by Rory Black
The brothers handed the reins of their mounts over to the stable man, and then rested on the edge of a water trough as they pondered the large, busy town around them.
So many people, so many eyes. Eyes which were trained only on them.
They had not wanted to ride into this town because they knew only too well of its reputation. This was a town that did not tolerate scum. It said so on a crudely painted sign just before the larger sign bearing the name of the town, on the edge of Tequila Flats.
‘I reckon we ought to stay away from the banks,’ Bob Creedy said as he placed his pipe between his teeth and struck a match along the side of his gun grip. ‘I figure these varmints will figure we are here to rob one of them.’
‘Ain’t gonna be easy,’ Treat sighed.
‘Yeah, this whole town is filled with banks,’ Frankie noted as he rubbed the trail dust from his deceptively youthful features.
‘Never seen so many banks.’ Treat raised an eyebrow as he looked at Bob, who was sucking the flame of his match into his pipe bowl. ‘Kinda tempting.’
‘Forget it, Treat. We ain’t here to rob no banks,’ the older Creedy snapped as he tossed his match away. ‘It would be suicide in this town.’
‘Then how come we came here?’
‘To rest our horses and get us some grub and provisions.’ Bob puffed on his pipe.
‘And?’ Treat pressed.
‘And to try and find out why Dan didn’t meet us at Powder River like we arranged.’ Bob Creedy stood up again and gripped the pipe stem in his teeth as he studied the people who were milling around in the busy street.
‘What can we find out here?’ Frankie asked as he cupped water in his hands and splashed it over his face.
‘They got themselves a telegraph office here and they also got a newspaper office, boys.’ Bob sucked in smoke and allowed it to filter through his teeth as he spoke.
‘So?’ Treat stood.
‘How else do we find if anything’s happened to Dan?’ Bob replied as he carefully checked his guns with his back to the crowd.
Frankie rubbed his face dry on his bandanna as he eased himself up beside his brothers. He appeared even younger with the dirt washed off his face. Almost childlike. It was a deadly illusion.
‘You reckon Dan might be dead?’
‘Yep. I figure only death would stop Dan from meeting up with us, boys,’ Bob Creedy interrupted as he began walking slowly back towards the main street and the crowds of neatly dressed people who still seemed unable to take their eyes off them. ‘Come on. We ain’t gonna get nothing done sitting outside a stable.’
‘I don’t like the way these bastards are eyeing us, Bob,’ the sweating Frankie snarled from beneath his youthful features. ‘I reckon we ought to get our carbines, just in case.’
Bob glanced at the youngster.
‘We have to look like ordinary folks just passing through, Frankie. If we are carrying our Winchesters, I figure it’ll take five minutes before we are surrounded by every damn lawman in this town.’
‘What if we run into the sheriff or his deputies?’ Treat asked.
‘We’ll have to try and talk our way out of trouble,’ Bob said firmly.
‘What if they ain’t the talkative kind?’
‘We’ll have to try and shoot our way back to the horses,’ Bob sighed as they drew closer to the main street once more. ‘That’s our last resort. I don’t want no shooting unless there ain’t no option.’
‘I knew this was a dumb thing to do, riding into this blasted place.’ Treat shook his head as he walked beside his brothers.
‘Just keep smiling, Treat,’ Bob Creedy advised as he tipped his dusty Stetson to passing women carrying their baskets. ‘A smile can confuse even the smartest of folks.’
The three brothers moved cautiously.
They knew it was only a matter of time before one or more of this town’s numerous deputies bumped into them. They had to try and act like normal folks until they discovered the information they sought.
It was not going to be easy. None of the three men could remember the last time they had actually been normal folks without a price on their heads. If they were to survive in Tequila Flats long enough to learn about their brother’s fate, they had to try and not look like the deadly thieves and killers they really were.
It would not be easy, for with every step the three Creedy brothers took as they walked deeper into the streets of Tequila Flats, the Devil seemed to ring out a tune of warning on their razor-sharp spurs.
Chapter Five
There were ten heavily laden wagons filled with more than sixty gold miners pulled by the same amount of oxen slowly heading towards the tall hills. Flanked by nearly a hundred troopers, this was no ordinary expedition that was entering the reservation of the Southern Cheyenne, but something far more ominous.
This was an army of scavengers. Men who did nothing except ravage nature for the yellow nuggets which were prized above all things, including life itself. Men willing and able to destroy entire mountains just to take the golden ore from beneath its soil. Men who, for some reason, were being protected by the US Cavalry.
The straight-backed officer at the head of the cavalry troop and swollen wagons had never knowingly disobeyed an order in his entire career. A career which stretched back twenty years to the West Point Military Academy, yet for the first time in that illustrious career he knew that he was aiding and abetting something which was fundamentally wrong. Entering the land of the peaceful Cheyenne did not sit well with the man who had always prided himself on doing the right thing.
Major Thomas Roberts had not spoken more than a dozen words since he had left Fort Bruce a week earlier. He had done his talking to try and stop this violation but all his pleading had come to nothing. It was as if everything he held dear — about morality and how the white men should not continue to take advantage of the Indians — fell on ears either unable or unwilling to listen. Roberts had reluctantly accepted the duty forced upon him with a heavy heart.
Yet with every passing mile he knew this was wrong. Not just morally but legally.
Every objection Major Roberts had given his superiors within the tall, wooden walls of the prairie fortress, had been totally ignored. He had tried to reason with them, but there was something else behind the orders he was not privy to. Now he knew that if anyone were to head this band of ruthless miners, it had to be him. Major Roberts realized that he was probably the only chance the Cheyenne had of not being lured into something they were incapable of winning.
As the elegant horseman steered his grey charger deeper and deeper into the land which only five years earlier had been given to the Cheyenne, supposedly for eternity, he glanced at the tree-covered hills which rose to both sides and knew there might be eyes behind every tree-trunk, watching them.
A hundred questions had constantly filled Roberts’s mind since he had first been given his orders to escort the gold miners into the land where thousands of Cheyenne lived peacefully. What could have possessed Colonel Harker to give permission to the mining company? Why would he risk starting another Indian war?
Major Roberts knew he might never truly find the answers he sought because there was more behind this than met the eye. During the years he had served in the cavalry out west, he had witnessed one broken treaty after another — seen entire tribes of Indians obliterated from the face of the prairies simply because they were standing in the way of progress.
The East required expansion to settle the hostile lands so it had a market for the goods being manufactured in its factories. Guns and ploughs were being made by the million, and the west provided customers.
The Indians of the plains required nothing but the land itself, and stood in the way of the plans which had been created to join the west coast with the eastern one. They had to be removed by any means possible.
As Major Roberts gripped the reins of his grey mount firmly in his white gauntlets, he knew that the Cheyenne had been given land tha
t was later discovered to be rich in gold. This meant that they too were to be sacrificed like the countless other tribes he had seen driven to extinction. The other plains Indians had simply occupied land which the powers back East wanted to release to settlers as the American Nation forged further and further West. But a land filled with gold was even more tempting.
Major Roberts glanced back at his troopers and the wagons behind him before returning his attention to the tall grassland ahead. He was party to an outrage and yet felt he could do nothing except follow his orders.
Roberts knew that if the Cheyenne attacked, as was their right, he would have to defend the miners. The papers in Washington would say that the hostile savage has attacked the US Cavalry and broken the peace treaty. There would be nobody to tell the truth and defend the Cheyenne.
Roberts reined in his mount and stopped the caravan of invaders. Sitting on his high saddle he pulled out his binoculars and searched the hills for signs that they might have already been noticed. There were none.
He gave a sigh of relief as he dismounted. There was still enough time to turn around and withdraw from this place, he thought, as he watched miners clambering from their wagons and troopers from their horses. Still enough time to get out of this reservation and head back to Fort Bruce.
As he slid the binoculars back into his saddlebags, Sergeant John Walker rode up beside him. Walker was a big man with a smiling face that belied his courage.
Climbing off his horse, the well-built sergeant strode to the side of his superior and removed his battered white hat.
‘What we stopped here for, sir?’
Roberts bit his lip.
‘I’m not venturing any further today, Walker.’
‘But it ain’t even noon yet,’ Sergeant Walker said staring at the low sun which had many hours to go before reaching directly over their heads.
‘Are you in a hurry, John?’ Major Roberts stared into the face of the big man.
Walker rubbed the sweat off his brow and gazed along the valley ahead of them at the countless tree-covered mountainous peaks.
‘I reckon I understand, sir.’
‘Good. I’m in no hurry to reach our destination because once we do, I think we’ll have a fight on our hands.’ Roberts gave the miners a sly look. He had nothing but contempt for the rough, evil-smelling men he was escorting.
‘Where do you figure the Cheyenne camp is?’ Walker asked.
Major Thomas Roberts did not reply, but stared down the long valley of lush swaying grass. Somewhere down there in the heart of this forbidden land, at least five thousand unsuspecting Cheyenne were going about their daily rituals.
How long would it be before they spotted them?
Chapter Six
Bob Creedy sucked on his pipe and watched the street from within the relative safety of the quiet cafe as his brothers ate. He was nervous and, even behind the veil of smoke which cascaded from his mouth, looked so.
‘Ease up, Bob,’ Frankie Creedy said as he chewed the last of his breakfast before washing it down his throat with a mouthful of black coffee.
‘The boy’s right, Bob. Take it easy,’ Treat Creedy said as he rubbed his mouth along the back of his sleeve before rising to his feet.
Bob Creedy said nothing as he puffed frantically on the stem of his hot pipe. He knew this was not a place where their sort could relax for even an instant. Tequila Flats was dangerous.
The small, aged waitress stood watching her three customers with a terror she had never felt before. The woman knew that these men were unlike any she had served before in the small cafe. Yet they had done nothing which gave her reason to do anything except continue refilling their cups with the strong black beverage.
Treat Creedy walked around the small table and moved to the side of his older brother. He knew Bob was the one member of his family who worried. Maybe that was why he looked so drained of color.
‘You eat and I’ll watch out for trouble, Bob.’
Bob Creedy dragged the pipe from his lips and then glanced at the face of his brother.
‘I ain’t hungry. I got me a knot in my guts.’
‘Then have some coffee for heaven’s sake,’ Treat urged.
Bob nodded reluctantly.
‘Okay. Bring me a cup.’
As Frankie began to get up from the table with the coffee pot in his hand, he noticed the faces of his two brothers suddenly alter as they spotted something out in the busy street.
‘What is it? What ya seen?’ Frankie asked as he rushed to the side of the two taller men.
‘Trouble, I reckon,’ Bob Creedy muttered as he stuffed the pipe into his pocket and flicked the safety loops off his pistols.
Treat Creedy gave the interior of the cafe a fast inspection before returning his attention to the pair of men walking down the boardwalk in their direction. They were tall, well-fed men and both wore gleaming tin stars on their shirts.
‘The law!’
‘We’ll have to shoot our way back to the horses,’ Frankie whispered into the ear of Bob.
Bob Creedy rubbed his face with his fingers as his brain raced.
‘Nope. We ain’t gonna do nothing dumb. We are going to bluff our way out of this pickle.’
Treat felt his mouth drying as the two men drew closer to the cafe. They were flanked by dozens of the town’s residents — mostly women, all talking continuously to the law officers.
‘I figure them folks went and told them deputies of our arrival, boys,’ Bob Creedy said quietly as he stared out through the clean windowpanes at the Winchester-toting pair of deputies.
‘This looks bad,’ Treat panted heavily as he peered over his older brother’s shoulder.
‘Stop fretting,’ Bob ordered. ‘Let me do all the talking and we’ll get out of this without a scratch.’
‘Are you sure?’ Frankie gulped.
Bob Creedy inhaled deeply and then tossed a couple of silver dollars on to the top of the table and touched his hat brim at the waitress. Then he led his two younger brothers out into the street and smiled at the approaching crowd.
The two deputies stopped in their tracks. The crowd stopped several paces behind them. It was as if they had never seen three men quite so trail-weary in appearance as the Creedy brothers.
‘Didn’t you boys see the sign outside town?’ one of the deputies asked as he clutched his carbine across his belly.
‘We seen it, deputy.’ Bob Creedy forced the widest smile he had ever mustered and stepped one place closer to the two nervous lawmen.
‘We don’t cotton to scum in Tequila Flats,’ the second deputy added.
Bob Creedy nodded.
‘Neither do we. That’s why we’re here. Me and the boys are bounty hunters on the trail of a mighty bad piece of work called Dan Creedy.’
‘Bounty hunters?’ The two law officers seemed to repeat the word at exactly the same time.
‘Sorry we look a tad dirty, but it has been a long haul getting to this place. We ain’t had no time to wash up and put on our Sunday best,’ Bob Creedy continued to add to his story.
‘What’s your name?’ one of the men asked.
‘I’m Bob Custer and this is Joe and Jim Smith.’ Bob somehow managed to smile as the curious eyes kept burning into them.
‘How come you came to Tequila Flats?’ The question seemed to come from the crowd behind the two deputies.
‘We lost the trail of this Creedy character a couple of days back. I figured it would make sense to come here and check out the newspapers and send a few wires,’ Bob retorted quickly.
‘That’s damn smart,’ the first deputy grinned. ‘It sure pays to be a real professional and know all them kinda tricks. You send a few wires to other towns and you can find out where this Creedy bastard is.’
‘You boys sure know your business, okay,’ the second deputy agreed.
Chapter Seven
There was no mistaking the image that tore across what remained of the prairie towards the tree-covered
hills and distant mountains. The horse was new, paid for out of the thousand-dollar reward money, but the rider was unmistakable.
No one who had ever seen this ghost-like rider could or would ever mistake him for any other. With his black hair whipping the back of his bloodstained long coat, like the flapping wings of a vulture, Iron Eyes drove mercilessly on and on.
There was no longer anything in Bonny for the bounty hunter now that he had the silver and gold coins of his latest slaying filling the saddlebags behind his saddle cantle. Iron Eyes could have remained for another few days and allowed his severe head injuries to heal, but something had forced him to discard the old horse and hit the trail with a new one.
Now Iron Eyes had to find another face which matched one on the crumpled posters in his deep pockets. Yet for all his riding, he was not chasing anyone at all. There was something else forcing him furiously onward. Something he neither knew or understood. He was like a moth being lured against its will, into the light of a naked flame.
Heading towards the tall trees, Iron Eyes knew he would at least be able to find game, and hone some of his original hunting skills in the forests which rose over the hills and into the mountains.
It had been a long time since Iron Eyes had hunted simply for food rather than money: a time when he had tracked and trapped animals for their meat and their pelts to feed and clothe himself. The trees ahead of his charging horse beckoned to him, like the call of old when he was younger and less tarnished by the ways of civilization.
Iron Eyes drove his spurs into the flesh of his new mount and raced across the sagebrush-covered plain feverishly. It was as if he were being dragged back to a place where he had left his innocence. A place so far back in his bloody past that he could no longer remember when or where it had been. All he knew for certain was that it had been another Iron Eyes who had existed then. A man who had not yet discovered how easy it was to kill humans for the price others placed upon their heads.
