The Fury of Iron Eyes (An Iron Eyes Western #4)

by Rory Black

  Looking at his mule-ear boots, the bounty hunter wondered if his vicious spurs might help him from sliding down the moist, muddy slope, if he tried to use them as an anchor. Pushing himself from the tree, he edged away from it and looked down at the next similar pine about ten feet below him. Iron Eyes knew that if he could reach that tree, he had a chance.

  Jabbing the spur on his right boot backwards into the wet ground, Iron Eyes cautiously moved his left foot from the trunk of the tree he had been balanced against. Then it happened.

  Without knowing how, Iron Eyes felt himself falling on to his back heavily. As his skull cracked on to the wet ground he felt his entire body moving quickly downward. His long coat beneath his lightweight frame offered no resistance.

  Sliding helplessly down at a speed which increased with every passing heartbeat, Iron Eyes could see the moon above him through the black canopy of the pine tree branches.

  Desperately, Iron Eyes clawed at the soft soil to either side of him, feeling the heat of friction beneath his spine as he continued thundering down towards the rim of the ledge he had noticed a few seconds earlier.

  Raising his head to look at his boots, Iron Eyes felt a strange sensation racing through him.

  As his body slid off the side of the steep mountain, he realized he was flying through the air straight at the trio of men below.

  For the first time in his entire life, Iron Eyes felt fear.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  It was the noise above them that first alerted the Creedy brothers. They had never heard anything quite like it before. It was a sound which defied definition, and caused the men to look upward.

  The sight that matched the noise made little sense either to the weary minds of the outlaws. For what seemed an eternity, they watched in awe as the black shape seemed to float in the air above them. Even in the brilliant light of the large moon, their eyes refused to believe what they saw. The flapping coat tails of the bounty hunter gave the impression of a massive, winged creature as Iron Eyes’ helpless form flew through the air over them.

  Frankie Creedy was first to rise to his feet and draw his weapons, as the horrific vision flew over their heads like a gigantic bat. The outlaw began firing in terror as the ghostly apparition disappeared into the brush below them. For the first time since he had handled guns, Frankie had not hit what he was aiming at.

  Bob Creedy jumped up and grabbed his brother’s right arm as the younger man fired his last shots.

  ‘Easy, Frankie,’ Bob said whilst he raced to the edge of the slope where Iron Eyes had disappeared.

  ‘What was it?’ Frankie screamed as his shaking hands tried to empty the spent shells from his guns.

  ‘Hush up,’ Bob ordered. He vainly tried to see or hear anything from below them in the tangled brush.

  Somehow Treat Creedy managed to drag his body off the cold ground and stagger to the side of his younger brother. Even with a hole in him he was still refusing to die.

  ‘I told you this place was haunted, Frankie,’ he spluttered as blood trickled from his mouth. ‘This whole damn place is full of demons. That weren’t no real critter.’

  ‘Ghost?’ Frankie swallowed hard.

  ‘Or something just as evil,’ Treat nodded.

  Bob Creedy stared into the dense undergrowth below him, as his thumb traced over his gun hammer poking up from his right holster. He was trying to be rational and work out what he and his brothers had just witnessed, but there seemed to be no rational explanation that fitted.

  ‘Did you see where it went, boys?’

  Frankie seemed to drop more bullets on to the ground than his shaking fingers managed to get into the hot chambers of his guns when he stepped forward.

  ‘Treat’s right, Bob. It was a ghost or something. I ain’t gonna stick around here and try to kill things that can’t be killed.’

  ‘There ain’t no such animal as a ghost, Frankie,’ Bob snapped as he felt sweat rolling freely down his face from beneath his hatband. ‘Treat’s fevered up. Don’t pay him no heed.’

  Treat hobbled closer to his elder. ‘Then what was it, Bob? It weren’t no owl. Was it an eagle? Mighty big, if it was.’

  ‘I only caught a glimpse of it, Treat,’ Bob replied.

  ‘Maybe it was a flying bear?’ Treat rubbed the blood from his chin and smiled. ‘What was it?’

  Bob Creedy turned and looked at his brothers. They looked almost as scared as he felt. ‘Looked like a bat or an eagle to me. But like you said, it was kinda big.’

  Frankie snapped the chamber shut on one pistol and gripped it tightly in his hand as he holstered the other. ‘We better ride out of this damn place, Bob. Now.’

  ‘The boy’s right, Bob,’ Treat agreed.

  Bob could not see anything down below them and returned to the sides of his brothers. ‘You’re right. Let’s ride. This place ain’t natural.’

  The three Creedys had no sooner mounted their spent horses when they heard the sound of a rider coming down the trail they had used to reach this very spot.

  ‘Hear that?’ Frankie asked as he drew both his guns from their holsters and cocked their hammers.

  ‘Somebody coming real fast by the sound of it,’ Bob said as his fingers gripped around his pistol and slid it out of its holster.

  Treat Creedy had his work cut out for him just remaining balanced on his skittish mount. All his bloodshot eyes could do was watch the dark trail until the rider finally appeared in the moonlight.

  Silent Wolf dragged back on the mane of his grey pony and then screamed a bone-chilling call at the heavens above them.

  The Creedys held their horses in check as they watched the young Cheyenne before them.

  ‘Not more damn Injuns,’ Treat groaned as he watched his brothers allow their horses to advance slightly towards the handsome Indian.

  ‘Is he alone?’ Frankie asked Bob desperately as the thought of being attacked by an entire war party crossed his mind.

  Bob rested his gun on his saddle horn and studied Silent Wolf carefully. ‘It’s just a kid, Frankie. A little runt of a kid.’

  Frankie began to smile as he raised his guns. ‘Must be the left-overs from the Injuns we killed up the mountain, Bob.’

  ‘Kill him, boy,’ Bob ordered.

  Frankie did not require telling twice. He brought both his arms up until they were at eye level. As his sweating fingers curled around the triggers of his weaponry, a sound came from behind them.

  Something was moving down in the brush where the ghostly apparition had vanished.

  ‘What was that, Bob?’ Frankie’s voice asked in a pitch far higher than his usual tone.

  Before Bob Creedy could reply to his younger brother, Silent Wolf gave an ear-piercing shriek and began to gallop straight at the three riders.

  ‘The Injun, Frankie. He’s coming at us,’ Bob yelled at his distracted brother.

  Frankie turned his mount full-circle and fired both his pistols at the charging Silent Wolf.

  The wounded grey pony reared up on to its back legs and kicked out its hoofs in the air. Then, as Frankie fired both his guns again, the doomed animal made the most hideous noise and began bucking until its master was thrown next to the edge of the sheer drop.

  Silent Wolf dragged his tomahawk from his belt as he staggered to his feet, and threw it at the three mounted men.

  As the lethal axe flew through the cold air, a volley of bullets were blasted at the young Cheyenne. The ground at his feet tore up as the bullets hit the soil, making Silent Wolf move backwards.

  It was a scream only fatally-wounded men can make. The tomahawk hit Treat Creedy in the centre of his face and drove his weakened body over the cantle of his saddle, until it fell in a lifeless heap on the ground.

  ‘Treat!’ Frankie screamed.

  ‘He’s gone this time, boy,’ Bob yelled pointing at Silent Wolf. ‘Let’s get him.’

  At that very moment behind the Creedys, a disheveled figure managed to claw his way out of the brush. Ir
on Eyes’ head was filled with the thunderous explosions again. He could hear nothing except the drumming of his own heartbeat as it pounded inside his skull.

  As he staggered upright, Iron Eyes saw the two men shooting at Silent Wolf, forcing him back to the very rim of the ledge.

  Dragging one of his Navy Colts from his belt, Iron Eyes raised the gun and fired.

  Startled, the pair of riders drove their horses straight at Silent Wolf.

  Iron Eyes could not tell which of the riders kicked the young Cheyenne hunter as they made their escape. All he knew for certain was that Silent Wolf had fallen into the black abyss below and the killers had fled.

  When he reached the spot where he had seen Silent Wolf fall, Iron Eyes clenched his fists in fury.

  ‘I’ll get them, little hunter. I’ll make them pay,’ he vowed as he stared down at a million trees.

  As each sinew in his battered body cursed his every movement, Iron Eyes somehow managed to run across the moonlit clearing and grab the reins of the mount belonging to the fallen Treat Creedy. Dragging the long leathers into his bleeding hands, the bounty hunter pulled the animal close, before stepping into the stirrup and mounting the horse.

  This was now personal.

  Few people managed to penetrate the armor-like defenses of this ruthless hunter of men, but Silent Wolf had managed it without even trying.

  Hauling the reins hard to his side, Iron Eyes thrust his long, vicious spurs into the trail-weary mount and forced it to a gallop up the muddy rise into the darkness of the trail.

  With the keen instincts that had been honed over a lifetime of killing for survival, Iron Eyes knew exactly which direction his prey had taken in their attempt to escape his wrath. Even in the blackness of a trail that he had never ridden before Iron Eyes knew where they had headed.

  Forcing the creature beneath his spurs to find a speed that was ill-suited to such an overgrown trail, the injured rider drove on and on.

  Whoever these men were ahead of his mount, they were already dead as far as the lethal killing-machine was concerned. There was no escape from Iron Eyes. No man had ever escaped the venom of the cruel rider when he had the scent of the kill in his narrow nostrils. No one could find a rock large enough to hide beneath to save their bacon when he was after them.

  Ascending the steep trail atop the nervous mount, Iron Eyes knew he was returning to the place where he and his companion Silent Wolf had found the bodies of the three Cheyenne — the spot where these unknown whites had shot at them.

  Reaching the halfway point on the dark trail, his deadly eyes spotted the outline of his own horse standing where he had tethered it only minutes earlier.

  Dragging his reins up to his chest, Iron Eyes paused for a mere few seconds whilst he transferred from the Creedy horse to his own rested mount. Pulling the razor-sharp Bowie knife from his right boot, Iron Eyes cut through the reins at the tree branch. There was no time to untie knots. No time for a moment’s hesitation. He had to ride on after the vermin who had killed his young friend.

  With a relatively fresh horse beneath him, Iron Eyes had to catch up with the two unknown riders and dispatch his own branch of vengeance upon them.

  Driving the tall horse up the trail by whipping it with what was left of the reins and stabbing its flesh with the spurs he always used mercilessly, Iron Eyes began to hear the sound of horses ahead of him. For the first time since he had staggered up out of the brush where he had landed after flying over the heads of the Creedys, Iron Eyes could actually hear something apart from the noises inside his head.

  Forcing his mount on, Iron Eyes spotted the tails of the two horsemen ahead of him, as they reached the high clearing. Within a few dozen yards of the moonlit area, Iron Eyes threw his leg over the neck of his galloping mount and dropped to the ground. He watched his tall horse continue on up into the clearing, and then heard the deafening noise of gunfire.

  As the bounty hunter moved with the pair of matched Navy Colts in his bony hands, he watched his mount being cut to ribbons by the bullets of his enemies.

  Continuing to the very edge of the clearing, Iron Eyes cocked the hammers back on his pistols until they fully locked. He had no fear within him now, for this was the moment of judgment — the moment all skilled hunters trained themselves to face when they had located their prey.

  To a creature such as Iron Eyes, it made no difference what the prey was. Whether it was a rabbit to fill his belly or a man whose value had been decreed by the law, it made no difference at all.

  Reaching the moonlight, the battle-scarred figure glanced all around the clearing with a unique determination. He saw his fallen horse still kicking at the air as death slowly overwhelmed it. The air was still thick with the black gunsmoke of the two Creedy brothers’ pistols.

  Iron Eyes knew that they were scared. They had unleashed every bullet from their two pairs of Remingtons and Colts when his horse had ridden into the moonlight, without even waiting to see whether it had a rider.

  Gritting his small sharp teeth, Iron Eyes knelt and studied the area before him — a place it seemed death had claimed for its own.

  For a few endless seconds his keen vision saw nothing of the two men he sought. Only the evidence of their lethal actions in the form of his fatally-wounded mount and the three bodies of the Cheyenne braves.

  Then he suddenly realized that the dead Indians’ corpses were now stacked like a wall, and not strewn apart as they had been when he and Silent Wolf had discovered them. If the two men were anywhere at all, they were hiding behind the hastily-constructed barricade of bodies, he thought.

  Screwing his eyes up even more than usual, the bounty hunter tried to seek out their hidden mounts. His eyes might not have been able to locate them, but his hearing told him that they were tied up somewhere beyond the bodies of the Cheyenne. Somewhere in the darkness of the forest.

  Moving on to his belly, Iron Eyes began to crawl towards his stricken horse. There was little cover in the high, bright clearing apart from his horse which lay on its side twenty or so feet ahead of him.

  Reaching the prostrate creature, Iron Eyes dropped both his Navy Colts into his coat pockets and pulled his Winchester out from its saddle scabbard before trying to cock its stiff mechanism.

  This was a weapon he seldom used, and it showed. If ever a rifle was in need of attention, it was this one, but he had no time to rebuke himself. Now he had to avenge the young Cheyenne hunter called Silent Wolf. Nothing else mattered.

  Digging deep inside the pockets of his coat, he managed to find a few rifle shells amongst the dozens of pistol bullets.

  Forcing the three bullets into the carbine and cranking its rusty lever, Iron Eyes began to wonder who these men that he wanted to kill so desperately actually were.

  The thought did not have time to take root in his mind. A swarm of bullets volleyed across the clearing and ripped into the body of the horse, forcing the bounty hunter to duck behind its massive bulk.

  Rolling over until he could see beneath the neck of the dead animal, Iron Eyes carefully aimed the Winchester at the two gunmen he could see firing at him.

  Squeezing the trigger of the Winchester was easy. Getting it to fire was another matter. The trigger seemed to jam halfway through its action.

  ‘Damn!’ Iron Eyes cursed as he angrily tossed the rifle away and began to reach in his pocket for the pair of trusty Navy Colts.

  Bob Creedy must have had the eyes of an eagle, for he spotted the form of the bounty hunter just behind the twisted neck of the horse. It was only a half-chance, but that was all he knew his brother needed. Pointing, Bob handed his own fully-loaded Winchester to Frankie.

  ‘That must be Iron Eyes, boy. Kill him.’

  Frankie raised the rifle to his shoulder and quickly adjusted the sights before squeezing its trigger. This carbine was unlike the one that the bounty hunter had tried to use. This one was greased and cleaned to perfection.

  The bullet exploded from the long barrel of Creedy’
s rifle, and would have gone straight through the skull of Iron Eyes had the bounty hunter not raised one of his Navy Colts a fraction of a second before the lead ball reached its target.

  Iron Eyes felt an agonizing pain as the gun was torn from his grip and smashed into his face by the sheer force of the accurate bullet.

  The pain of the pistol hitting his face had been bad enough for the bounty hunter, but the white flash of swirling fog inside his head came as a total shock. With blood pouring from his face, Iron Eyes battled vainly to cling on to consciousness, but he knew he had failed when his head fell back into the damp grass. Suddenly, every one of the honed senses that he possessed in abundance deserted him. Iron Eyes was out cold.

  ‘You got him!’ Bob Creedy screamed in delight. ‘You killed the famed Iron Eyes, Frankie!’

  Both men cautiously got to their feet. They began to advance towards the figure that was lying outstretched beyond the dead horse. Even now, the Creedys knew they were not safe. No man of Iron Eyes’ reputation could be so easily dismissed.

  Frankie cocked the rifle again and kept it trained on the motionless figure as they drew closer, his elder brother keeping both his pistols on Iron Eyes.

  ‘Is he dead?’ Bob asked as they circled the neck of the horse hesitantly.

  Frankie stared at the face of Iron Eyes — a face covered in blood caused by the impact of the Navy Colt.

  ‘Looks like I got the varmint straight between the eyes, Bob.’

  Bob Creedy began to grin. ‘What a shot, boy. What a shot. Even old Dan could not have made such a shot.’

  Both men stood over the still figure and laughed at the sight of their handiwork. Had they done the impossible? Had they killed the man, who, it was said, could not be killed?

  Both the Navy Colts were yards away from the thick hands of the bounty hunter. This was no trick, they both thought. Iron Eyes was dead.

  ‘We ought to empty our guns into him, Frankie,’ Bob suggested.