by Rory Black
‘That message started to come through from Diamond City and then it up and stopped. I checked the operator’s line but it’s dead,’ Turner stuttered.
‘Somebody made sure the message was never completed, huh?’
‘Yep!’ the telegraph man replied, wiping his face free of sweat. ‘Read it!’
Lane Clark inhaled and read.
‘URGENT. GANG OF THIRTEEN RIDERS.’
‘See?’Turner gulped. ‘Must be one of them gangs. They must have taken over Diamond City by my reckoning, Lane.’
Clark ran a thumbnail across the tip of a match and touched the end of his long slim cigar. He inhaled deeply and then allowed the smoke to filter through his untrimmed moustache.
‘Thanks, Olin. Get back to your office in case something else comes through.’
Turner nodded and walked out of the marshal’s office at the same speed that he had entered.
‘We got us a whole heap of trouble, Col. And it’s getting darn close. Too darn close for comfort.’ Lane Clark tapped the ash off his cigar and swung his chair around until he was facing Col Drake, his fresh-faced deputy. ‘Olin might be wrong about that message from Diamond City. The wires might have come down ‘coz of a storm or suchlike, but I kinda doubt that.’
‘Me too, marshal,’ the deputy agreed.
Lane Clark stared at the pile of wires stacked before him.
‘First them outlaws hit Black Rock and then a half-dozen smaller towns along the fringe of the ridge. Then only three days back it was Springville.’
‘And Diamond City is only a day’s ride from there,’ Drake added knowingly. ‘You reckon it’s the same bunch, Lane?’
‘Yep. It has to be Jardine and the vermin he’s gathered around him.’
‘We need the Texas Rangers, Marshal!’
‘But they’re stretched like a rubber band, son. There ain’t no way that we can muster their help on this.’ Clark ran the ash of his cigar along the glass ashtray, then returned it to his teeth. ‘Them folks need help now!’
‘Apart from me, you’ve only got three other deputies.’ Col Drake lowered his chin until it rested on his colorful bandanna. ‘And I doubt if anyone else would wanna get tangled up with them outlaws, Lane.’
‘Me neither!’
‘I reckon you’ve gotta big problem there,’ Drake said, resting his hip on the edge of the desk and scratching his unshaven chin.
Clark nodded.
‘I got me wires from every darn town in the county begging for help. And then this half note from Diamond City. Something’s darn wrong.’
‘But why have these outlaws suddenly got brave all of a sudden, Lane?’ Drake shook his head vainly trying to think of an answer to his own question.
Marshal Clark rose from his chair and sucked hard on the cigar. He paced around the office, silently puffing until he reached the blackened coffeepot resting on top of the wood-stove.
‘That’s what I can’t figure, Col. For years the gangs have kept their heads low. They rob a train or stage or bank and we rustle up a posse and chase the varmints. Sometimes we catch ’em, sometimes they get away. But this is loco. It’s like they all suddenly got a jugful of bravery and drank the whole thing in one go. They just ain’t afraid anymore.’
‘I read me a bunch of them wires earlier,’ Drake stated as he watched the marshal pour two cups of the black beverage. ‘I was kinda shocked by how many of them outlaws are wanted, dead or alive. Some have darn big bounty on their heads. You would think that they would be keeping their heads low, wouldn’t you?’
Marshal Clark walked to Drake and handed him one of the steaming cups.
‘Yeah, that’s right. Them critters are worth a lotta money dead and yet they’re leading gangs into towns as if they don’t care who sees ’em. Ain’t they smart enough to figure that they’ll be adding value to their wanted posters?’
Drake sipped at the bitter coffee.
‘Ain’t like the old days.’
‘What you mean?’ The older man raised an eyebrow and looked hard at his top deputy.
‘You know what I mean, Marshal,’ Drake said. ‘When we had a few bounty hunters roamin’ around. Them varmints can stretch the law a tad further than we can!’
Suddenly Lane Clark lowered the cup from his lips.
‘That’s it. It has to be.’
‘What you talkin’ about?’
‘Iron Eyes!’ Clark muttered, placing his cup on the desk.
‘He’s dead! He got himself butchered up north by Apaches.’
The marshal rested the palms of his hands on the edge of the desk and stared at the pile of telegraph messages on his ink-blotter.
‘Maybe he is dead and maybe he ain’t!’
The deputy inhaled the coffee steam.
‘Them outlaws must sure think he is dead by the way they’re runnin’ riot.’
Clark raised a smile.
‘Round up the rest of the deputies, Col. We’re takin’ us a ride! I reckon we can track Iron Eyes down and get him to help us once he knows how much bounty is on them outlaws’ heads!’
‘Where we headed?’
‘To wherever Iron Eyes is! If he is still alive, we have to get him back here to put the fear of purgatory into them outlaws.’
‘What if he is really dead?’
‘Then we’re in for a mighty hot ride,’ Clark replied. ‘That is if he’s gone where I think he’s gone.’
Shoulder to shoulder, the lawmen left the office.
Chapter Two
The imposing stone edifice stood at the very center of the large town of Waco. Within its marble-lined walls, men with dubious pasts sat in council over the thousands of less grand buildings. They had the power and the wealth, but none of them had the grit it had taken to forge Texas out of the wilderness it had once been. It took men of a different breed to create a land where pride could flourish. Men with courage and faith in their own abilities had created Texas. The men within the City Hall were just those who came later with their cunning and ability to raise taxes. Mayor Sherman Stokes glanced around his wood-paneled office at the grim faces of his council officials. They had all listened intently to the words from United States Federal Marshal Lane Clark as he stood before them with his four deputies, Col Drake, Pete Hall, Tom Ripley and Bobby Smith. Clark was asking for money and that was the one thing these creatures hated to part with, unless there were electoral votes to be purchased.
Stokes leaned back against the high-back padded leather chair and tapped a pencil against his teeth. It was an annoying habit favored by those too scared to suck on cigars or pipes.
‘You actually want me to pay for this little adventure, Marshal Clark?’ he asked. ‘You wish me to use council funds for you to go off and search for a stinking bounty hunter?’
The marshal stepped forward and rested his knuckles on the ink-blotter. He inhaled as if trying to control his temper and then spoke again.
‘Listen to me, Sherman,’ he started. ‘I got me enough telegraph messages in my office to wallpaper a whorehouse. I’m telling you that if this trouble ain’t stemmed now, it’ll spread into Waco.
Once them outlaws mix with our own vermin, it means we’ll never again be able to walk down a street without risking being back-shot!’
The mayor continued to stare into the weathered features of the man he knew was not one to exaggerate, like his fellow politicians or himself. But Stokes was a man who knew that he had to protect his own reputation if he were to get re-elected in the fall. It was always a delicate balance juggling what had to be done against what would look good in the eyes of the voters of Waco.
‘You want us to pay for this?’ Stokes repeated.
‘I sure do. We’ll need pack-animals and provisions to cover the ground between here and Devil’s Canyon and back again.’ Clark sighed. ‘I intend taking enough grub and ammunition to tackle them outlaws. If n we locate Iron Eyes and he’s fit, I’m sure this job won’t last too long.’
‘Who is this Iron Eyes character yo
u keep talking about, Clark?’ Stokes leaned forward and looked at the shooting-rig that was strapped around the marshal’s waist. It was proof if anyone required it that this lawman was probably the best he or any of his fellow councilors had ever seen. ‘This seems like a wild-goose chase to me. By your own admission, the man is most likely dead. I simply do not understand why you do not sort this problem out yourself. You have four fine deputies here. Use them.’
Lane Clark straightened up and ran a finger across his drooping moustache.
‘How long do you think these boys will remain deputies once we ride into Diamond City?’
‘Are you trying to imply they are cowards?’ Stokes was playing politics. It was something that was not advised with a hardened lawman such as Clark.
The marshal looked at the faces of his men. They were not cowards but they were not suicidal either. He smiled and nodded at them before turning back to the mayor.
Faster than any of the assembled gathering could blink, Lane Clark reached across the desk and grabbed Sherman Stokes’s coat lapels. He hauled the mayor out of his chair and across the desk in one fluid movement.
Lane Clark looked into the terrified eyes.
‘Quit trying to win votes, Sherman,’ the marshal whispered. ‘I ain’t one to vote for anyone. Just think how you’ll look when them outlaws come riding into your precious town. How long do you think you’ll remain in office then? Henry Jardine and his followers would head straight here and what they’d do to you all wouldn’t be pretty. Is that what you want?’
Stokes fell back on to his chair when the marshal released his grip. A look of shock and horror filled his face as he loosened his collar and tried to reclaim his dignity. The words of warning sank in quickly.
‘I could have you arrested, Lane!’ he flustered.
Clark grinned.
‘I ain’t gonna lose no sleep over that, Sherman. I just want you to sign me a chit for our expenses so we can try and find Iron Eyes.’
‘Who is he? I don’t understand why you hold so much faith in this character.’
‘He’s the one critter that fills the hearts of outlaws and lawmen alike with terror!’ Clark explained. ‘I met the bastard once and he scared me. They say he ain’t like normal folks and it’s true. He’s a monster but he knows how to kill.’
Sherman Stokes raised both eyebrows at the marshal’s stark description.
‘You were actually scared of this bounty hunter, Lane?’
‘Yep, I was scared. I seen him drag two outlaws’ bodies into my office ten years back. Four shots in the head put an end to them outlaws’ misery and careers. Dead or alive only means dead to Iron Eyes. Once on a man’s trail, he’ll never quit until he has them dead.’
Stokes cleared his throat.
‘Ain’t he also dead? I heard that the Apache killed him.’
‘I wired and asked the two Texas Rangers who were the last to set eyes on him, Sherman. They said he was a real mess. Snake-bit and burned. But they also said he rode off into the desert towards Devil’s Canyon. I got me a feeling that he’s like a wounded animal and gone to ground until he’s mended.’
Stokes exhaled and stood.
‘What if he is dead? How will that help you against the outlaw gangs?’
Lane Clark watched as the mayor signed the sheet of paper that would at least allow them to get enough supplies to reach the remote Devil’s Canyon.
‘Even the ghost of Iron Eyes will put fear into the hearts of them outlaw gangs, Sherman. Maybe enough fear for me and my boys to get the better of them.’
Stokes handed the paper to the marshal.
‘I hope you’re right, Lane.’
Clark turned and started to usher his deputies out of the mayor’s office.
‘If I ain’t, you’ll probably never see any of us again, Sherman.’
The sound of the door being closed echoed around the large room. None of the men inside the mayor’s office said a word. They just listened to the sound of the five men’s spurs as they headed along the marble-lined corridor towards the sun-drenched street.
Chapter Three
Diamond City had been as quiet as the grave since the sound of the single shot from Henry Jardine’s gun had echoed around its wooden buildings earlier that day. Apart from growing numbers of flies seeking out the body of Sheriff Hardy, there had been no one courageous enough to venture out on to the boardwalks.
‘Reckon the telegraph man has woken up yet, Henry?’ Saul Bass asked as he drained the last drop of froth from his beer-glass. ‘You hit him kinda hard.’
Jardine toyed with the ashtray before him. He did not look at Bass. His attention was on the street as the shadows lengthened.
‘I figure he might be awake around now.’
‘Did he get his message out?’
‘Some of it. When he wakes up, he ain’t gonna do no more talking on them wires. Not after what me and Luther did to his equipment,’ Jardine muttered.
‘And what I done to his hands,’ Luther Cole added.
‘What ya do to his hands?’ a curious Doc Weatherspoon asked from the long, wet, bar-counter.
‘I chopped off his fingers, Doc!’ Cole boasted.
‘All of ’em?’ Rufus Clayton asked.
‘I sure did. Look!’ Luther Cole placed his whiskey-bottle on the bar, searched his deep coat-pockets, hauled out the blood-covered fingers and spread them out.
‘I count only nine,’ Weatherspoon said, sipping at his drink.
‘I reckon he must have only had nine fingers to start with.’ Cole shrugged.
‘Unless you lost one.’ Toke Darrow nodded.
If the trio of saloons had bartenders, they had disappeared long before the thirteen outlaws had stridden into them. Jardine had watched his fellow outlaws drink all afternoon without once touching a drop of liquor himself.
His attention was solely for the bank opposite. Yet, for the first time in his long career, he did not have any desire simply to rob it. He had a much grander plan hatching in his fertile imagination.
‘Do you reckon we’ll be robbing that bank any time soon, Henry?’ Luther Cole asked, pulling up a chair. He placed his whiskey-bottle on top of the green baize and sat down next to the thoughtful Jardine.
‘I had me a better idea than just robbing another bank, Luther,’ Henry Jardine replied.
‘What ya mean? We robbed the banks of every damn town along the ridge. That’s what we do. We rob banks.’ Cole rubbed his eyes and watched his long-time associate lift the bottle to his dry lips and take a long swallow.
‘Think about it. This town is perfect for us to use as a base, Luther.’ Jardine wiped his chin.
‘What ya mean?’
‘From Diamond City we can strike at Waco!’ Jardine handed the bottle back to Cole, then glanced at the rest of the outlaws propped up against the long bar. ‘We already have control of this town. The people here are hiding like scared jackrabbits. We own this entire town already and it took just one bullet.’
Cole nodded and swigged at the neck of his bottle.
‘I get it. We use this place as a kinda hideout.’
‘Yep,’ Jardine confirmed. ‘A real fancy hideout. It has everything. Grub and booze and probably a lotta females. Our saddlebags are already bursting with gold and paper money. Now we get a chance to sleep in real beds like human beings.’
Cole rested his elbows on the tabletop. His eyes were glazed as they looked at his friend’s determined features.
‘What about the men folk in this town?’
‘Simple. We disarm the critters and if they try anything, we just kill them.’
Cole laughed out loud, drawing the attention of the rest of their men.
‘Henry here has got a darn smart idea, boys!’ he bellowed.
One by one the outlaws gathered around the small card-table like the flies that had been drawn to the dead body on the telegraph-office boardwalk.
‘What’s this idea, Jardine?’ Toke Darrow asked. ‘I sure ho
pe it involves the money in that bank’s safe.’
‘Better than that, Toke.’ Jardine stood and walked to the swing-doors. He stopped and rested a hand on the top of them.
‘What’s better than robbin’ the bank?’ Darrow asked.
The taller, older outlaw looked back for a brief moment before returning his eyes on the dusty streets before him. He smiled and nodded to himself.
‘We just stole a whole town, Toke!’
There was a brief silence before the drunken outlaws realized what Jardine had said. Then one by one they began to laugh and cheer.
‘I bet Jesse James never stole a whole town, huh?’ Snake Billow grinned.
‘Damn right!’ Cole grunted as his fingers continued to search his pockets for the elusive tenth digit. ‘We got ourselves a place that would make anyone jealous.’
‘But stayin’ put in one place has gotta be kinda dangerous, ain’t it?’ Jade Darrow wondered aloud. ‘The law might decide to come visiting once they find out where we are.’
‘What law, Jade?’ Jardine piped up. ‘We’ve killed nearly every damn sheriff and lawman between here and Black Rock in the last month or so. Who’s left?’
Clay Moore struck a match and lit the end of the twisted cigarette in his mouth.
‘Henry’s right! There ain’t nobody else!’
‘Even ol’ Iron Eyes is dead!’ Darrow conceded. ‘And he was the only one that I ever lost shut-eye over. Them Apaches done a damn good job as I hear tell.’
Saul Bass spat at the sawdust at his feet.
‘I hope he’s rottin’ in hell!’
‘Burnin’ more like, Saul!’ Cole laughed. ‘If the Devil let him in, that is.’
‘Damn right!’ Bodine agreed. ‘Iron Eyes made even Lucifer look like a Sunday-School ma’am.’
Every eye within the saloon watched the infamous outlaw turn and face them. It was the first time that any of them had seen Jardine look so happy. Since their gangs had joined together, Henry Jardine had proved himself the superior planner out of the thirteen outlaws. If he thought that they ought to remain in Diamond City, then that was what they would do.
‘We own Diamond City, boys!’ he said triumphantly. ‘It’s ours! And there ain’t nobody gonna take it away from us!’
