The Wrath of Iron Eyes (An Iron Eyes Western #5)

by Rory Black

  The sheriff gulped and rose slowly to his feet. He brushed past the telegraph man and then lifted his Stetson from the hat rack and placed it on his balding head. He turned the door-handle and signaled for both men to follow him out into the street.

  They did.

  The morning was cold after the storm of the previous night. The sun had yet to spread its warmth over the isolated town as its light snaked through the still-wet streets.

  Iron Eyes watched the telegraph man make his way back to the office at the end of the main street as he trailed the sheriff down a side street where the wooden houses had front gardens and picket fences. These were buildings of character and had obviously cost more than the rest of the dwellings in Cripple Creek put together.

  ‘Where we headed, Sheriff?’ Iron Eyes asked Hardin, who had paused outside the largest of the houses.

  ‘This is the banker’s house,’ Hardin replied nodding, at the well-appointed structure which proved it paid to have money. Or at least access to other folks’ money.

  Iron Eyes leaned on the whitewashed fence and stared hard at the house. There was no sign of life.

  ‘You figure this critter is honest, Sheriff?’ Iron Eyes asked raising an eyebrow.

  Hardin shrugged and pushed the gate open.

  ‘Hell, he’s a damn banker. They’re all crooks, ain’t they?’

  Sheriff Hardin knocked on the solid wooden door for several fruitless minutes without being able to raise any of the house’s occupants. Iron Eyes pulled one of his Navy Colts from his belt and cocked its hammer.

  ‘What you doing, Iron Eyes?’ Hardin asked.

  The bounty hunter raised the pistol and aimed at the second-floor window.

  ‘Waking the bastard up, Sheriff. Just waking the bastard up.’

  The single shot shattered the windowpane of the banker’s bedroom and the deafening noise echoed around the streets of Cripple Creek for several minutes.

  ‘What the hell is going on down there?’ Jed Smith, the banker, screamed through the shattered window. ‘You better get out of here or I’ll send for the sheriff.’

  ‘This is the sheriff, Jed,’ Hardin called back.

  ‘Are you drunk?’

  ‘I want you to open up the bank, Jed. We got to pay this gentleman some reward money,’ the sheriff shouted up at the window.

  ‘I open at ten, Sheriff,’ Smith yelled back.

  ‘I’d appreciate it if you’d open early today, Jed.’ Hardin tried to appear calm but his eyes were fixed on the bounty hunter and the Navy Colt he held in his hand.

  ‘Why should I?’

  Faster than the sheriff could blink, Iron Eyes fanned his gun hammer several times and blasted every remaining pane of glass from the bedroom window. There was a long silence before the shaking voice of Jed Smith piped up again. ‘I’ll be right down, Tom.’

  Hardin walked back to the bounty hunter and watched as the tall figure emptied the spent shells from his gun and replaced them with bullets from his deep coat-pockets. When the gun was loaded he pushed it back into his belt.

  ‘You got his attention OK, Iron Eyes.’ Hardin smiled broadly.

  ‘I hate bankers. There ought to be Wanted posters out on the whole pack of them,’ Iron Eyes growled. ‘Dead or alive.’

  Tom Hardin nodded. He actually agreed with Iron Eyes’ blunt statement.

  Chapter Four

  Iron Eyes had long known that it took a certain type of woman to look at his face without being racked with fear or revulsion. Even whores who were used to lying to their potential customers could not pretend that the sheer sight of his scarred face did not frighten them. In his entire life the infamous hunter had only encountered two females who seemed capable of looking straight at him and accepting what they saw. One had left without warning and the other had given her life to save his own.

  It was with these memories that the tall bounty hunter stared in disbelief at the beautiful daughter of the banker as she walked arm in arm with her father along the quiet street ahead of the sheriff and himself.

  Iron Eyes had been standing at the gate when she had left the house and walked straight past him. She had looked straight at him without batting her long lashes.

  The bounty hunter was intrigued.

  He found it impossible to fathom how such a delicate young creature who had obviously been raised in the lap of luxury could have shown no emotions at all when looking at him.

  Iron Eyes had seen hardened gun-fighters turn their heads away from him rather than look for more than a few fleeting moments at his face.

  Yet she seemed to be completely oblivious to the fact that Iron Eyes’ face was unlike that of other men and that she ought to be frightened or sickened by it. Either that or she saw something within him that others failed to perceive.

  The gaunt bounty hunter trailed the trio of respectable people to the bank and watched as Jed Smith unlocked the solid wooden doors with a massive brass key. Unlike any other building within the boundaries of Cripple Creek, the bank was constructed from stone blocks and had barred windows. It had been built to withstand even the most determined of attacks and looked as if its defenses had never been breached.

  Sheriff Hardin looked up at Iron Eyes and noticed something in his expression that he had not seen before. The man actually appeared to be interested in something apart from his reward money. Iron Eyes stood silently watching the young Rosie Smith as if she were the only person in the entire town worth looking at.

  The beautiful girl was at least eighteen years of age and had the palest blue eyes that the bounty hunter had ever seen. Her soft blonde hair was draped on her shoulders the way single females always wore it. She stood motionless until her father had pushed the door open, then accepted his arm again and entered the interior of the large building.

  ‘Young Rosie sure is a good-looking gal, huh, Iron Eyes?’ Hardin said to the hunter as the pair walked into the bank side by side.

  Iron Eyes said nothing. He just watched as Jed Smith moved towards his safe and turned the dial. Rosie Smith was seated near one of the large windows. The morning sunlight cascaded over her and drew Iron Eyes to her like a moth to a flame.

  As Iron Eyes’ mule-ear boots approached her over the marble floor, the sound of his spurs echoed around the bank foyer. Her head tilted backwards and she smiled. The bounty hunter had not seen anyone smile at him for as long as he could remember. He stopped in his tracks.

  ‘Why does my father have to pay you, sir?’ Rosie asked innocently.

  Iron Eyes seemed confused by the question.

  ‘Because I killed an outlaw, ma’am.’

  Her smile faded.

  ‘You killed a man? Why?’

  ‘He tried to kill me first.’ Iron Eyes pointed at the still-raw gash on his temple. ‘He came damn close, too.’

  ‘You must be a bounty hunter.’

  ‘Yep. That’s what I am.’

  Rosie Smith lowered her head thoughtfully. ‘It seems a very dangerous occupation.’

  ‘That’s right, ma’am.’ Iron Eyes turned and walked back to the old sheriff who was now leaning on the mahogany bank-counter watching the paper money being counted out.

  ‘One thousand dollars exactly, Iron Eyes,’ Hardin said.

  ‘I don’t take paper money. Make it golden eagles or silver coin,’ Iron Eyes said bluntly, pushing the notes back at the banker whilst still looking at the man’s daughter as she stood near the window.

  ‘You want golden eagles?’ Smith asked coyly.

  ‘Or silver twenty-dollar coins.’ Iron Eyes rubbed his brow and felt the torn skin. It was still raw and angry but no longer bleeding.

  Sheriff Hardin made a pained expression at the banker. Smith nodded and returned to the safe with the paper money in his hands.

  ‘This won’t take long, Rosie,’ Smith called out to his daughter.

  ‘I’m in no hurry, Father,’ she replied.

  ‘Don’t you like paper money?’ Hardin asked the tall man.
/>   ‘Nope. It catches fire.’

  ‘But you like her, don’t you, son?’ Hardin had a twinkle in his eye.

  Iron Eyes continued to watch the beautiful female who stared across the bank in their direction. She was smiling again.

  ‘Yep. I like her,’ he admitted.

  Chapter Five

  Iron Eyes secured the leather laces of his saddlebags behind the cantle and then stepped into the stirrup. His long right leg cleared the large dapple-gray’s broad back easily. He patted the bags and took pleasure in the sound of the golden eagles within one of the satchels.

  ‘Where you headed, Iron Eyes?’ Sheriff Hardin asked the bounty hunter.

  ‘Sanora, over the border in Mexico,’ came the crisp reply.

  ‘Why there?’

  Iron Eyes pulled the neatly folded wanted poster out of one of his deep trail-coat pockets and opened it up until the photographic image of a man called Black Ben Tucker stared up at him. He waved the poster at the sheriff.

  ‘This bastard has an even two thousand dollars on his head, Sheriff.’

  ‘A tidy sum.’

  ‘Enough to keep me in bullets and whiskey.’ Iron Eyes sighed, forcing the poster back into the pocket of his coat.

  Sheriff Hardin leaned on the wooden upright outside his office and wondered what drove a man like this one. Why would anyone choose to risk everything in pursuit of the bounty upon other men’s heads?

  ‘Why do you do this, son?’

  ‘Do what?’ Iron Eyes tilted his head and stared down at the lawman.

  ‘Risk your life and get yourself shot up.’

  ‘I’m a hunter, Sheriff,’ Iron Eyes explained. ‘I’ve always been a hunter. First it was critters and then it became outlaws. It’s what I do. I don’t do nothing else.’

  ‘But what if you get yourself killed?’

  Iron Eyes forced a smile.

  ‘I once tracked a man for three hundred miles and finally caught up with him. I killed the varmint and then the town marshal decided he wasn’t gonna pay me the reward money.’

  ‘What did ya do?’ Hardin looked at the repellent horseman with curiosity.

  ‘I got angry.’ Iron Eyes gathered up his reins. ‘Then I got even.’

  ‘How do you know this Tucker’s in Sanora, Iron Eyes?’ Hardin asked the bounty hunter.

  ‘I have my spies. He’s in Sanora OK.’ Iron Eyes hauled the neck of the dapple-gray around and sank his spurs into its flesh. The horse responded instantly and galloped along the now dry main street of Cripple Creek.

  The dapple-gray felt its reins being drawn back as its new master steered it down the quiet, well-tended street that held the best-appointed houses in the small town, the best of which belonged to the banker and his daughter.

  Iron Eyes eased the mount to a walk and stared at the banker’s house with a curiosity which was totally alien to him. Two men were already repairing the windowpanes of Jed Smith’s bedroom. One was up a ladder whilst the other remained at the foot of it keeping it steady. Their faces went deathly pale as the ghostlike rider allowed his new horse to walk slowly past the gate.

  Then Iron Eyes spotted the young female who had intrigued him earlier that morning. Rosie Smith sat on a whitewashed swing rocking herself back and forth. She seemed totally unaware of anything around her. She was singing quietly to herself the way people do when afraid others might hear.

  Iron Eyes eased his horse to a halt and listened to the sweet young voice. He had not heard anything so pure in all his long days.

  Her back was to the rider but she seemed to hear his horse’s hoofs prancing on the ground outside her garden. She stopped singing.

  Iron Eyes suddenly felt as if he had intruded on something that was not meant for his ears.

  Before the lovely Rosie Smith had time to rise from the swing and turn in his direction, Iron Eyes had spurred his mount and ridden at top speed away from the quiet scene.

  Within a minute he was out on the desolate range and headed south towards the border. Iron Eyes knew that there was another prize for him to claim in the sleepy Mexican town of Sanora.

  But try as he might, the bounty hunter seemed unable to keep his mind on the man known as Black Ben Tucker. All he could think about was the golden-haired girl who had stared at his face and shown no sign of fear or distaste.

  Iron Eyes could not understand why Rosie Smith had wasted one of her precious smiles upon his unworthy countenance. Had he at last met the one girl who saw beyond his scarred features and actually liked what had lain hidden from everyone else for so very long?

  Had she actually liked what she had seen?

  Iron Eyes drove the dapple-gray on as if trying to outride his own thoughts.

  Yet even with his matted hair flapping over the collar of his trail-coat like the wings of a bat, Iron Eyes knew there were some things it was impossible to escape from.

  One’s own imagination being one of them.

  Chapter Six

  The six Mexican bandits crossed the shallow river and stopped their lathered-up mounts beneath the canopy of a massive Texan oak-tree. The air tasted sweeter on this side of the border because they knew there were far richer souls here whom they could torment with their own brand of evil.

  Without even having to be told, the riders checked that their weapons were fully loaded. Each man knew exactly where they were headed and what they were about to do.

  The self-proclaimed leader of the ruthless gang of bandits was called simply Malverez. His followers had new names almost every day of the week, but not the bloodthirsty Malverez. He did not worry about who knew his true identity because anyone who did, had very little time left to live.

  They were a motley bunch to look at and no mistake. But that was more by design than circumstance. For they were probably the most successful bandits to drift back and forth across the Texas-Mexico border.

  Few gave them a second look and that was their strength. How could anyone describe people who masterfully blended into any background?

  Like the very air itself, they seemed to be totally unseen and unnoticed.

  For a decade, the bandits had tried their hands at every known crime but it had been abduction at which they excelled. Almost by accident the half-dozen killers had found the one crime that appeared to offer them the highest rewards for the least risk. They had perfected the art of allowing their victims to bring them what they wanted by the simple ruse of kidnapping their offspring.

  Malverez and his men had managed to strike more than thirty times over a decade and to extort more than fifty thousand dollars from their victims’ loved ones. With cold-blooded expertise the six bandits ensured they were never identified by those they preyed upon. Without exception, they killed everyone who had ever fallen victim to their cruel crimes.

  Without eyewitnesses, they were safe.

  So they killed and killed.

  It was so easy.

  For these were men who did not display their wealth, as some would have been unable to resist doing. They remained unwashed and able to do their evil deeds unhindered by the law on both sides of the Rio Grande.

  They were, to all intents and purposes, merely drifting Mexican vaqueros. They had yet to be branded with their crimes.

  Until they were, they were as free as the air they breathed.

  They aimed their mounts north and headed for the town that they knew boasted a well-established bank filled to overflowing with cattle-ranchers’ money.

  But they would not rob the bank.

  That was a deed that they knew would bring the law down on them faster than they could ride back to their Mexican hideout. They would let the banker take the money from his safe and bring it to them himself.

  He would do so willingly because he was the father of a beautiful daughter. Such men would do anything they were told to have their daughter returned unharmed. They could not even imagine that they might be betrayed, for such unthinkable things do not enter the minds of good people.

 
; Good people blindly accept the word of others. To even contemplate being double-crossed was something that they could never accept as even the remotest of possibilities.

  But Malverez had no such problem with morality.

  The six bandits had visited Cripple Creek many times, finding out everything they needed to know about the banker, in order to execute their daring plan.

  Jed Smith would willingly strip every dollar from his bank and bring it to them without question, just to have his beautiful blonde daughter returned to him safely.

  That was the one thing all decent souls had in common and the bandits relied upon. They assumed everyone shared their own code of ethics.

  But Malverez and his men would not keep their side of the bargain. They would kill the daughter and the banker and ride away with the loot.

  This was the way they always worked, the way that Malverez and his cronies kept themselves one step ahead of the law and the hangman’s noose.

  Malverez ensured that they never left any loose ends.

  The six bandits were riding hard for the remote border town of Cripple Creek when they spotted the distant horseman astride the dapple-gray. Iron Eyes held his mount in check directly ahead of them.

  Malverez raised his arm and stopped his followers.

  Chapter Seven

  It was a horrific vision that faced the Mexican bandits on the narrow trail. The gaunt rider astride the skittish mount bore little resemblance to other men. His long black hair flapped on the morning breeze as his eyes narrowed and stared coldly at the men who drew cautiously closer.

  Iron Eyes pulled his dapple-gray mount’s head back and studied the six riders directly ahead of him along the well-used trail. He pulled one of his Navy Colts from his belt and cocked its hammer in readiness.

  Holding the pistol across his belly, the bounty hunter held his horse firmly in check until the riders slowed up in front of him, stopping their lathered-up mounts a mere twenty feet from the nose of his snorting animal.

  Iron Eyes chewed on the end of his cigar silently. These were men who made the bounty hunter feel uneasy. They were dressed like peasants but he had never seen so many expensive pistols adorning so many unworthy hips before.