managed to force his lean frame off the sand and roll over on to his side. The cool air was much stronger now and made him recall why he was here at all. He shook his head and felt his mind clear slightly.

  His bony fingers scraped the sand from his eyes and rugged features but he could still not glimpse any light. He spat at the darkness angrily. Then his left hand found the Apache water bag at his side. It was leaking.

  He scooped the bag up.

  The crude stopp
er was gone. Iron Eyes groped around him but the blackness hid the small stopper well. He lifted the neck of the water bag to his lips, swilled the sand from his mouth and then spat again.

  He drank until he could no longer drink another drop.

  Then he filled the palm of one hand with the cool liquid and washed the fine granules off his face. As the water trickled down his battered features he felt the cool breeze on his skin far more strongly than before.

  I must be close to finding the way out of here, he told himself.

  Iron Eyes ignored the burning pain inside his guts, staggered back to his feet and inhaled deeply on the fresh air which was drying the water droplets on his face. Suddenly he buckled and felt the water being rejected by his stomach. It gushed from his mouth like a fountain. The bounty hunter felt a little better.

  He wondered if he had washed some of the poison from his system. Iron Eyes straightened up, raised the bag to his mouth and finished its contents before tossing it away. He no longer felt sick but the agonizing pain continued to tear through him as he groped his way along the narrow passageway of stone.

  Iron Eyes could feel his head starting to throb again as the snake’s poison attacked his senses once more.

  With his long arms outstretched to protect him from the uneven cave walls, he continued to ignore his pain and headed toward the cool breeze.

  For what seemed an eternity, the tall lean figure moved slowly along the tunnel that had been carved by nature itself eons ago.

  The only thing which kept him moving was the feeling of air on his face and exposed torso as his long coat-tails flapped at his sides.

  His mind drifted in and out of consciousness but his feet continued to take one step after another as though driven by a more basic instinct.

  The instinct of survival.

  The bounty hunter knew that he had been moving ever downward since he had started out on his quest to locate the source of the gentle draught.

  But even he had no idea of exactly how far down the inside of the sand-rock ridge he had come. The natural passageway had twisted and turned several times as the fevered man had descended deeper and deeper into it.

  As Iron Eyes groped his way around a narrow corner, his tired burning eyes saw a shaft of moonlight ahead of him. It seemed to be coming up from the floor of the cave nearly twenty feet away from him and danced hypnotically over the rocky walls all around him.

  At last! Iron Eyes sighed.

  He stopped and leaned against the cool rock surface and tried to collect his thoughts. The snake’s venom had made him see many things since the fangs had sunk into his flesh and he still doubted his sanity.

  Was this real?

  Had he finally reached his goal?

  The sweat-soaked Iron Eyes closed his eyes and counted for a few seconds. He then slowly opened them again and stared at the strange eerie light ahead of him.

  That’s real! he thought defiantly.

  He forced his bedraggled body away from the cave wall and staggered towards the beckoning light. Iron Eyes was like a moth being drawn to a flame. He could not resist it after spending so many hours in total darkness.

  At last! I’ve reached it at last! He sighed dragging his feet across the uneven surface of the cave floor. His battered body seemed to be moving faster than it had since he had first felt the jaws of the viper squeeze around his boot.

  Panting with exhaustion Iron Eyes staggered toward the luring shaft of moonlight. Then, as he almost reached it, he stumbled and swayed from one leg to the other. There was a reason why the light seemed to be coming from the cave floor ahead of him.

  The reason being that it actually was coming up from below the floor of the cave.

  His eyes widened and gazed down into another massive hole filled with water as he felt himself losing his balance. He could see the mouth of the cave he had been searching for so desperately, far below him. Blue moonlight spilled into the cave, reflected off the water’s surface and danced across the roof.

  Iron Eyes felt himself falling through the air, falling into the light. He watched as the water below him came up to greet his body.

  He closed his eyes and landed in the deep water. A million droplets of water raced into the haunting light above him as his body submerged into the ice-cold liquid. He frantically clawed at the water until he managed to find the surface again.

  The pool of fresh water rippled against the back wall of rocks, then washed his lean body over the lip of the cave mouth. He felt himself roll over several times until a boulder and some dry brush stopped him.

  Iron Eyes lay like a soaked rag-doll on his back, trying to inhale as much air as his lungs could take. The water had been a shock to him but it made him more alert. He blinked hard and then raised his left hand and pushed the long wet strands of hair off his face.

  It took several seconds before he was able to see clearly again. The sight of the large bright moon high above him greeted him. He was about to move when something to his right caught his attention.

  Iron Eyes moved his head slightly and stared through the brush at the Apache warriors who were arguing less than a hundred yards from where he was lying.

  It suddenly dawned on the bounty hunter that he was not on the other side of the ridge as he had first thought. He was at the foot of the sand-colored rock face almost directly below the cave mouth from where he had started,

  Iron Eyes sighed heavily.

  Damn!

  Chapter Thirteen

  The chief stared hard into the emotionless face of his brother and eventually lowered his hooded eyes to the ground. The ruthless Apache known to the outside world as Diamond Back Jones had won their battle of wills. Conchowata raised his hands to the rest of the warriors who surrounded them and muttered to them reluctantly under his breath.

  ‘My brother has seen the ways of our bitter enemies and he fears none of our gods. If he has the courage to climb up to the cave and do battle with Iron Eyes or the demons that might have already destroyed him, let it be!’

  Geroma stepped forward.

  ‘But if our gods are upset, it shall be we who pay, my father!’

  Conchowata nodded.

  ‘I have spoken.’

  Diamond Back Jones pulled one of his guns from its holster and cocked its hammer until it locked fully into position. He glanced across the troubled faces of the other braves, then turned.

  Like the Apache that he had always been, he moved like a mountain lion up the steep rugged rocks toward his goal. The moonlight still covered the warm face of the ridge and made the ascent easy for the agile figure.

  Jones held the primed pistol in his right hand as he used the fingers of his left to claw at the rocks and assist his balance as he went swiftly higher and higher.

  It seemed too easy for the deadly killer.

  He knew that only a few hours earlier, the bounty hunter had used his high vantage point to shoot every one of the Apache warriors who dared to climb up towards the cave mouth, off the sand-colored ridge.

  Now there was no sign of the man who had become a legend in the hearts of the Indians. A man who had attained almost mythical prowess.

  As Diamond Back Jones got within ten feet of the gaping cave entrance, he stopped and listened for any hint of movement above him.

  There was nothing but silence.

  Where was the man who, it was said, could not be killed because he was already dead? The outlaw began to move slowly up the narrow ledge again, with his gun aimed ahead of him.

  He was waiting for any sign of the bounty hunter to emerge from the cave. Diamond Back Jones knew that Iron Eyes was faster than any other human being with his deadly Navy Colts. As he carefully edged his way up the rock face, he waited for the haunting figure to move out of the sanctuary he had found and start blasting with his guns.

  Jones knew that he was dicing with death just trying to reach the cave. He had already witnessed the lethal accuracy of the bounty hunter’s guns and knew that Iron Eyes had no go
ds dictating to him when he could or could not kill his enemies.

  Why had Iron Eyes not fired on him already?

  Was he asleep?

  Somehow the outlaw doubted that men like the infamous bounty hunter ever slept like other people.

  Diamond Back wondered if some of the tall tales about Iron Eyes could actually be true. Was he a ghost who had been cursed to roam the plains until the end of time? Could he make himself invisible to the eyes of mere men?

  There were still hours of the night left before the sun would eventually rise again. Yet, unlike the rest of his tribe, he was not willing to waste the entire night through fear of bringing the wrath of the gods upon them.

  His time with the white men had made him impatient.

  If Iron Eyes was still up there, he wanted to face him now and not wait until sunrise. If it meant dying, his Apache blood did not mind.

  For the Apache, like so many other tribes dotted across the vast continent, had a saying: it is a good day to fight, and a good day to die.

  He would face his demons rather than cower from them like the rest of his people.

  The outlaw leaned against the rock face and kept the barrel of his gun trained on the cave mouth, a mere six feet away from him.

  He silently inhaled and gritted his teeth.

  Diamond Back Jones leapt into the gaping hole in the rock face and rolled head over heels. As his boots landed on the sand, his left hand drew his other gun from its holster.

  The cave floor was covered in blood.

  Iron Eyes’ blood.

  But there was no sign of the bounty hunter.

  Diamond Back Jones turned and looked down on his people.

  ‘He has gone! Vanished!’

  The Apache warriors mumbled amongst themselves as they watched the outlaw making his way back down the ridge towards them once again.

  Perhaps Iron Eyes was a demon after all!

  If so, how could they defeat him?

  Chapter Fourteen

  Tom Quaid pulled the black gelding up and stared into the moonlit panorama of high rocks which faced him. The ridge appeared to go on forever in either direction. The sight that greeted his eyes chilled him to the bone.