by Rory Black
‘I’m sure, sir. Somebody was shooting a sidearm off in the distance. It weren’t no rifle, it was a six-shooter.’
‘Where do you figure the shots came from exactly?’ Newton pressed, staring off towards the distant mesas.
Johnny pointed again.
‘Devil’s Canyon, sir!’
‘How far is that from here, Johnny?’
‘Five miles as the crow flies, sir. Say, have you noticed that smoke over yonder?’
‘The colonel says it’s nothing to worry about, Johnny,’ Newton answered in a hushed voice. ‘It’s too far away to give us any trouble.’
Johnny accepted the words of his superior but then noticed the other plumes of Apache smoke signals on other mesas. He shrugged.
‘Reckon the colonel knows best,’ he said.
Newton patted the youngster on the arm and continued along the line of men. He nodded at the faces of men who looked even more tired than he himself felt. With every step he looked up from beneath the wide brim of his Stetson at the tops of the mesas that fringed the prairie and noted how many more plumes of smoke had appeared in the sixty minutes since the troop had been stopped.
Could this have anything to do with the shots Johnny thought he had heard, Newton pondered. Or was it just the fertile imagination of a youngster?
He could now see seven sets of smoke signals. He was nervous and unable to conceal it.
His courage had never been tested like this before. Newton had fought many battles but never once had he felt as if he were being watched by so many enemy eyes. He rubbed the sweat from his upper lips and tried to hide his concern. The men, apart from Johnny, seemed aware of nothing except their food and aching bones. He listened to their light-hearted banter and wanted to scream at them to look up from their tin plates at the horizon.
Yet he knew that to do so would be to spoil what might just turn out to be the last meal any of them would ever eat. What if the Apaches had already started to kill others who had violated what they considered to be their land?
His mind raced.
Newton came to Caufield Cotter sitting on the ground beside his unsaddled white mount. He wondered how the distinguished man could appear so calm.
‘This ain’t good, Colonel,’ Newton whispered as he sat down on the sand next to Cotter. ‘Five more sets of smoke signals have started up since I first noticed them and little Johnny reckons he heard shots coming from Devil’s Canyon.’
Cotter continued to chew on his bread and stare out across the almost flat ocean of sand.
‘I agree with you, Theo. This is a bad situation, getting worse by the minute. I heard those shots too.’
‘What are we going to do?’ Newton leaned his head closer to the expressionless Cotter. ‘I think we’ll be up to our necks in Indians before the day is through if we ain’t careful.’
‘Remain calm, son,’ the colonel said forcefully. ‘I need you to be strong like myself. The men will sense your fear if you wear it on your sleeve. I do not care how frightened you are, you must show these men nothing but strength. For they will be brave if they think you are brave. This is why we are Texas Rangers. We are cut from the same cloth that made folks like Travis and Bowie defend the Alamo. They might have been damn scared when they saw all those Mexicans outside the Alamo mission, but they sure did not show it to the men they commanded. Right?’
‘Are you scared, sir?’ Newton asked, rubbing the palms of his hands together.
Caulfield Cotter sipped at his coffee.
‘Only a man who’s afraid of death understands fear. I’ve never feared it myself because I was raised to believe that there is a better place to go after this life ends. I do however realize that most people are afraid of dying because they have loved ones. I have never had that in my life. I have always been alone. I actually look forward to dying in some ways. I imagine that one’s bones do not creak in heaven.’
Newton stared off at the distant smoke.
‘By the looks of that smoke, we’re right dab in the middle of a lot of Apaches.’
Cotter finished his coffee and rose to his feet. He handed the tin cup to Newton and inhaled deeply. His hooded eyes continued to dart from one mesa to the next.
‘I heard tell that there could be a thousand or more Apaches out here somewhere. Tribes that we have not even heard of yet as well as those we already know.’
Theo Newton swallowed hard.
‘Can you read Apache smoke, sir?’
Cotter nodded.
‘Indeed.’
‘What they saying to each other?’
The wrinkled eyes of the superior officer turned and focused on his youthful friend. He smiled and rested a hand on his broad right shoulder.
‘They’re not happy, son. In fact they’re rather angry that we are crossing their land. There is some other message in the smoke though. Something that I’m not sure of.’
‘What is it?’
‘What on earth does Iron Eyes mean, Theo?’ Cotter stroked his lower lip. ‘I’ve read that several times. Iron Eyes!’
Newton looked confused.
‘Beats me, sir. I’ve never heard of anything called Iron Eyes. Maybe it means something or someone.’
‘Those shots are troubling me, Theo,’ Cotter admitted with a deep frown on his weathered face. ‘Indians as a rule do not bother with handguns. They require too much attention in order to keep them in prime working condition. Indians prefer rifles. The shots that came from the direction of Devil’s Canyon were gunshots. They were not rifle-shots.’
‘Are you saying that white men are over there someplace?’
Cotter nodded.
‘Either white men or a white man. Someone is right in the middle of a whole lot of Apaches, Theo. That troubles me greatly.’
‘What’ll we do, sir?’ Newton asked.
Cotter looked hard into his eyes.
‘We go and investigate, Theo. If somebody is in trouble, we’ll help him.’
‘What about the Apaches? This might be a trap. Them Indians might be just luring us into a trap.’
‘We’re paid to take risks, son.’
‘But
Colonel Caufield Cotter looked back at his men before returning his attention to the tall officer.
‘Get the men ready to ride for Devil’s Canyon, son. That’s an order.’
Newton saluted and obeyed.
Chapter Twelve
What remained of Diamond City’s men folk was a broken group who had still not fully accepted the fact that nearly a tenth of their fellow citizens had already been slain by the thirteen outlaws who had unexpectedly ridden into their midst. What remained were the very young, the very old and those in-between who posed little or no threat to anyone. For these men had no knowledge of killing, unlike the outlaws who had taken over their town. These people were just ordinary hard-working souls who did not deserve the plague in human form that had infected their remote settlement. As they tentatively moved around the blood-splattered streets, trying to go about their daily tasks, they never once took their eyes from the wide-open door of the sun-bleached hotel.
‘Look at ’em, boys,’ Jardine muttered, glancing briefly out into the bright street. ‘I never seen so many terrified folks before. The trouble is, have we killed too many of their kin to be able ever to turn our backs on the survivors?’
‘It weren’t us that done all the killin’, Henry,’ Skeet Bodine corrected.
‘Yeah, I know.’ Henry Jardine knew that things had to change within the tightly grouped gang of outlaws whom he had led to Diamond City. For although he had guided them from one profitable bank- and stage-robbery to another, he knew that the three Darrow brothers had a different agenda from any of the rest of the outlaws. They simply could not resist killing and Jardine knew that it was only a matter of time before they turned their weaponry on him and the rest of the outlaws.
Jardine himself was no stranger to killing, but he had always killed for a purpose, the main one being that he si
mply wanted to cover his tracks and eliminate any evidence of his crimes. That was why he had killed the sheriff and allowed the telegraph worker to be maimed to stop him sending any more messages for help to the outside world.
Jardine was well aware that even he had fallen into the trap of self-delusion that once the notorious bounty hunter Iron Eyes had disappeared three-quarters of a year earlier, the odds of their never being hunted down and brought to account had swung in his fellow outlaws’ favor.
But the trail behind the gang was littered with death: death that had no rhyme nor reason. Not even to Jardine. The Darrows had simply allowed the pleasure of killing to overwhelm them. Now they were even dangerous to their fellow outlaws as well as those whom they saw as their enemies.
As the Darrows continued to take their pleasures with the dozen or more females they had dragged up to their rooms above the saloon, Jardine had gathered the rest of his men together in the hotel opposite.
Each and every one of them knew why Jardine had called them together so abruptly. The time had come for the Darrow brothers and the rest of the gang to go their separate ways, but they all knew that men like Toke, Fern and Jade were not the kind to vex. There was no reasoning with their breed. The Darrows had relied on their expertise with their arsenal of weaponry far too long ever to consider a simpler, less bloody alternative.
Skeet Bodine toyed with his guns as he stared out through the large window in the hotel foyer. He was there to watch out for any sign of Toke, Fern or Jade Darrow emerging from the saloon and to warn his fellow outlaws.
Jardine rested against the large desk and stared around the faces of his band of seasoned killers and robbers. Most could be trusted to do as they were told, yet even a few of these outlaws had been infected by the sheer brutality of the Darrows.
‘I want you all to think about our situation here, boys,’ Jardine started. ‘We have to get rid of Toke and his brothers.’
A nervous murmur went around the other outlaws. They all knew what Jardine meant and yet none seemed willing to talk about the problem.
Eventually Pop Lomax stepped forward and rested his knuckles on his gun-grips.
‘Henry’s right. We gotta kill them varmints before they get us all strung up.’
Another muffled noise went around the room.
‘We have to try and get rid of them one way or another,’ Cole added. ‘But how do we do it without them critters turning their guns on us?’
Snake Billow shrugged and glanced through the open doorway.
‘We could give them a share of the money we’ve got stashed in the bank. Maybe they’d just take it and head on out of this damn town.’
Clay Moore laughed.
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Me neither, Clay.’ Jardine sighed heavily. ‘I figure them boys have tasted so much blood over the last couple of months that they’ll just draw their guns and start shootin’, even if we just mention them leaving Diamond City.’
Doc Weatherspoon walked to the window and looked up at the open windows above the saloon veranda. The sound of screaming females had not eased up for more than an hour. It was starting to get the veteran outlaw down.
‘There was a day when I’d have taken on all three of those boys in a good old fashioned shoot-out. But now I’m doubtful if any of us could get the better of them. We could bushwhack ’em, I guess. But that takes a lot of planning when your chosen targets are scum like the Darrows. They know every damn trick in the book and have used every one of them over the years. How can you trick that kinda critter?’
‘Ain’t possible.’ Jonah Clayton shook his head.
‘We could just get our scatterguns and wait for them to come out of the saloon, boys,’ Bodine suggested. ‘They’ll be a tad tuckered after servicing all them females. We could just give ’em both barrels.’
Luther Cole ran the palm of his hand over his bald head.
‘Skeet’s got a point. That might just work. Half a ton of buckshot might solve our problems.’
Jardine sucked on his cigar thoughtfully.
‘I don’t think so. I reckon it’d be a fair bet that they’d kill most of us before we had time to pull back the hammers.’
Cole exhaled loudly as frustration gnawed at his guts.
‘Then how are we gonna get the better of them?’
Jardine smiled wryly.
‘I’ve got me an idea, Luther. What if we let the law do it for us?’
‘How do ya figure we could arrange that, Henry?’ Cole asked with more than a little curiosity in his deep voice.
‘We send a wire to the marshal in Waco,’ Jardine explained.
‘Ain’t you forgot that I chopped the telegraph worker’s fingers off?’ Cole patted his coat pocket where he still kept the dismembered digits. ‘How can we send any messages anyplace?’
Henry Jardine looked smugly at Cole.
‘I know how to handle a telegraph key, Luther. I spent me a very profitable summer working for Eastern Union once. You can make a lotta money if you can handle a key.’
‘What ya talkin’ about?’
‘We are thinkin’ of heading down into Waco and trying our hand at robbing one of their juiciest banks, right?’ Jardine looked through the smoke that trailed up from his cigar. ‘Then that’s what we do. But we have to send a few boys down there to get an idea of the lie of the land first. What if we send Toke and his brothers?’
‘And?’ Lomax scratched his beard.
‘And we send a wire to the law down in Waco telling them they got uninvited guests coming their way.’ Jardine tapped the ash from his cigar. ‘They’ll get rid of the Darrows for us.’
Red Clayton rubbed the side of his nose with the barrel of his gun. Then he looked at Jardine.
‘Do you figure that they’re dumb enough to fall for that?’
Henry Jardine pushed himself away from the desk and dropped his cigar on the floor. He crushed it beneath his boot and then moved forward.
‘We’ll soon find out. Here they come.’
The outlaws inside the hotel foyer turned their gaze upon the three Darrow brothers as they came triumphantly out of the saloon together. They had left the females still crying up in their rooms.
Toke Darrow drew one of his guns and fired at a group of men down the end of the street. One of the men fell as the bullet tore through his shoulder. Toke roared with laughter as he led his grinning siblings into the hotel. All of the outlaws seemed to divert their eyes from the brothers, except Jardine.
He alone felt no fear as he walked to the smug outlaws.
‘Me and the rest of the gang have been talkin’ about striking at Waco, Toke,’ Jardine said.
‘About time, Henry,’ Toke responded, sliding his gun back into its holster.
‘But we’ve bin trying to figure which of us boys should go down there and get the lie of the land. I was thinking that maybe Doc and Skeet,’ Jardine lied.
‘What about me and my brothers?’ Toke rested against the desk and rubbed the sweat from his features. ‘I figure we’ll be better at judging the place than any of these old-timers.’
Jardine nodded.
‘Yeah, I reckon you’re right, Toke.’
Toke Darrow boomed with laughter. Soon the entire foyer of the hotel resounded with men laughing. Jardine walked around his fellow outlaws, knowing that they all had exactly the same thought as he had himself.
‘We ride at dawn, boys,’ Darrow told his brothers. ‘Waco ain’t gonna know what hit it after we arrive.’
The rest of the outlaws started laughing. Yet their laughter came from a different place.
Chapter Thirteen
It took a lot to spook tough Texas lawmen, but the fleeting glimpse of the ghostlike rider heading towards them managed to do just that. The four horsemen dragged their reins back and steadied their skittish mounts. They focused through the sand-storm at the unholy vision that continued to approach. If ever there had been a more unnerving sight, the lawmen had never set eyes
upon it. The almost skeletal rider astride the painted Indian pony looked as if he were more dead than alive, and yet his cold unblinking bullet-colored eyes were fixed on the quartet of lawmen.
Their mounts and pack-horses shied and whinnied and forced their masters to wrestle them in order to control them. Only Marshal Lane Clark remained calm as he used his strong arms to hold his stallion steady.
‘Easy, boy!’ Clark commanded the powerful animal beneath him. ‘Ain’t nothing to be scared of. Leastways, I don’t think there is.’
‘What in tarnation is that?’ Col Drake gasped. Even after wiping the dust from his sore eyes, he still could not understand what he was looking at. ‘Is that an Indian?’
‘Apache!’ Pete Hall said as he saw the rider’s long hair flap in the sand-storm. ‘It’s an Apache!’
‘That ain’t no Apache, boys,’ Lane Clark shouted. He jabbed his spurs into his stallion’s sides and pressed the horse to edge ahead of his deputies’ mounts. ‘Keep them guns in their holsters or you’ll regret it.’
‘Then if it ain’t an Apache, what is it?’ Tom Ripley asked nervously. ‘Sure looks like one to me.’
The veteran lawman studied the gruesome sight of the rider who continued to ride towards them through the swirling sand. He knew every inch of the horseman that kept on coming at him and his frightened men. Yet even Clark was shocked by the appearance of the bounty hunter. There were more scars now and skin that appeared to have melted on half of the gaunt features. Clark swallowed hard and looked back at his deputies.
‘That, my half-witted friends, is Iron Eyes!’ he replied. ‘The man we’ve bin looking for.’
The trio of deputies moved their horses forward with their pack-animals until they were beside their marshal. Lane Clark held his reins in check and stared at the still-approaching bounty hunter.
‘Don’t none of you move your hands too fast. He’s deadly and he’s hurt. Iron Eyes could kill us all before we could clear our holsters,’ Clark warned.
‘Damn! He’s even uglier than you said he was,’ Ripley gasped in horror. ‘I never seen such injuries on any living critter.’
