The Spirit of Iron Eyes

by Rory Black

  Iron Eyes had thought that the snake-venom and cruel points of the Indians’ sharp lances were making him hallucinate once more. There had been so many nightmares for the bounty hunter since he had last managed to sleep.

  He had watched the four riders in the distance for what had seemed an eternity from his painful vantage point high on the face of the crude wooden torture rack.

  As the power of the explosion rocked him, he began to realize that this was actually real. The attention of the Apaches was suddenly drawn away from their prisoner and aimed at the distant flames.

  It was a confused Iron Eyes who watched as the stunned painted warriors raced to their lines of ponies. He could still feel the shock waves rocking the high pole he was tethered to, as they bounced off the ridge behind him.

  The eyes of the bounty hunter darted from one outstretched arm to the other. The Indians had done a good job binding his wrists and biceps to the long twisted crossbar. He was hanging like meat in a butcher’s shop.

  They had used wet rawhide which was designed to tighten as the moisture evaporated from it.

  Now after more than an hour the rawhide had shrunk to half its original size and was cutting into his flesh.

  His weary eyes could see blood starting to weep from the leather restraints. Yet there was no pain.

  He had not felt any of his enemies’ brutal attacks since they had eventually caught him near their mounts. The poison in his body ensured that nothing else could hurt him.

  Iron Eyes stared around the vast mist-covered prairie trying to see the four horsemen again. He could not.

  Conchowata and Diamond Back Jones had not moved away from the massive camp-fire with the rest of their fellow Apaches and were now the only braves to remain near their precious prisoner. Yet all thoughts about Iron Eyes had evaporated as their attention was drawn to the prairie.

  The half-dead bounty hunter watched as the screaming Apaches rode their ponies out towards the still burning hole in the sand where the four Texans had blown up the undergrowth. He wondered who they were and why they had acted.

  Were they trying to help him? If so, why?

  The tortured man lowered his chin and stared down at the two men below him. If he were ever going to act, he knew that it had to be now!

  He leaned forward and felt the pole move in the soft sand far below him. Then he rocked back. Every sinew in his body screamed out for him to stop, but he could not. Somehow Iron Eyes managed to make the wooden pole respond to his slightest change of weight distribution.

  The pole was moving a few inches at first and then more and more as the man strapped to it found hidden reserves of strength somewhere within his determined spirit.

  No fear existed in his lean blood-covered frame as he managed to get the pole rocking back and forth with more rapidity. All he could think about was making the base of the pole either snap or topple out of the soft sand.

  But it was a risky business.

  Iron Eyes knew that if it did fall forward he would more than likely land in the flames of the Apaches’ massive camp-fire, yet he was unafraid.

  Suddenly another massive explosion erupted near the still-smoldering hole out on the scarred prairie. The Texas Rangers had left three more sticks of dynamite with various lengths of lit fuses.

  As the scores of Apache horsemen had neared the site of the first explosion, the second stick had gone off. Riders and ponies were thrown into the air as the lethal dynamite erupted into action.

  Then another stick violently blasted and then the fourth.

  It was carnage!

  More than half the Apaches were either dead or maimed by the force of the three later explosions. Those who were left of the painted riders were stunned and half-blinded by the unexpected blasts.

  As the remaining Apaches managed to regain control of their ponies, they suddenly heard the sound of rifle shots echoing out around the immense prairie.

  The trio of Texas Rangers had used the shadows of the storm clouds well. They had managed to fan out into the mists that drifted over the ground to their advantage. Now they were attacking with their long rifles in their experienced hands as their legs guided the well-trained mounts beneath them.

  The Apache horsemen were in a turkey-shoot, and it was they who were the targets of the skilled riflemen.

  Iron Eyes could see every single detail of the battle that was raging far beyond him. He continued to rock the pole that he was strapped to as he noticed the Apache chief being drawn further and further away from him.

  Chief Conchowata looked in horror at his warriors being killed and knew that he could do nothing about it. The Apache leader ran to his pony, leapt across its back and then galloped off towards the raging battle. He knew that he would probably not survive, but he chose to fight and die with his braves.

  Diamond Back Jones drew both his Colts from his holsters and cocked their hammers. Unlike the rest of his tribe, he had no sense of honor or loyalty. He knew that he now had to escape from the unexpected mayhem.

  Jones was just about to approach his own horse when he heard the creaking of the pole behind him.

  With the speed of a puma, he spun on his heels and looked at their prisoner. The face of Iron Eyes was without expression as he forced the pole forward for the last time.

  There was a loud cracking sound at the base of the pole. It seemed to shudder as it tumbled with its helpless victim tied to its frame.

  Jones moved toward the fire and aimed both pistols into the air. But the pole was falling faster than even he could squeeze his triggers.

  A million burning splinters rose into the air as Iron Eyes disappeared into the flames.

  The Apache outlaw fired over and over again into the inferno before him as he tried to approach the hot blinding wall of fire that spewed burning debris in all directions. Jones knew that the bounty hunter had been engulfed by flames and there was no escape.

  Before Jones could holster his guns, he felt the gun in his left hand being torn from his grip as the deafening sound of a bullet crossed the distance between the approaching rider and the outlaw.

  Diamond Back Jones turned and looked straight at the black gelding which was galloping toward him. The star of the lawman flashed in the firelight.

  The outlaw cocked the hammer of his remaining Colt and then quickly fired at the marshal.

  Tom Quaid felt his faithful mount collapse beneath him. He flew helpless through the air and crashed into the soft forgiving sand. He rolled over several times before finding himself at the feet of the outlaw.

  Jones laughed as he cocked the hammer of his gun and aimed it at the head of the dazed marshal who was lying on the sand.

  ‘Looks like it’s my lucky day, Marshal Quaid!’ The outlaw grinned as he closed the distance between them. ‘First I gets to see old Iron Eyes killed and now I gets to kill you.’

  Tom Quaid blinked hard and stared into the barrel of Jones’s primed pistol.

  ‘Shoot, ya bastard! Kill me like ya killed my daughters!’

  Diamond Back Jones grinned even wider.

  ‘Was them your daughters? They was sweet. Never tasted sweeter, Marshal! It was a shame to kill them afterwards, but they was sort of messed up. I figured it would be kinder to put the bitches out of their misery!’

  Furiously, Quaid felt himself rising off the sand. The outlaw’s gun fired and a bullet caught him in the shoulder. But the lawman still came up off the sand at the outlaw.

  Tm gonna kill ya, Jones!’

  Quaid’s hands grabbed at the throat of the Apache outlaw, who began to cock his pistol once again. The marshal felt the cold barrel of the weapon push into his belly as he squeezed Jones’s throat with every ounce of his being. If he couldn’t get a noose around Jones’s neck, he’d do the job with his fingers, he silently vowed.

  Then as their faces were just inches apart, Quaid felt the outlaw shudder. Diamond Back Jones’s eyes widened and he dropped the gun. The marshal continued to throttle the man in his grip unti
l he realized that the outlaw was somehow already dead.

  A confused Quaid released his grip. The lifeless outlaw fell in a heap at the marshal’s feet.

  Tom Quaid narrowed his eyes and saw the long Bowie knife in the back of the outlaw lying before him. He blinked hard again and lifted his head. He stared in disbelief at the horrific image of Iron Eyes staggering away from the flames of the camp-fire towards him.

  He had never before seen anyone still somehow alive who looked quite as dead as the bounty hunter did.

  It seemed impossible to the marshal that anyone could have survived falling into such a ferocious fire as the one the Apaches had made. Yet Iron Eyes was staggering across the scorched, bloodstained sand defiantly.

  The bounty hunter was burned beyond description. Smoke drifted off every part of him. Only his long sweat-sodden hair remained untouched by the fire he had fallen into.

  Iron Eyes bent down and dragged his knife out of the body and tucked it back into his smoldering boot.

  ‘They never even thought that I might have me a knife tucked into my boot,’ Iron Eyes said wearily.

  ‘Are you OK, son?’ Marshal Quaid heard himself ask the ridiculous question.

  Iron Eyes looked at the triumphant Texas Rangers who were headed towards them. He then glanced back at the lawman.

  ‘I’ve bin better, old man!’

  Finale

  The Texas Rangers had managed to survive their battle with the Apaches out on the prairie but they knew that without the four sticks of deadly dynamite, it would have been a very different story indeed.

  To their utter amazement, Conchowata had fearlessly ridden into the hail of Winchester bullets and guided what was left of his defeated tribe away to the safety of the mists that continued to trace their way across the moonlit sand.

  Matty Hume, Col Wall and Tanny Gibson had allowed the Apache chief safe passage until he and his surviving braves had headed back into the uncharted territory which had spawned them. The Texas Rangers had no desire to kill any more of their worthy opponents and were grateful that luck had been on their side.

  But it was the scene that greeted them when they had followed Tom Quaid’s trail to beneath the ridge which had taken them by surprise.

  None of the three horsemen had expected to set eyes upon anything quite so gruesome as the sight of the badly injured Iron Eyes, who had saved the wounded marshal. As a few rays of light moved across the sky signaling an end to the seemingly eternal night, Iron Eyes totally ignored them.

  Col Wall had started to use the dying embers of the Indians’ fire to rustle up some breakfast.

  ‘Ya hungry?’ Wall had asked the bounty hunter.

  ‘Got any whiskey?’ Iron Eyes responded.

  ‘Nope. But I got bacon, and flour to make biscuits.’ Wall smiled.

  Iron Eyes shook his head and continued to roam around searching for anything that he might be able to use on his long journey away from this place. He managed to locate the handful of .36 caliber bullets he had lost in his struggle with the Apaches and tucked them into his trouser pockets.

  ‘Reckon that reward money will buy ya plenty of whiskey, Iron Eyes,’ Tanny Gibson commented.

  Iron Eyes spat at the ground and growled.

  ‘I don’t want no reward money off that critter, sonny. The marshal can have the carcass.’

  Matty Hume studied the tall man carefully as he finished tending to the wounded marshal. He had cleaned the bullet hole as best he could and then made a sling for Quaid’s arm.

  ‘Reckon that varmint is ready to drop, Tom.’

  Quaid nodded.

  ‘That’s what I was thinkin’, Matty,’ the marshal agreed. ‘I just don’t understand how he ain’t already dead.’

  ‘Maybe he is!’ Hume sighed.

  Tom Quaid picked up the two matched Navy Colts from the sand, then managed to muster the nerve to approach the tall severely burned man who could no longer hide the pain that was consuming him.

  ‘Can we talk, Iron Eyes?’

  The bounty hunter led Diamond Back Jones’s mount away from the remnants of the camp-fire and picked up his long coat from the sand. He slipped it over his blistered skin and accepted his two prized Navy Colts from the frowning lawman.

  ‘Talk, old man!’

  ‘You could come back to Waco with us, Iron Eyes,’ Quaid said. He opened the silver lid of his cigar-case and offered the bounty hunter the last of his expensive smokes.

  Iron Eyes slipped the guns into his deep coat pockets and accepted the cigar. He pulled his long knife from his boot and carefully cut the cigar into two equal portions.

  Tom Quaid accepted the half cigar and placed it between his lips. He watched Iron Eyes grip his with his small teeth.

  The marshal struck a match and lit both their smokes.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘I never cottoned to Waco, Marshal,’ Iron Eyes said as he stepped into the stirrup and hoisted his body on to the back of the outlaw’s horse. ‘Besides, I reckon I’ve got me a longer journey to negotiate.’

  Quaid looked at the man hard. Blackened skin was peeling from Iron Eyes’ body as he gathered up the reins and sucked on the strong cigar.

  ‘You need them wounds tended, son!’ Quaid said. ‘Let me and the boys help ya.’

  Iron Eyes was silent. He could still feel the venom of the rattlesnake burning at his guts. He gripped the saddle horn and felt himself leaning forward as the pain grew more intense inside him.

  ‘Look at me, Iron Eyes!’ Marshal Quaid insisted as he watched the man above him fighting the agony he was now unable to hide from the four onlookers. ‘If you don’t let us help ya, you’ll more than likely die! You was snake bit, boy! Snake bit and God only knows what else.’

  ‘So?’ Iron Eyes gripped the cigar hard.

  ‘You could die!’ Quaid repeated.

  Iron Eyes exhaled a cloud of smoke and then nodded at the concerned lawman. His face was etched by pain.

  ‘Too late, Marshal! Reckon ya a tad too late!’

  The Texans watched silently as the bounty hunter tapped his spurs into the flesh of his newly acquired horse and rode away from them.

  The lone rider headed straight into the rising sun, leaving the four Texans to wonder what he meant.

  With every stride of his horse’s long legs, Iron Eyes slumped further over the neck of the mount.

  As the blinding light of a new day engulfed the prairie, Iron Eyes was gone.

  PICCADILLY PUBLISHING

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  Read more on the Author

  Titles in this Series

  Iron Eyes

  Irons Eyes the Avenger

  The Spurs of Iron Eyes

  Fury of Iron Eyes

  The Wrath of Iron Eyes

  The Curse of Iron Eyes