Blood of Iron Eyes

by Rory Black

  It had been a long time since he had killed anything, but he had not forgotten how. The lust for blood still remained in his bitter, twisted soul.

  Fontaine cast his eyes to either side of him as he urged his mount on. He was satisfied with the transformation of his henchmen. The half-light gave the disguised riders the appearance of actually being an Indian war party. He had even purchased forty-one blankets to hide their saddles from any keen-eyed trooper who might survive the attack.

  Any uneducated eye that happened upon his attacking force would see only Indians. Greased skin and body-paint created the illusion. Yet they all knew that they would have to complete their task well before the sun rose again. None of them would ever pass for being a genuine Apache in the light of day. Dawn was their enemy as much as those who rested inside the way station.

  The horses thundered onward toward Apache Wells.

  Unlike the bounty hunter who had preceded them, they had not driven their mounts to exhaustion. These men had stopped to water their horses twice on the long journey from Hope.

  Reaching a ridge, Fontaine hauled rein. Dust swept up towards the stars as the horse dug its hoofs into the sand. The forty horsemen stopped their own mounts beside their boss. For a few moments the way station was masked by the dust clouds that rolled over the terrain before them.

  Only when it had settled did they see Apache Wells clearly.

  Keno moved his horse closer to the silent Fontaine.

  ‘I told ya that the place was like a fort!’ he said, pointing at the moonlit adobe structure a mile ahead. ‘Look at it! The folks who built that thing did it to stop critters like us attacking them!’

  ‘Quiet, ya fool!’ Fontaine muttered thoughtfully.

  Riley adjusted the crude wig he had been forced to wear and looked across at Fontaine.

  ‘Do ya really reckon we can get the better of them bastards, boss?’ he asked.

  ‘I’d say that they’re all asleep in their beds, Frank,’ the confident Fontaine replied. ‘There ain’t bin any Indians in these parts for years. That breeds a false sense of security. I think we can just ride in and kill them all.’

  ‘I sure hope so!’ Keno shrugged.

  ‘The last time I came this way they didn’t even close the gates at night, boys!’ Fontaine smiled. ‘They just left them wide open! Yep, wide open like a two-dollar whore’s legs!’

  ‘Ya bin here before, boss?’ Keno asked.

  ‘Damn right!’ Fontaine said. ‘I know the inside of that place like the back of my hand! I know the lay-out of every room in the main building!’

  Suddenly the confidence of their leader filled the rest of the horsemen with inspiration. They seemed excited again.

  ‘We gonna kill all them soldier blues, boss?’ Walt Jason piped up.

  Fontaine turned and looked at the young gunslinger. Even the coloured grease which was smothered over his features could not hide the smile that went from ear to ear.

  ‘Yep! Every one of them!’

  ‘Then who we gonna let live?’ Riley queried.

  ‘The coach-driver!’ Fontaine answered. ‘He’s a civilian. He’ll make a darn good witness.’

  ‘What about the station workers?’ Jason wondered aloud.

  ‘We only kill them if they gets in the way!’ Fontaine said coldly. ‘They’ll make good witnesses! Reckon they’ll tell folks about the Injun war party that attacked and massacred the big man from back East and his cavalry bodyguards!’

  ‘What about this Carmichael critter?’ Keno wondered as he fought the effects of the whiskey which fogged his brain. ‘Do we kill him?’

  ‘Damn right we do!’ Fontaine laughed. ‘He dies like the soldiers! He’s our main target! We kill him and I doubt if they’ll ever be able to find anyone back East dumb enough to volunteer to replace him!’

  The horsemen were laughing as Fontaine produced two bottles of hard liquor from the bags secreted beneath the blanket that hid his saddle from prying eyes. There were still two more bottles of whiskey remaining in the satchels. They were for later when their deed had been done.

  He tossed one to Jason and the other to Riley.

  ‘Take a mouthful of whiskey each and pass the bottles along, boys!’ Fontaine ordered. ‘This is a job that’ll be easier with fire in ya bellies!’

  ‘Will this stop them damn Easterners comin’ here to steal our land, boss?’ Riley asked.

  ‘It might slow them up a tad!’ Fontaine smiled. ‘Make them think twice about tryin’ to push their yella-belly laws down our throats!’

  By the time the two bottles had been passed along the line of riders and reached the last of Fontaine’s henchmen they were empty.

  Fontaine gathered up his reins. His eyes burned out across the distance between the starlit fortress and his line of primed riders.

  ‘C’mon, boys! We got us some scalpin’ to do!’

  The shrewd businessman knew exactly how to get his men to do his bidding. All it took was the promise of enough money and just the correct amount of whiskey.

  With Fontaine at their head, the troop of murderous riders thundered on towards the fiery torches perched upon the high walls of the way station. No genuine band of Apaches could have equalled the blood-chilling sight.

  The stagecoach company workers had just secured the two gates set at opposite ends of the way station’s long courtyard when Iron Eyes shouted out to the rest of the well-armed men perched all around the high parapets.

  ‘Here they come!’ the bounty hunter yelled as he stared over the top of the wall at the unmistakable sight of horsemen headed straight towards them. ‘Cock ya rifles!’

  The sound of Springfield rifles being readied for action echoed around the high parapets. The bounty hunter marched along the wall and checked the kneeling soldiers as they trained their weapons on the large band of horsemen.

  ‘Remember, boys,’ Iron Eyes growled, ‘ya gotta kill as many of them as ya can! If’n they gets in here, they’ll surely slaughter us for sure!’

  Captain Sherwood raced across the courtyard from the main building and clambered up one of the ladders. He reached Iron Eyes’ side and stared out into the starlit wasteland which stretched before him.

  A cold chill traced up his spine.

  ‘Dear Lord! You were tellin’ the truth! There are at least forty of the bastards headed here, and they’re disguised as redskins!’

  ‘And they figure on killin’ most of us if’n they gets half a chance, Captain!’ Iron Eyes added. He drew one of his Navy Colts from his deep coat-pocket and cocked its hammer until it fully locked. ‘Fontaine ain’t in the mood for no talkin’! He’s gonna kill most of us if he can!’

  Sherwood looked along the parapets and yelled at the top of his voice at his troopers.

  ‘Start shootin’ when they get into range, men! That’s an order! We ain’t takin’ any prisoners!’

  Iron Eyes glanced at the obviously nervous officer who stood beside him, shaking.

  ‘Now ya talkin’ my kinda lingo, Sherwood!’ he muttered.

  The army captain produced a pair of field binoculars from a small bag attached to his belt. He raised them to his eyes and adjusted the focus.

  ‘Great heavens. They are whitemen, Iron Eyes!’ He lowered the binoculars in shock. ‘I thought that ya had to be wrong! I just couldn’t believe that whitemen would stoop so low!’

  ‘Yep, they’re white, OK, and they’re loaded for bear!’ Iron Eyes assured him. ‘Look at all them rifles and six-shooters glinting like gold pieces! Just like I told ya!’

  ‘I apologize for doubtin’ ya, Iron Eyes!’ A bead of sweat appeared from the band of the captain’s black hat. It trailed down the side of the officer’s face. The bounty hunter stared at the man who, for his part, could not take his eyes from the approaching horsemen. ‘I know little of this devilish land or the vermin who occupy it!’

  ‘Ya ever seen action before, Sherwood?’ Iron Eyes asked. He watched the expression on the officer’s face.

&nbs
p; ‘Nothin’ to match this!’ came the honest reply. ‘What’ll we do? What should I do?’

  Iron Eyes placed a cigar between his teeth, struck a match and lit it. He inhaled the acrid smoke and allowed it to linger in his lungs for a while before speaking in a low tone that only the captain could hear.

  ‘Just follow my lead, Sherwood! I’m just gonna try and kill them all! Copy that and ya ain’t gonna go far wrong!’

  Before the shaking cavalry officer could speak again, the air around them rang out as deafening bullets rained in on them.

  Instinctively, Iron Eyes placed a hand on Sherwood’s shoulder and pushed the man down violently so that the captain was below the parapet’s solid adobe wall. Chunks of the wall exploded as dozens of bullets sought out their targets. Yet the bounty hunter did not flinch as he sucked on the smoke and stared out at the approaching riders.

  ‘Open up on them, boys!’ Iron Eyes ordered the troopers. As one the kneeling soldiers started to fire.

  ‘Why don’t you get down, Iron Eyes?’ Sherwood shouted as dust showered over him from bullets tearing into the top of the wall. ‘Take cover, man!’

  Iron Eyes did not duck down himself. He turned his painfully thin body sideways on to the approaching riders and then raised his Navy Colt until it was at arm’s length. He focused on the gun’s sights and then started to fire. The speed of his thumb as it clawed the hammer back after each shot stunned the kneeling Sherwood. He had never seen anyone who could fire as fast as this man.

  What he could not see was that every one of the shots hit the riders. Three of the gunslingers were knocked off their horses before Iron Eyes had fired the last of his six shots.

  Only when he needed to reload did the bounty hunter crouch down beside Sherwood.

  ‘Where did ya learn to shoot like that, Iron Eyes?’

  ‘It comes natural when ya don’t like many folks, Captain,’ the bounty hunter answered honestly. ‘In my profession ya gotta hit what ya aims at the first time. Ya might not get a second chance, ya know?’

  ‘But why didn’t ya take cover sooner?’

  The bounty hunter shook the brass casings from the gun and started to push fresh bullets into its smoking chambers.

  ‘Ya ever tried shootin’ from a galloping horse? Ain’t easy hittin’ anythin’!’ Iron Eyes closed the Navy Colt and cocked its hammer again. ‘I figured I had me some time before they could judge the distance with them Winchesters!’

  Even above the sound of the soldiers’ rifle fire, both of the kneeling men could hear the riders pass below them as Fontaine led his gang to the nearest of the locked gates, then round the walls to the other.

  Fontaine had taken casualties and did not like it. The first of the tall gates were locked and the walls were manned with a score or more rifles. He drove his horse on. He stayed close to the wall and headed round to the other gate. Five of his henchmen trailed him as others were knocked from their horses by the cavalry’s lead. Frank Riley whipped his horse and drew level with his boss. A massive hole in his left shoulder spat blood over Fontaine.

  ‘They’ve suckered us in to a turkey-shoot, boss!’ Riley shouted out. ‘How’d they know we was comin’?’

  ‘Who cares? Just stick with me, Frank,’ Fontaine ordered. ‘I got me a plan to stick the fox in this hen-house!’

  The half-dozen riders drove along the base of the sturdy wall. They had left Keno and the main body of horsemen shooting it out with the soldiers gathered near to Iron Eyes and the army captain.

  Fontaine had another goal and another way to gain entrance into the Apache Wells fortress. Fontaine stopped his lathered-up mount beneath the big gates and pointed his rifle up at the cavalry men. Within a mere blink of an eye, he and his cohorts had opened up with deadly volleys of bullets. Soldiers cascaded off the walls and landed heavily in a row before the disguised riders. Fontaine pushed a cigar between his dry lips and lit it quickly. He sucked on it until its tip glowed like the tail of a firefly.

  ‘Cover me, boys!’ Fontaine commanded his henchmen.

  They did.

  Fontaine leapt to the ground and pulled the blanket off his saddle. He opened the leather flaps of the bags which were tied to the cantle of his saddle and removed one of the bottles of whiskey. He threw it with all his force at the dry gates.

  The bottle shattered into a million slivers, spewing its contents all over the weathered wood and surrounding brush.

  ‘What ya doin’, boss?’ Riley yelled out as he continued to fire his Winchester at the soldiers above them.

  ‘You’ll see!’ Fontaine shouted back to his top gun.

  The riders watched as their leader removed the cigar from his mouth, blew on the glowing tip and then tossed it at the alcohol-splashed wooden gates.

  The combination of tinder-dry wood, hard rotgut liquor and brush was a volatile mixture. When the burning tobacco was added, the flames erupted like a volcano. Within a mere few seconds the entire gate was engulfed in flames. Then Fontaine threw the last bottle at the blazing wall before him. Flames rose thirty feet into the air.

  From the opposite end of the way station Iron Eyes prepared to start shooting down at Keno and the main body of gunslingers.

  ‘As soon as them riders comes below ya, shoot as many of the swine as ya can, boys!’ the bounty hunter shouted out to the troopers who manned the opposite wall.

  Suddenly one of the station workers screamed out.

  ‘Fire! Fire!’

  Every one of the men perched on the parapets looked at the elderly station worker and then to what he was frantically pointing at. Every one of the men on the high walkways stood in horror and disbelief.

  Iron Eyes gritted his teeth and growled.

  ‘Get ready, Sherwood! We got less than a minute or so before that gate falls and Fontaine and his cronies ride in!’ he snapped, making his way to the nearest ladder. He started to climb down to the floor of the way station. ‘I’m gonna go protect Carmichael and the girl!’

  Flames had already risen over the surface of the gates and were eating through the old wooden boards so quickly that they were already starting to crumble in blackened chunks.

  As Iron Eyes raced across the courtyard, bathed in the light of the fire, towards the main building, he thought about Brewster Fontaine.

  He had underestimated the man!

  Fontaine was far more dangerous than he had given him credit for. As the bounty hunter reached the building he wondered whether that error of judgement might prove fatal.

  Iron Eyes shouldered the door open and glanced around the large room. The stalwart figure of Herbert Carmichael and his terrified daughter were highlighted by crimson shafts of flickering light which cut in through the gaps between the window shutters.

  ‘Quick! If ya wanna live, follow me!’ The bounty hunter waved the barrel of his Colt at them before he made his way towards the corridor which led to the dozen or more guest-rooms on the ground floor. With every step Iron Eyes studied the rest of the building’s interior. A wooden staircase led up to a landing and a solitary door. The tall thin figure continued towards the corridor, which was bathed in shadow.

  ‘What’s happening out there, Iron Eyes?’ Carmichael asked breathlessly.

  ‘Move fast!’ Iron Eyes ordered bluntly.

  They did.

  The bounty hunter found the only room that did not have a window and then ushered them into it.

  ‘What’s happening, Iron Eyes?’ Carmichael repeated his question. ‘I thought you said that we were safe with the station gates locked!’

  ‘I did!’ Iron Eyes’ bony hands pushed both confused people inside the small room.

  ‘Has something changed?’

  The grim-faced bounty hunter was about to reply when he caught sight of the woman’s face. He decided not to answer the question for fear of frightening the young Florence even more. There was something about her which intrigued him. She was so fragile, yet more beautiful than any other he had ever set eyes upon.

 
‘Barricade yaselves in here!’ he ordered. ‘Use the chairs and bed to stop them bustin’ the door down. Hide in the corner in case them varmints shoot through it! This door is the only way in or out of this room! OK?’

  The young woman nodded as her father spoke once more.

  ‘Do you think we’ll survive this, Iron Eyes?’

  Again Iron Eyes glanced at the timid Florence, who clung to her father’s arm. There was no supposing that she was strong enough to hear the truth, he thought. He decided to try and give her a scrap of hope to cling to.

  ‘Yep! They’ll not get ya!’ he said. He pulled the door shut and listened as its bolt was slid across. He paused until he heard the furniture in the room being moved to behind the door before moving back into the centre of the large room.

  Suddenly the sound of something landing on the roof above his head stopped the bounty hunter in his tracks. Dust filtered down over him. He raised his gun and listened as the noise tracked across the wooden shingles.

  His keen ears listened until he saw the body of one of the troopers who had been manning the parapet behind him fall limply to the ground in front of the open doorway.

  Iron Eyes rushed to the crumpled body, leaned over and touched the blood-soaked neck. There was no sign of any pulse. Iron Eyes looked at the gruesome bullet wound in the side of the trooper’s skull. He then rose up to his full height. His gaze darted around the parapets. At least half the troopers were either dead or wounded.

  Captain Sherwood was still battling alongside his men as they continued to fire their single-shot rifles down at Fontaine’s riders outside the walls. Iron Eyes glanced to his right. It had only been a matter of minutes since the gates had been drowned in an ocean of flames, yet they were already disintegrating. Sparks floated on the warm night air and landed on the shingle rooftops of the way station buildings. The fire had already spread to the tinder-dry stables.

  Scores of terrified horses trapped within whinnied as they struggled to escape the smoke and fire which now was taking hold in the rafters and walls.

  Iron Eyes was about to move to the closest trough and attempt to douse the flames with water when he heard a strange cracking sound. He spun on his heels and stared at the flaming gates. Even thirty feet away from the inferno, he could feel the incredible heat burning his scarred features. He dropped his gun into his deep pocket, grabbed a bucket and dipped it into the trough. Then he saw one half of the gate buckle on its hinges and fall. A cloud of smoke and red-hot cinders erupted and drifted into the heart of the courtyard.