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

by Rory Black

  Their eyes met. A few seconds later, the bounty hunter crashed into the sun-baked ground at Tucker’s feet.

  Chapter Ten

  Being so close to the border, there was nothing unusual in seeing Mexican riders drifting in and out of Cripple Creek. Malverez knew that they would not warrant a second look from even the most curious of the town’s citizens. As the chimes of the town hall clock struck two and echoed around Cripple Creek, the six bandits rode their exhausted mounts through the quiet streets as if shielded by a cloak of invisibility.

  They were slumped in their saddles and spaced just far enough apart to give any onlookers the impression that they were not together at all.

  Malverez dismounted outside the Blue Garter saloon and watched as his men drifted to various other buildings. They tied their horses up beside six different water-troughs along the long main street and moved around the quiet streets giving the appearance of men who were just passing through the remote Texan town, men who had never met before.

  They did not have to work too hard because it seemed that no one gave them a second look anyway. As the bandit leader had guessed, mere Mexican drifters were not worthy of a second glance.

  This was the ace in Malverez’s pack.

  One by one the bandits slowly made their way to a small cantina which was tucked away in a small alley just off the main street.

  The men entered separately a few minutes apart, and gathered in a dark corner of the building. They stared at the wall clock perched above the naming cooking range from which savory smells arose.

  It was a few minutes after two in the afternoon.

  They had arrived exactly on time, just as Malverez had planned, even though they had been delayed by the strange bounty hunter near the wide river crossing.

  The bandits made their way to two separate tables and then ordered chili and wine. When the waitress was out of earshot the men talked and honed the details of their despicable plan until each knew exactly what he had to do, and when he had to do it.

  Malverez went over and over every aspect of his plan. The bandits listened and nodded.

  Timing was the key factor for the men who lived by destroying the dreams of others. Everything had to be timed to the nearest second and the six bandits all synchronized their pocket-watches until they ticked as one.

  Previous scouting visits to Cripple Creek had given the six men details of Jed Smith and his daughter that were invaluable to their plan. They knew the banker’s habits even better than he knew them himself. They also knew where Smith lived and the swiftest way to and from the large house. Every detail of the banker’s daily routine was etched into the bandits’ minds.

  Jed Smith was a creature of habit and never deviated from his habitual routine. The bandits knew when he would leave the bank for his mid morning break, and where he went to have exactly two cups of black sugarless coffee. They knew that however busy his bank was, Smith would leave at exactly two minutes after one by a side door and walk home for his lunch, leaving his staff to cope.

  The bandits knew that Smith would leave his home at ten minutes before two and call in at the Blue Garter saloon for exactly two glasses of whiskey before returning to his bank at just after two in the afternoon.

  Jed Smith would lock the door to the bank at four and his staff would leave at precisely five. At five-thirty, he would leave by the bank’s large front doors and make his way home, again via the Blue Garter saloon. He would arrive at his home between six-fifteen and six-thirty. They also knew that Smith’s daughter never went anywhere without her father and whilst he worked, she would remain in or around her home alone. A cleaning lady would spend an hour between nine and ten each morning and not return to Smith’s home until the following day.

  It was a routine that never deviated by more than a few seconds on any day and this was why Malverez knew how easy their job was going to be.

  They would fill their bellies in the cantina and then put the first part of their plan into operation.

  Chapter Eleven

  It was exactly four in the afternoon. Each of their pocket watches chimed as one within their silver cases. Malverez had organized everything down to the last second. The bandit pulled up outside the home of Jed and Rosie Smith atop a newly purchased four-horse wagon with three of his men sitting on the flat-bed. Four of their mounts were tied up to the tail-gate whilst the remaining pair of ruthless Mexicans were on the other side of Cripple Creek watching their pocket-watches and waiting for the precise moment when they too had to act.

  Malverez pushed his right foot down hard on the long brake-pole and dragged the heavy reins back until he was able to wrap them around the pole. The team of horses instinctively knew that they were not going anywhere until the bandit wished them to do so.

  Dust swirled over the scene masking the details of the four men’s actions from prying eyes. But the bandits knew what their jobs entailed and could have executed them with their own eyes closed.

  But their eyes were not closed. They were wide open and aware of everything. Without a second’s hesitation the four bandits jumped down from the wagon, leapt over the white picket fence and entered the garden. Before anyone in the street had time to part their lace drapes and look out of their windows to see what was happening, the men had all entered the large house.

  They were like a well-oiled machine as they moved through the large building, room by room.

  But they had done this so many times before that it had become almost second nature to the bandits. They knew how to take their victims by surprise and did so without any sign of emotion.

  If Rosie Smith had managed to scream out, the bandits might have been forced to abandon their plans and hightail it out of Cripple Creek. But Rosie had not had time to even catch her breath when the four men stormed the house. Malverez had kicked the front door open and made his way into the large house at the same time as his three companions came in through the rear door.

  Rosie Smith had not even been able to open her mouth when the filthy hand grabbed at her face and hauled her on to the expensive carpet.

  ‘She is most pretty, amigo,’ one of the bandits had said, laughing as he held her face down on the floor whilst the bandit leader tied her wrists and ankles together with wet rawhide.

  The bandit who was still nursing the bullet-hole in his right hand knelt on Rosie Smith’s back as Malverez tied a blindfold over her eyes and then rammed his greasy bandanna into her unsuspecting mouth before securing it with a tight knot.

  ‘There will be time for pleasure when we get her over the border and to our hideout, Jose,’ Malverez snapped, dragging the helpless female off the floor as if she was a rag-doll.

  The remaining fourth bandit tore the velvet drapes from one of the front windows and wrapped it around their shocked victim until she completely vanished inside the heavy material.

  A matter of seconds later all four men lifted up their precious bundle, marched swiftly into the front garden and out to the quiet street. They tossed the helpless Rosie on to the flat-bed of the wagon and closed the tail-gate. Malverez secured it and then nodded to the other bandits.

  ‘You know what to do, amigos.’ The bandit leader ran to the front wheel of the wagon, climbed up to the driver’s seat and released the brake-pole. Malverez whipped the heavy reins down hard on to the backs of the team of horses.

  Having untied their three mounts from the rear of the flat-bed wagon, leaving only Malverez’s mount, the bandits quickly threw themselves on to their saddles and rode back to the main street of Cripple Creek.

  Their job was not finished.

  If anyone in the adjoining houses had seen the men they would never have known what lay hidden inside the velvet drapes that they had thrown into the back of the wagon. Who would have even guessed that the innocent daughter of Jed Smith could have been hidden inside the luxurious fabric?

  But there were no eyewitnesses fast enough to catch even a glimpse of the men.

  The bandits had gone
and left only a cloud of dust in their wake in the quiet side street.

  The entire operation had taken less than one hundred seconds from beginning to end.

  Now the bandits had disappeared.

  Malverez whipped the team of horses up to speed and knew that the first part of his ruthless plan had gone smoothly. Looking at his pocket-watch as he drove the horses out of Cripple Creek, Malverez knew that his men were about to put the next carefully timed part of his plan into action.

  The speeding four-horse wagon thundered out on to the dusty trail with the skilled hands of the bandit leader gripping the heavy reins firmly. Malverez glanced over his shoulder quickly before returning his attention to the twisting dirt road ahead of him.

  Cripple Creek had disappeared in the plume of dust behind him.

  Chapter Twelve

  It was five after four. Malverez and his men had already executed their plan and brutally abducted the beautiful Rosie Smith. The two remaining bandits had been waiting for the banker to lock up the Cripple Creek bank before delivering the note that their leader had painstakingly written by hand. The two bandits waited at either end of the street watching the large window to see if it had been accepted and understood. They watched their three comrades riding past them. The riders each took a different route out of the town, but would meet up again across the border. Jed Smith had only just escorted the last of their customers off the premises and locked the solid doors of his bank when he heard something tapping against them. The sound stopped the man in his tracks. The banker turned and stared at the piece of paper that had been slipped beneath the doors.

  ‘What on earth is that?’ Smith asked aloud, thinking that one of the customers had accidentally dropped a receipt.

  His two cashiers had walked across the marble flooring towards Smith as he bent down, picked up the paper and unfolded it. His eyes darted back and forth as he silently read the message.

  ‘Anything important, Mr. Smith?’ head cashier Clayton Nash asked his boss as Bobby Cooper the junior clerk looked on curiously.

  Smith’s face went pale.

  ‘What is it, sir?’ Cooper asked.

  Smith did not reply to either man. He just stared at the words which had been written in capital letters upon the paper. His blood seemed to freeze in his veins as he tried desperately to fathom whether his tired eyes had actually read the brief message correctly. Smith hurriedly walked away from his two employees towards his office without answering.

  His footsteps resounded around the bank.

  The sound of the office door being closed behind him echoed within the large foyer of the bank as Jed Smith entered his private sanctuary. Sweat was now tracing down his face as panic gripped him by the throat.

  ‘This cannot be happening,’ Smith muttered in a vain attempt to convince himself that he was imagining this whole thing, which had brought him face to face with his worst nightmare.

  He was still shaking as he sat at his desk and read the note again.

  DEAR MR SMITH

  WE HAVE TAKEN YOUR DAUGHTER, WE WILL KILL HER UNLESS YOU BRING US $50,000. WE WILL CONTACT YOU TOMORROW AND GIVE YOU DETAILS OF WHERE YOU HAVE TO BRING MONEY. DO NOT TELL THE LAW. IF YOU AGREE TO PAY FOR YOUR DAUGHTERS LIFE, PLACE A LAMP IN THE BANK WINDOW.

  YOUR FRIEND.

  The words could not have been plainer. His daughter had been kidnapped and was being held for ransom. Jed Smith had always feared that one day armed robbers would raid and rob his bank but he had never once imagined that someone would kidnap his beloved Rosie to get what they wanted.

  Why pick on her?

  What sort of person would pick on a helpless female when they could face a man?

  Jed Smith knew that he was probably dealing with a coward or cowards. But they might just be sick enough to kill her if he did not comply with their wishes.

  There came a knock on the door of his office. Smith glanced up from the scrap of paper but could not make out who was standing behind the frosted glass. His eyes were filled with tears.

  ‘Mr. Smith?’

  The banker recognized the voice of Clayton Nash. He rubbed his eyes dry with the white handkerchief he always wore in his breast-pocket.

  ‘Come in, Clayton.’

  Nash opened the door and looked at the seated figure. He knew that something was very wrong.

  ‘Can I help you, sir?’

  Smith gave a huge sigh and buried his head in his hands. The sound of sobbing filled the entire bank.

  Nash slowly crossed the office and stood beside the man he had worked for for nearly twenty years.

  ‘What is it, Jed?’

  Smith wiped his eyes but it seemed that the handkerchief was not capable of coping with the flood of tears that flowed from his swollen eyes.

  ‘Yes, Clayton. You can help me.’

  ‘Anything, sir.’

  ‘Place a lamp in the large window,’ Smith managed to say.

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Clayton Nash cleared his own throat and walked out of the office. He was not going to question the banker any further. It was obvious that the sobbing man had already reached breaking point.

  The two bandits watched the lamp being placed in the largest of the bank’s impressive windows, then casually mounted their horses. Neither acknowledged the other and they rode out of town by separate routes.

  They now had to inform Malverez that Jed Smith had taken the bait and was doing exactly as their leader had instructed. The trail dust drifted over the street as Clayton Nash and Bobby Cooper left the bank by the side door. For the first time since either man had worked in the prosperous bank, they were being allowed off work early.

  The younger of the two, Cooper, did not ask any questions and ran home but Clayton Nash was made uneasy by the behavior of Smith since he had received the note.

  He made his way straight to the sheriff’s office. Standing on the boardwalk outside the grubby office, the immaculate man who had never done anything but fill in ledgers and count other folks’ money, looked through the window at the balding lawman.

  He felt that it was his duty to tell Tom Hardin about the strange change in his boss, but he was racked with guilt.

  Was it disloyal to talk about Smith?

  The question gnawed at the man.

  Sheriff Hardin had noticed the figure casting a long shadow across his office for more than five minutes. Finally he had to rise from his comfortable chair and find out what was eating at Nash.

  Hardin opened the door.

  ‘Come on in and have a cup of coffee, Clayton.’

  The sheriff had a way of inviting people to do something and making it sound like an order. Nash followed the overweight man into the stale-smelling building. The unpleasant odor of cigar smoke hung on the air inside the office.

  Hardin poured a cup of coffee for the clerk and thrust it into the man’s hands.

  ‘Spit it out.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Whatever’s chewing at your craw. Spit it out.’ The sheriff poured himself a cup of the black beverage and returned the pot to the top of the stove.

  Clayton Nash sipped at the coffee and then sat down next to the cluttered desk.

  ‘I’m not sure I should even be here, Sheriff.’

  Hardin placed his ample rear on to his chair and sighed.

  ‘Must be important, Clayton. You ain’t the sort to come calling on this old lawman. Tell me what’s troubling you.’

  Nash held the hot cup in the palms of his hands and looked into the black liquid.

  ‘Mr. Smith had a note put under the door just after closing time. I don’t know what was in it but it must have been very upsetting. When I left the bank, he was crying in his office.’

  Hardin lowered his cup and looked at the man.

  ‘Crying?’

  ‘Yes, sir. Like a baby.’

  ‘Tell me more.’ Hardin rested his coffee-cup on his desk and looked hard at the man. He had known Jed Smith for years and could not imagine anything capable of upsetting
the banker.

  Nash took a deep breath and gazed up at the smoke-stained ceiling.

  ‘He asked me to put a lamp in the bank window.’

  Sheriff Hardin rubbed his whiskers. ‘Have you ever been asked to put a lamp in the window before, Clayton?’

  ‘No, sir. Never.’

  Hardin opened the top drawer of his desk and produced a bottle of whiskey. He waved the bottle at Nash.

  ‘You want some of this to take away the taste of the coffee?’

  Nash nodded and held his cup out.

  The sheriff poured a shot of the spirit into Nash’s cup and repeated the action with his own.

  ‘He was OK until some critter slipped the note under the bank door, you say?’

  ‘Perfectly OK, Sheriff.’

  ‘Then we can assume that there was something in that note that shook old Jed up real bad.’ Hardin swallowed his primed coffee in one shot. ‘But what?’

  ‘I have a bad feeling about this, Sheriff,’ Clayton said. He downed his own coffee in one swallow.

  ‘Have there been any strangers in the bank?’

  Nash shook his head. ‘None that I can remember. Just the regulars.’

  Tom Hardin rose from his chair and adjusted his gun belt.

  ‘You did the right thing coming over and telling me about this, Clayton. Go home now and I’ll try and find out what the hell’s going on.’

  Nash stood up and placed his empty cup on the desk. ‘Please do not tell Mr. Smith that it was I who spoke with you.’

  Hardin nodded. ‘Don’t fret none. I’ll not tell him that we talked.’

  Nash hurried out of the office and made his way along the boardwalk in the direction of his lodgings. The sheriff lifted his Stetson off a hat rack and placed it on his head. He closed the door behind him and stared at the bank down the street.

  Something was going on in Cripple Creek and he wanted to know what it was.

  ‘Looks like I’m gonna pay Jed Smith a visit,’ Hardin told himself.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Hardin seated himself in the plush leather chair and looked over the magnificent desk at the uncharacteristically upset banker. He had hammered at the side door for more than five minutes with a fist that was now feeling bruised, before Jed Smith allowed his old friend in.