The Ghost of Iron Eyes (An Iron Eyes Western Book 8)

by Rory Black

  Iron Eyes’ legs hung almost to the ground from the sides of the small pony. He sat with the precious water-bag on his lap as if it were the most valuable thing he possessed. Indeed it was. It had saved his bacon back in Devil’s Canyon and he would not willingly give it up.

  ‘Don’t none of you make any sudden moves,’ Iron Eyes warned the four lawmen. ‘I’m kinda testy.’

  The disheveled pony kept on responding to the bounty hunter’s spurs as he forced it to keep cantering through the stinging sand-storm towards the men with four gleaming stars pinned on their vests.

  ‘He ain’t alive!’ Col Drake announced. ‘Nobody could look that bad and still be alive, could they? He’s a ghost or something.’

  Iron Eyes dragged at the mane of his exhausted pony and stopped it right before the four law officers. His eyes darted from one rider to the other at a speed that only someone with instincts as sharp as his spurs could equal.

  ‘Reckon I ain’t too pretty, son,’ the bounty hunter said in a low deliberate tone. ‘But then I never was. I’m still capable of killing every one of you before you can blink, though.’

  ‘Would you kill us?’ Ripley asked.

  ‘Nope. I don’t waste bullets on folks with no bounty,’ Iron Eyes admitted. ‘There ain’t no damn profit in killing just for the fun of it.’

  Marshal Clark eased himself in his saddle.

  ‘Howdy, Iron Eyes. Long time since we run into each other.’

  Iron Eyes tilted his head and stared hard at the marshal.

  ‘Lane Clark. I thought you was dead. You’re old enough to be dead and no mistake.’

  ‘Reckon it’s mutual, son,’ Clark replied. ‘Everybody thinks that you’re dead as well. The West has been running wild with vermin since you last claimed the bounty on an outlaw’s head.’

  Iron Eyes looked interested.

  ‘So them outlaws think I’m dead and they’re having themselves some fun, huh?’

  ‘Too much fun, Iron Eyes.’ Clark sighed. ‘Lots of gangs have joined together into small armies. The law can’t cope with all the killing.’

  ‘Is that why you came looking for me?’ the bounty hunter asked. ‘Is that why you came out here in the middle of no place looking for old Iron Eyes, Clark?’

  ‘Yep!’

  The tall man eased himself off the back of the painted pony and then looked around the arid landscape. His eyes seemed never to stop moving as he held firmly on to the mane of his nervous mount.

  ‘Maybe everybody is right about the both of us, Clark. Maybe we are dead and this is Hell.’

  Clark dismounted and stood beside the thin figure.

  ‘It’s sure hot enough. You still game to hunt bounty?’

  ‘I’m game,’ Iron Eyes drawled. ‘I’ll kill anything if the price is big enough. Is it big enough?’

  Lane Clark unbuckled one of his saddlebag satchels and pulled out a fistful of wanted posters. He handed them to Iron Eyes and watched as the hint of a smile etched across the mutilated features.

  ‘I reckon that adds up to about ten thousand bucks,’ Iron Eyes calculated aloud.

  ‘Exactly ten thousand dollars, son.’ Clark nodded as he watched the bounty hunter push the posters down into one of his deep coat-pockets.

  The deputies could not hide their fear of the horrific-looking creature standing beside the marshal. No one looked directly at the bounty hunter.

  ‘Your boys ain’t got very strong stomachs, Clark,’ Iron Eyes noted. ‘Ain’t one of the varmints that can look at me.’

  ‘You don’t look too pretty, Iron Eyes,’ the marshal said honestly.

  Iron Eyes nodded silently. He knew that if he looked only half as bad as he felt, he must be a sight that no one would willingly cast their eyes upon.

  ‘Ya got a cigar, Clark?’ Iron Eyes asked. ‘I could sure use a smoke. Ain’t had one in a coon’s age.’

  ‘Sure have.’ Clark nodded.

  ‘What about whiskey?’ Iron Eyes added. ‘I’d imagine that you boys must have at least one bottle between ya.’

  The marshal smiled.

  ‘Yep. I got me a full bottle of rotgut in my saddlebag, if n you’re interested?’

  ‘I’d drink iodine right about now, old man,’ said Iron Eyes, squaring up to the mounted deputies. He looked at the pack-horses behind the deputies and the bloodstained saddle tied on top of one. ‘Did ya lose a boy on the way here?’

  ‘Yep.’ Clark nodded. ‘We lost our youngest deputy back in Porter’s Bluff.’

  ‘I’ll have his saddle,’ Iron Eyes grunted, looking at Pete Hall. ‘You wanna get it off that pack-animal for me?’

  Pete Hall gulped.

  ‘Sure enough, Iron Eyes.’ The deputy eased himself off his horse. He then walked to the animal and untied the rawhide tethers holding the saddle on top of the pack horse.

  Iron Eyes looked straight at the marshal.

  ‘You got any spare clothes in them packs, Clark? There ain’t much left of mine.’

  The marshal nodded again.

  ‘Reckon we can find a few things that’ll cover your modesty, but ain’t you just a tad hungry? You look like ya ain’t eaten in months.’

  ‘I had me a whole rattler yesterday. I’m still a tad full but if you’re gonna rustle up some grub, I’ll help you eat it.’ The bounty hunter turned his attention away from the marshal and looked up at the gun on Tom Ripley’s holster.

  ‘Is that a .36 on your hip, mister?’

  Ripley swallowed hard. ‘Sure is.’

  ‘Then you must be carrying ammunition for it. I need as much as you can spare,’ Iron Eyes said bluntly. ‘I’m almost out of shells for my Navy Colts. If I’m to kill a whole bunch of outlaws, I’ll need ammunition.’

  Lane Clark moved to his saddlebags and searched for the bottle and a cigar. He handed both to the thin figure. He knew that he had made the right decision to try and track down this elusive creature. For if he could still think of whiskey and cigars in his condition, he could still kill.

  ‘So you’re gonna ride with us, Iron Eyes?’ Lane Clark asked. He struck a match and lit the end of the cigar gripped in the taller man’s teeth.

  Iron Eyes puffed and then looked into the face before him.

  ‘Sure. You hunting bounty and without me, you’ll just end up dead, Clark.’

  ‘You up to it?’ Clark looked hard at the gaunt figure. ‘You look like you need to see a doctor before doing anything. Are you sure that you’re up to hunting outlaws?’

  Iron Eyes inhaled the smoke deeply and then pulled the cork from the neck of the whiskey bottle. He took a swig.

  ‘Now I am,’ Iron Eyes answered as the fiery liquor burned its way down into his guts.

  Lane Clark noticed the ragged wound in Iron Eyes’ shoulder where he had been hit by the Apache warrior’s arrow. His face went pale in disbelief.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Arrow hit me, Clark.’ Iron Eyes poured a little of the whiskey over the raw wound and gritted his teeth as he felt the liquor burn into his flesh. ‘Now it’s all fixed.’

  Pete Hall secured the saddle cinch straps under the belly of the nervous pony and then walked back to his own mount. He had never encountered anyone like the infamous bounty hunter before.

  ‘Now you’re saddled up, Iron Eyes,’ the deputy said.

  ‘Much obliged.’ Iron Eyes nodded.

  ‘Get a fire lit and rustle up some grub, boys,’ Clark ordered excitedly as at last he began to feel as if there was a chance that he and his remaining men might just live through this dangerous mission. ‘After we eat, we can head on to Diamond City knowing we’ve got the best darn gunfighter on our side. Those outlaws are in for a real big surprise.’

  ‘We got us a slight problem though,’ said Iron Eyes, lifting the bottle back toward his mouth.

  ‘What kinda problem?’ Clark pressed.

  Iron Eyes took another long swallow of the contents of the whiskey bottle, then exhaled slowly. He returned the cork to the neck of the bot
tle and then used it to point up towards the mesas behind them.

  The four lawmen turned and looked. They all seemed to gasp at the same moment.

  ‘Oh my God!’ Drake said loudly. ‘Injun smoke!’

  ‘Smoke-signals!’ Clark muttered.

  ‘Apache war smoke!’ Iron Eyes corrected.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The troop of dust-caked Texas Rangers had barely covered a mile over the sandy terrain when they started to realize the chilling, unavoidable truth of their situation. With the eerie sound of Apache howls drifting on the hot air, they knew that they would never reach the infamous Devil’s Canyon in one piece. The anxious eyes of every one of the horsemen were drawn to the dust as they continued to follow Colonel Cotter deeper and deeper into the unknown terrain. The unshod hoofs of the unseen Apache braves sounded like war drums to the ears of the nervous troop of Rangers. It was coming from all around them simultaneously.

  Like the portents of doom, the sound of the painted horsemen echoed across the vast desert.

  Colonel Caufield Cotter raised an arm, pulled back on his reins and stopped his powerful white charger. The rest of the Rangers emulated their leader. Cotter swung the horse around and stared off at the distant horizon.

  Dust rose heavenward from the unseen riders.

  There was nowhere to go.

  The haunting sound of Apache voices rang out over the seasoned horseman as he steadied his skittish mount. Even the magnificent charger knew that they had ridden down the throat of a monster. It had yet to close its jaws and consume them, but time was running out fast.

  Damn fast.

  Lieutenant Newton kneed his horse to walk around the charger as he too surveyed the scene. Sweat traced its way down his face from the tight hatband of his Stetson. He could not believe the speed at which they had found themselves in trouble.

  ‘Look at that darn dust, Colonel!’ Newton gasped in disbelief. ‘There must be hundreds of them by the looks of it. They got us trapped here.’

  Cotter steadied his mount.

  ‘That’s how it looks, Theo. But I’ve learned over the years that looks can be a tad deceptive.’

  ‘What ya mean, sir?’ Newton asked.

  ‘I mean that if them Apaches had as big a bunch of warriors as they’d like us to believe, they’d have come in shooting by now. Or would they?’

  The young officer tried to understand.

  ‘But the dust, sir. Look at it. It goes all the way around us. Must be a mile or so of riders.’

  Caulfield Cotter nodded.

  ‘The dust does go all the way around us, son, but a couple of dozen ponies could kick up a lot of dust in the hands of expert riders. And Apaches are damn good horsemen.’

  Newton allowed his mount to close the distance between himself and the silver-haired colonel.

  ‘You figure that there ain’t as many Apaches out there as we think?’

  ‘Yep. I think that they’re trying to frighten us off this desert.’

  Newton rubbed the sweat off his face with the gloved palm of his right hand.

  ‘They’ve succeeded,’ he admitted. ‘We ought to get out of here as fast as we can. Either head back to Apache Wells or on to Waco.’

  Cotter looked along his line of riders to the vulnerable chuck wagon. He knew that he had to do everything he could to protect these men. One error of judgment would mean the loss of many lives. He knew that the Texas Rangers could ill afford to lose any more of their number. Whatever decision he was about to make, it had to be the correct one.

  ‘The safest route out of this mess is to turn the men around and retrace our tracks, Theo.’

  Newton loosened his collar.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  Colonel Cotter’s hooded eyes glanced at the sweating man nearest him.

  ‘No, I’m not sure. But it seems to me that we have to turn tail and run. There ain’t no shame in retreating from trouble when the lives of so many men are involved. We didn’t come here to fight Apaches.’

  ‘But the dust is just as thick back there.’ Newton pointed back to where they had left their tracks in the almost virginal sand. ‘For all we know, there are more Apaches behind us than in front of us.’

  ‘I know.’ Cotter adjusted the reins in his hands and stood in his stirrups. He pressed the white charger to pace back to the rest of their troop. ‘But we know the lie of the land back there. We have no idea what awaits us in Devil’s Canyon. I think there’s just a chance that these Apaches might let us turn tail.’

  Newton eased his horse around.

  ‘But what’s gotten into these Apaches? For years they ain’t caused us much trouble and now it seems that they’re on the warpath again. Why?’

  ‘A couple of months back I got some messages that certain white men have been stirring up the Apaches. Giving them whiskey and rifles to drive out settlers and the like.’

  ‘But why would white folks do that?’

  Cotter gritted his teeth.

  ‘Profit, son. With the settlers gone, the land is cheap. There’s always men who’ll do anything to get their grubby hands on cheap land.’

  Then the two officers caught fleeting glimpses of Apache riders ahead of them as they broke through the dust and taunted the stationary troop before galloping back into the drifting dust-clouds.

  ‘Tell the men we’re turning around and getting out of here as fast as these horses will allow.’ Cotter instructed. ‘Whoever it was in Devil’s Canyon is probably beyond anyone’s help now!’

  ‘I’ll inform the men.’ Newton saluted, swung his horse around and spurred.

  Cotter touched the brim of his hat and watched as his young companion drove his mount back along the line of Rangers. Then he followed.

  With every step the powerful charger took, the colonel wondered whether he was right. He had fought so many battles with the original inhabitants of the Lone Star state in the past and he knew that they never did what you expected them to do.

  Every one had been a bloody battle that had eventually driven the proud Indians away from the more fertile parts of Texas and into the desolate wastelands in which only Apaches seemed capable of existing.

  Yet even then they were not defeated.

  Would this be yet another pointless battle, Cotter silently asked himself.

  Or would the howling unseen Apaches allow them to make a dignified exit?

  Caufield Cotter had been at the heart of so many fights in his time that he had lost all stomach for reliving the horrors of another.

  His mind drifted back over the decades to the Texas Rangers who, unlike himself, had never lived to see their hair turn white or hear their bones creak with age.

  He was a lone survivor of a bygone age. Had his time to join his fallen comrades come at last?

  The Texas Rangers turned their mounts and the heavily laden chuck wagon. The colonel rode along the line of worried horsemen without once looking at any of their faces.

  He had seen so many dead Texas Rangers in his long lifetime that he knew it was inevitable that soon he would be doing so again.

  Without allowing his mount to pause for even the briefest of moments, Cotter waved his right arm as he rode past the wagon at the head of the column.

  ‘Come on, men. Ride like the wind. Don’t slow up or stop for anything.’

  The troop headed towards the clouds of dust which marked the point from where they had started after taking a short meal-break earlier. The closer they got, the louder the sound of Apache war cries became.

  But the Texas Rangers rode on defiantly. They followed the white charger and its master with blind faith. For the brave riders knew that if there was any chance of surviving this, the colonel would find it.

  Cotter was balanced in his stirrups as he and his troop got closer to the wall of drifting dust. As the strong legs of his charger ate up the ground beneath him, the colonel suddenly focused on a sight ahead of them that chilled him.

  A line of more than a hundred Apaches sat
on their ponies facing the riders with a mixture of firearms, bows and lances gripped in their hands. An array of shields and war bonnets glinted in the bright afternoon sun as the Apaches continued to chant.

  Cotter gritted his teeth, hauled his pistol from its holster and cocked its hammer. He knew that they had no option but to keep going.

  He did not slow his pace and led his troop of men towards the painted warriors.

  ‘Get them guns ready, boys!’ he called out at the Texas Rangers behind him. ‘Fire at will.’

  Whether the riders following him heard any of his words, he would never know. For they had also seen and heard the phalanx of painted Indians that faced them.

  Caufield Cotter looked to either side and felt his heart increase its pounding as he saw even more Apaches to both his left and right. In all his days, he had never seen so many of the fearless Indians in one place.

  A dozen locomotives could not have made the ground shake so violently as his horsemen and the thundering wagon forged on at the line of warriors.

  Then Cotter saw them lowering their rifles and bows until they were aimed straight at his Texas Rangers and himself.

  He sat down on his saddle and spurred hard.

  ‘Fire!’ he screamed out at the top of his voice. Every one of his men heard the command and obeyed.

  The air suddenly exploded with the deafening sound of shooting. Arrows tore through the gunsmoke as if the Apaches were not willing to rely only on the bullets in their automatic rifles in claiming the lives of their enemies.

  The handguns of the Rangers were hotter than the walls of Hell itself. An arrow hit the wagon driver in his chest. He fell off his seat and disappeared between the traces as his team of four horses churned up the ground.

  With no driver to guide the team, and loose reins flapping around their legs, the two lead horses got tangled up and fell hard. The other horses crashed into them and the wagon pitched up and rolled over on to its side.

  The Apaches to both sides of the ensuing Texas Rangers seemed to explode into action as those facing Cotter and his riders remained defiantly stationary. Using their weapons as whips the painted braves forced their ponies across the dusty ground toward the troop.