by Rory Black
Carmichael had planned their route and ensured that on each night of their long overland journey he and his escort would take refuge in one of the many stagecoach way stations which were dotted across the vast desert and plains.
Captain Bob Sherwood led his troop and the hefty well-armoured carriage down through a dusty draw into the flat plains toward the Overland Stage Company outpost at Apache Wells. The sun was low. Sherwood knew that the six-horse team was again exhausted from pulling the massive vehicle.
Carmichael watched from inside the carriage with a satisfied smile upon his face. He could see the flaming torches on the high-walled way station, indicating that darkness would soon be with them again. Tomorrow they would reach the fertile range filled with a multitude of cattle. A jewel in the crown of the mainly arid territory.
He knew the risks that he faced when he eventually reached his destination. They were formidable. There were always scores of wealthy men who wanted nothing to do with relinquishing their hold on what they believed was theirs.
They would do anything to stop him.
This was why he travelled inside a bullet-proof carriage.
But even though the risks were immense, Carmichael knew the rewards made it all worthwhile.
Carmichael had accepted far too many bribes for this venture to fail. There was no way that he would have even considered paying back all the dirty money he had accumulated. He had to succeed. There was no other option.
Yet if he had known anything of Brewster Fontaine he might have not been quite so eager to reach the settlement of Hope. He might have realized that his military escort was barely half the strength of Fontaine’s hired army of guns.
As the carriage and forty cavalrymen entered the way station’s compound, Carmichael knew that he was less than twenty-four hours away from lush grassland.
The final leg of their perilous journey was almost upon them.
Only a hearty meal and a good night’s sleep lay between them and a fate which had yet to be devised in the ruthless minds of men who were quite as evil as himself.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
A million twinkling stars hung over the sprawling town casting their eerie light over everything below. Iron Eyes had slept since eating the stale, mould-covered bread the old female had given him. For three hours Bessie Cooper had sat at the foot of the bed and listened to the tortured ramblings which spewed from the lips of her patient. Iron Eyes had fought against the fevered nightmares which had haunted him since he succumbed to the long overdue sleep.
The small shack was dark. Its only illumination came from the dim light that flickered from the wick inside the glass bowl of the battered oil-lantern on the table. Yet there might have well been no light at all. One of the shack’s occupants was deep in sleep whilst the other had eyes which could barely tell night from day.
She wondered what the man who had been ravaged by fever for so many hours actually looked like. Everyone she met nowadays was merely a voice and a hazy outline of muted colour. Her ancient eyes could only see vague shapes which were masked by a milky film. Yet she had sensed something in his quiet, low voice that reminded her of another man. A man who had been her only true love and who had died more than twenty years earlier. A broken heart still ached inside her weary body.
Her life had been hard. Bessie had worked, as all pioneer wives did, in an unforgiving land. She had seen only one of her thirteen children live to beyond his tenth birthday. Teddy was all she had, and to her he was precious. Indians and illness had destroyed everything she had ever loved with the exception of her son.
Yet she did not complain.
Even crippled and getting blinder with every passing day, there was nothing powerful enough to make this female seek refuge in self-pity.
Bessie was stronger than that.
She had sat patting the delirious bounty hunter’s boot for hours since he had slipped into the deep sleep. A million memories flooded her mind. She had sat helplessly beside so many of her children until they had lost their individual battles with the Grim Reaper. Then it had been her husband’s turn to be struck down in his prime.
So many unmarked graves filled her memory.
Yet she remained defiantly calm because even with eyes which could no longer see, the faces of all her cherished family still lived inside her mind.
Suddenly Bessie’s attention was drawn from the helpless man on her son’s bed to the door and what lay beyond it. She heard the familiar footsteps approaching the shack.
Bessie Cooper inhaled and smiled as the door opened.
‘Teddy!’ she sighed.
‘You OK, Ma?’ Cooper asked as he leaned over and kissed her cheek. He stared at the sweat-soaked figure, then dragged the chair across the earthen floor and sat beside his mother. ‘I see ya met my new pal.’
‘He was hurt, Teddy,’ Bessie said. ‘He was burnin’ up with fever so I give him some mouldy bread. He’s bin sleepin’ ever since.’
Cooper looked up and down the long emaciated figure. His gaze rested when he spotted the torn pants leg and the inflamed wound that Iron Eyes had burned into submission with the red-hot poker. The bartender gritted his teeth and shook his head.
‘Ya reckon he’ll pull through, Ma?’
‘I don’t rightly know, son.’ She sighed, patting the boot once more. ‘I think he’s got a fifty-fifty chance. What’s he do for a livin’, boy?’
‘He’s a bounty hunter, Ma,’ Cooper whispered. ‘He took on Fontaine’s best men and killed two dozen of the critters.’
She gasped.
‘He did? But he seems so gentle. His voice is so peaceful. I think they must have picked on him! He don’t seem the kinda man that starts trouble.’
Cooper smiled.
‘That there man is as tough as they gets, Ma. His name’s Iron Eyes!’
‘I know his name, Teddy. He told me. I thought he was an Injun for a while.’
The bounty hunter inhaled deeply and rolled his head over. He was still muttering nonsense under his breath. ‘He is a strange one, though. There ain’t an ounce of meat on his bones. I can’t figure how he ain’t died of hunger.’
Cooper nodded.
‘Damn right, Ma.’
‘No cussin’, Teddy!’
‘Sorry,’ Cooper apologized. ‘I ought to make us a little grub. I figure we could all do with a full belly.’
Iron Eyes raised his right hand and pushed the long sweat-soaked strands of hair off his face. His eyes adjusted to the dim light and then fixed on the two other occupants of the shack.
‘What happened?’ he asked in a low drawl.
Bessie leaned forward and patted his arm. She could not conceal her joy.
‘Ya fever just broke, boy,’ she announced joyously. ‘Ya fever broke.’
Cooper walked from the stove to the bed. He looked down at the confused bounty hunter.
‘How’d ya feel, Iron Eyes?’
‘Better than I did, Ted.’
‘Teddy’s gonna fix us some vittles!’ Bessie said. ‘He can cook up a feast out of thin air. When you’ve had somethin’ to eat, you’ll feel a heck of a lot better.’
Iron Eyes propped himself up on one elbow and looked at Cooper.
‘They still lookin’ for me, Ted?’ he asked.
Cooper pushed more kindling into the stove.
‘They found themselves a bigger target, Iron Eyes! A government dude from back East. Some critter named Carmichael that’s bin sent to try and persuade the folks in Arizona to vote for statehood! That has to be a dude headed for Boot Hill and no mistake!’
‘Fontaine must be mighty afraid of losin’ his grip on this territory.’ Iron Eyes sighed.
‘More than afraid, Iron Eyes,’ Ted said. ‘He’s terrified of losin’ his fortune! Everythin’ he’s got is tied up in this territory! His sort ain’t worth a plugged nickel outside Arizona!’
‘Are ya sure that they’re gonna kill this Carmichael dude?’ The bounty hunter was curious.
‘
Yep! I heard them talkin’ in the Spinnin’ Wheel. Fontaine and his boys are gonna dress up as Injuns and attack Carmichael’s coach.’ Cooper repeated the information that he had overheard in the saloon. ‘It’s got a military escort, but they’re gonna ambush it anyways!’
‘As long as they stop huntin’ my hide for a while, I don’t care!’ Iron Eyes said. ‘I still ain’t got my bounty money though, and that makes it darn hard to just ride out of here!’
‘Ya ain’t still gonna try and get that money, is ya?’ Cooper gasped.
‘Yep!’ Iron Eyes nodded. ‘I earned it and a whole lot more if ya tally up the bounty on them dead gunslingers. I reckon every single one of them was wanted dead or alive.’
‘But they’ll kill ya!’
Iron Eyes shook his head.
‘So ya said that they’ve forgotten all about killin’ me, Ted Cooper!’
Cooper picked up a skillet and placed it on top of the stove. Then he turned.
‘Nope! They intend killin’ you after they’ve killed Carmichael!’
Iron Eyes sat up.
‘Reckon I’d better do somethin’ about that!’ he drawled. Cooper stared in disbelief at the bounty hunter.
‘Are ya loco?’
‘When ya got a bunch of gunslingers on ya trail, ya gotta do somethin’, Ted,’ Iron Eyes explained. ‘Ya gotta turn on them first! They started this war, but I’ll finish it!’
‘After ya vittles, boy!’ Bessie waved a finger. ‘Ya ain’t doin’ nothin’ until ya belly is full! Savvy?’
Iron Eyes nodded to the blind female and then touched her cheek softly.
‘Sure, ma’am! I savvy!’
CHAPTER TWELVE
The large livery stable was set well away from the town’s main street. Its aroma hung heavily on the warm night air. The tall wooden structure had seen better days, as had its hard-working owner, Will Hume. The brawny blacksmith still had plenty of muscles, but now his once impressive frame was dominated by a huge swollen belly which hid his wide black leather belt. Hume seldom closed the large doors for business. He could not afford to turn any work away, whatever time of the day or night it came.
Hume lived in a small room set to the right-hand side of the livery stable’s frontage. His life was little more than a constant wait. He was always waiting for someone to bring their mounts to him, to either look after for the night, or to replace horseshoes.
If he was lucky he might see a dozen silver dollars in a week.
It was nearly ten and the town’s back streets were quiet apart from the occasional sound of a tinny piano carried on the night breeze from the closest of the towns saloons. Few men ventured to this part of Hope unless they were collecting their mounts from the livery stable.
The street was lit by a single coal-tar lantern perched on a high pole fifty yards from the front of the large building. Its light did not reach the wide-open doors. To the right of the stable was a corral. This was also owned by the blacksmith.
Hume munched with what teeth he had left inside his mouth on a dry chunk of bread as he inspected the half-dozen horses tied up in their stalls.
The flickering light from two oil-lanterns hanging on chains suspended from the rafters gave the interior of the stable a strange haunting illumination. Black shadows seemed to dance to the tune created by the light of the flaming kerosene-soaked wicks.
To the more imaginative it might have seemed as if demons or the like were possessing the cavernous structure, but the blacksmith had stopped believing in ghosts long ago. He knew that such things were for the weak-minded. There was only the reality of a life which had grown harder and harder to survive.
The eyes of the horses in the stalls sparkled as Hume checked each in turn.
The blacksmith might have been long past his best days, but he was good at his job. No horse that he cared for ever lacked attention, food or water.
Even in his darkest moments the burly man never allowed his own despair to affect his work. Hume never mistreated any animals in his stables. He knew that however bad his life had become, their burden was far heavier than his own.
After checking the last of the horses, the well-built Hume nodded in satisfaction and made to return to his small living-quarters to finish his supper.
Suddenly he sensed that he was no longer alone inside the large building.
He paused and looked around.
For a moment he saw nothing. Then his eyes focused on the shape of a tall figure framed in the middle of the stable’s open doors.
The sight startled the blacksmith.
Hume took a backward step and tried to focus even harder on the unexpected visitor. He told himself that whatever this creature was, it had to be human. The trouble was, no human had ever put the fear of God into him the way this apparition did. Hume felt his heart pounding inside his broad chest. His throat felt as if a noose had been tightened around it.
The blacksmith steadied himself and swallowed hard. He rubbed his whiskered chin with the palms of his hands and forced himself to step forward once again. The light from the pair of lanterns caught the metal of a pair of Navy Colt gun grips which poked out from the man’s belt.
Iron Eyes remained totally still.
Only his long limp hair moved as the gentle breeze washed over his broad shoulders from along the empty street. Hume had not heard the tall skeletal figure approaching. Even with an injured leg, Iron Eyes’s honed hunting instincts had not deserted him. He was still able to move unseen and unheard when he had to.
‘Ya open for business?’ Iron Eyes asked.
‘I’m always open for business, stranger!’
‘Good!’
‘Who are ya?’ Hume asked nervously.
‘My name’s Iron Eyes!’
Hume gasped.
‘The bounty hunter?’
Iron Eyes nodded.
‘Yep!’
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Fear fuelled the imagination of Will Hume as he stared open-mouthed at the unholy image of Iron Eyes bathed in the blackest of the livery stable’s shadows. He knew that the infamous bounty hunter had a thousand ways of killing. Each and every one of them flashed through his mind. The blacksmith could feel his knees knocking as the tall figure limped toward him silently. The chilling realization that the most hunted man in Hope was less than a few yards away from him made Hume feel as if he were living his last moments on earth.
If death had a face, then surely this was it.
As Iron Eyes ventured into the light of one of the suspended lanterns Hume gave a gasp. He had never seen anyone who looked like the tall man before. A hundred or more battles were carved into the features of the bounty hunter. Scars twisted the flesh of Iron Eyes’ face until it no longer looked remotely human. The small bullet-coloured eyes peered rapidly all around the interior of the large stable as if seeking out enemies yet to be discovered.
The grips of the well-used guns poked out from the belt around the thin belly of the bounty hunter. The blacksmith knew that at any moment the bony hands might drag them from the belt and start dishing out their own brand of justice – 36-calibre justice.
Iron Eyes’ infamous legend had reached this remote town long before he had physically appeared.
Hume licked his dry lips and tried to speak. His throat was too tight to allow even a single word to pass between them. Again his eyes were drawn to the pair of matched Navy Colts pushed into Iron Eyes’ pants’ belt. Their grips jutted out defiantly at the blacksmith as he limped toward the horses.
‘I need me a horse!’ Iron Eyes said bluntly. ‘Nothin’ fancy. Just an animal that can gallop until it drops and ain’t frightened of gunplay!’
Hume turned slowly and attempted to compose himself.
‘Two of these nags belong to townsfolk. The others are mine. Take ya pick.’
Iron Eyes looked up and down the stalled mounts.
‘Which one is the best?’
‘The grey,’ Hume answered quickly. ‘He’s the most reliable
when it comes to bein’ sure-footed!’
Iron Eyes limped to the grey horse and stared at it coldly. He had never liked horses and yet found that they were the one thing he could not do without.
‘How much?’
‘F-forty dollars.’ Hume stammered nervously. He was too scared to ask more, even though he knew that the grey was probably worth double. ‘Is that OK?’
‘Fine!’ Iron Eyes muttered.
Hume felt a little less frightened. Then a thought suddenly occurred to him.
‘How did ya get here without me hearing ya, Iron Eyes?’ he asked innocently.
‘A friend gave me a ride up to ya corral. I limped the rest of the way.’
‘But I never heard them spurs of yours make even the smallest of noises!’ Hume pointed at the large spurs attached to the mule-eared boots. ‘I don’t get it!’
‘They’re kinda rusted up with blood!’ the bounty hunter responded quietly. ‘Horse blood!’
‘Oh!’ Hume gulped.
Iron Eyes glanced at the blacksmith again. This time his eyes were narrowed and seemed to have fire in their blazing gaze.
‘Ya ain’t seen my saddle and bags, have ya? My horse was shot earlier today outside the saloon.’
Without a second’s hesitation Hume nodded his head slowly and pointed to the corner. The saddle and bridle were there with the saddle-bags on top of a bale of hay.
‘There! I had to use a wagon to drag ya horse here from the Spinning Wheel after that gunfight. I buried it out back. I put all ya gear over there. I never opened the bags.’
Iron Eyes said nothing.
He limped to the pile of his only possessions, plucked up the bags off the saddle and opened both satchels. He studied the contents carefully. His eyes then returned to the nervous blacksmith.
‘What’s ya name?’
‘Will Hume,’ the blacksmith replied.
‘Ya an honest man, Will Hume. Damn honest.’ Iron Eyes said.
