The Iron Eyes Collection

by Rory Black

  The rough trail, which at times fringed the very edge of the steep mountains, had been forged through the ocean of trees by necessity rather than grand design by the lumberjacks who needed a road they could transport their wagons along to the outside world.

  One false move could spell disaster and send them toppling into the green abyss but Sally was unafraid as she guided both team and coach to the very brink of the mountain trail. The vehicle’s metal wheel rims skimmed the loose gravel as they taunted potential death.

  The crude road had never been meant for anything apart from the long logging wagons to use, yet the young female who sat high on the stagecoach’s driver’s seat was unafraid and continued to drive her sturdy team of horses along its treacherous trail at a perilous pace.

  Her beautiful eyes squinted down into the valley to where she could just make out the logging town through the shimmering heat haze. As she slapped the hefty reins across the backs of her charging team, she wondered if her beloved Iron Eyes might be there, hunting out his chosen prey. The stagecoach skidded on its wheel rims around another acute bend in the trail as it quickly descended the slope.

  Clouds of dust flew up into the blue sky from the hoofs of the muscular horses as she wrestled with the long leathers and brake pole beneath her bare foot.

  Sally would not allow the exhausted horses to rest until she had navigated her way down the mountainside. She gave out a bellowing cry of encouragement as the coach rocked on its axles.

  Few grown men had the ability to control a stagecoach with such ease and even fewer had the courage to attempt to cross the dangerous trail that had been carved out of the mountainside.

  The diminutive young Sally had only one thing on her mind and that was to find her man. Everything else was unimportant to her as she continued to drive her lathered up team through the blazing sunlight toward the sprawling settlement in the valley. Unlike the majority of females in the West, Sally was totally oblivious to how a young lady was expected to behave or act.

  Her feistiness was only equalled by her innocence.

  As her gloved hands cracked the bullwhip over the heads of her six horses, she was totally unaware that the arduous task of controlling her team had virtually turned her trail gear into torn rags. Every button on her sweat-soaked shirt had parted company with its worn fabric, revealing far more than she realized as she energetically drove the stagecoach down toward the town.

  Curiously, Sally looked at the town she was heading into and eased back on her reins and started to push down on the brake pole. The horses started to slow as the stagecoach reached level ground. She shook her dusty head of long golden curls and studied the town carefully.

  One thing was obvious. This town was unlike any other she had ever entered. Sally was confused at the sight of mountains of trimmed lumber stacked on both sides of the solitary street she was guiding her exhausted horses along.

  Large muscular lumberjacks emerged from every corner of the town at the unexpected sound of the stagecoach. They stared in disbelief at the sight of a new female entering their remote settlement. Every eye watched Sally as she expertly steered the long vehicle down the dusty street.

  None of them had imagined that they would wake up to the beautiful sight of a near naked female driving a battle-scarred stagecoach. She unintentionally lured them toward her without even realizing it.

  Sally slowed the stagecoach as it travelled along the main street. Within minutes of her arrival, a hundred well-built men watched as she guided the team toward a large livery stable. A half-dozen large logging wagons surrounded the stable.

  It was obvious to Sally that this was a lumber town. A place which relied for its very survival upon the trees its menfolk could cut, trim and send out of the valley. The bare patches of forest along the route she had travelled to reach this settlement had told her that much.

  As the battered stage ground to a halt outside the stable, Sally observed the muscular men watching her every feminine movement with grateful eyes.

  She secured the brake pole and looped the long leathers around its length as her eyes darted around the gathering.

  A lot of womenfolk might have been nervous when faced with so many lustful men but not Squirrel Sally. Nothing had ever succeeded in frightening the confident young female.

  Sally remained on the driver’s seat and removed her gloves as she pulled her primed pipe from her torn pants pocket and gripped its stem between her teeth.

  As she watched them through her mane of golden curls, the men started to move toward her. It was like being surrounded by ravenous timber wolves. Sally scratched a match across the brake pole and lit her pipe. As smoke billowed from its bowl and her mouth, she reached down and pulled her trusty Winchester up from inside the driver’s box.

  Sally cranked its mechanism. A metal casing flew over her bare shoulder from its magazine as she lowered its gleaming barrel and aimed down at the men who had been encroaching on her high vantage place.

  The sound of the rifle being readied stopped every one of the men in their tracks. Their startled expressions amused the petite female as she puffed feverishly on her pipe.

  Faster than spit, she fired and cocked her trusty carbine three times. The bullets kicked up dust a few feet before their boot leather and showered sand over them.

  ‘That’s as close as any of you hairy critters are gonna get. Savvy?’ she yelled. ‘Any of you frisky bastards try to get any closer and I’ll split your skulls with hot lead.’

  She stood and rested one foot on the rim of the box as she faced the curious men. None of the large lumberjacks had ever seen anything quite so small or dangerous before.

  Sally tossed her hair off her face and then plucked her pipe from her lips. Her eyes levelled at them.

  ‘Don’t think I don’t know what you horn-toads got on your minds,’ she shouted at them as they encircled the stagecoach curiously. ‘I seen that frisky look before but I’m betrothed and don’t hanker for nothing but information. All I wanna know is where my beloved is. Any of you lust-buckets seen a useless critter on a mighty fine palomino stallion?’

  None of the men replied.

  They just studied the defiant female with the smoking Winchester rifle in her hands and lusted at the desirable sight before them.

  Sally dropped her pipe on the driver’s seat and cranked the mechanism again.

  ‘I asked you a question,’ she riled.

  One of the lumberjacks took a step closer to the stagecoach and tilted his head back like a rooster vainly trying to impress a hen.

  ‘How old are you, sweet cheeks?’ he shouted across the distance between them. ‘You sure look old enough to make a man obliged.’

  Sally squinted as she raised the rifle to her shoulder and aimed at him.

  ‘I’m old enough, you ugly bastard,’ she hissed through gritted teeth. ‘Old enough to part you from your hair.’

  Laughter erupted among the crowd.

  Another of the excited lumberjacks scratched his head.

  ‘What’s the name of this man you’re looking for, missy?’ he called out. ‘If’n he’s real, that is.’

  Without any warning Sally fired. The town shook to the sound of the rifle as a fiery rod of lethal venom spewed from its barrel and cut through the dry air. The lumberjack yelped like a whipped dog.

  He grabbed his bleeding ear as he realized that a chunk of it had just been separated from his head. The crowd roared even louder at the sight of the determined young female with the smoking rifle in her hands.

  ‘Nobody calls Squirrel Sally a liar,’ she spat.

  The wounded lumberjack stared in disbelief at her. ‘You done shot half my ear off, you little vixen.’

  Sally then cocked the Winchester again and lowered her aim until she had the weapon trained on the bulge in his filthy pants.

  ‘You just keep talking and bleeding and I’ll put my next bullet in your brains,’ she warned and then grinned. ‘I’m told most men think with what the sweet Lo
rd put in their long-johns.’

  The bleeding lumberjack turned on his heels and marched away from the stagecoach. He disappeared from view, leaving only a crimson trail of bloody droplets in his wake.

  ‘Has any of you hairy hombres seen my man?’ Sally repeated angrily before adding, ‘I’m getting a tad impatient with you boys not answering me.’

  One of the larger of the men held his hands up as if in surrender and bravely moved toward Squirrel Sally. He stopped advancing just below the driver’s box and looked up at the tiny firecracker.

  ‘What’s the name of your man, little lady?’ he asked in a low, quiet tone. ‘Maybe he has bin here.’

  Sally sat back down on the long seat and picked up a whiskey bottle as she rested the rifle on her hip. She pulled the cork with her teeth and took a mouthful of the strong liquor. Lowering the bottle, she stared down at the one lumberjack that did not seem to underestimate her.

  ‘Iron Eyes,’ she told him. ‘His name’s Iron Eyes the bounty hunter. Has any of you hairy bastards heard of him?’

  The smiles faded from the faces of the burly men. Each one of them knew of the bounty hunter by reputation and felt fortunate that they had never encountered him. Sally watched them slowly disperse until only the brave lumberjack remained standing beside the stable wall.

  ‘Have you seen him?’ Sally asked.

  The lumberjack shook his head and sighed heavily. ‘I’m right sorry, darling. As far as I know he ain’t bin here.’

  Sally stared at the bearded face. ‘You have heard of him though, ain’t you?’

  He nodded.

  ‘Sure I have. I reckon there ain’t many folks that ain’t heard of him, little lady,’ he said. ‘They call him the living ghost, I hear.’

  ‘He ain’t here?’ Sally sounded disappointed.

  ‘We ain’t had no burials lately so I reckon he ain’t bin here,’ the man replied as he slowly lowered his hands. ‘You seem to be looking real hard for your man.’

  For a few moments she just sat cradling the bottle and her rifle. Then she sighed heavily and looked at the bearded man standing below her.

  She nodded.

  ‘Yep, I am looking real hard,’ she muttered.

  The large man toyed with his beard.

  ‘The sheriff might have himself a notion of where he is, ma’am,’ the lumberjack said, pointing down the street. ‘He keeps a close eye on folks in these parts. He might know where your Iron Eyes is. We got ourselves a brand new telegraph office.’

  Sally replaced the cork into the bottle neck and then climbed down to the boardwalk and looked into the livery stable. Her keen eyes spotted the blacksmith hiding within its confines.

  ‘Hey you. Tend to my team,’ she demanded before tossing a few coins into the blacksmith’s hands. ‘And leave my bottle of rye alone.’

  The lumberjack nervously backed away from Sally as she rested the rifle on her shoulder but kept her finger curled around its trigger.

  ‘How come the sheriff didn’t come looking to see who was doing all the shooting?’ Sally wondered.

  ‘I said he was a good sheriff,’ the lumberjack shrugged. ‘I didn’t say he was suicidal.’

  Sally laughed and walked close to the massive lumberjack as they started along the street. She leaned back and looked up into his bearded face.

  ‘You gotta name?’ she asked.

  ‘Buck,’ he nervously answered.

  She nodded. ‘They call me Squirrel Sally.’

  ‘And Iron Eyes is your man?’ he wondered.

  ‘He sure is.’ Sally smiled as she rested the barrel of the Winchester on her slim shoulder. ‘The trouble is he keeps on running away, Buck. Why do you reckon a varmint would do that?’

  ‘Maybe he’s scared of you.’ Buck grinned.

  A wicked smile crossed her beautiful dust-caked face. She liked the suggestion. They continued toward the sheriff’s small wooden office standing beside the telegraph office.

  ‘Reckon I might have to scare your sheriff,’ she said. ‘All I want you to do is to stand behind me real quiet like.’

  He nodded. ‘It’ll be a pleasure, little lady.’

  They walked down the boardwalk side by side in the direction of the sheriff’s office. Buck Smith towered over the tiny female like one of the giant trees he chopped down for a living. And just like the trees, Buck was fully aware that the fearless Squirrel Sally could cut him down to size any time she chose.

  Sheriff Bob Kane looked up from his desk blotter at the tiny female who barged into his office with the lumberjack on her heels.

  The lawman was startled.

  ‘What in tarnation is going on here?’ Kane stared at Sally in bewilderment. He blinked hard as if attempting to clear his eyes of the sight of the beautiful female covered in trail dust and very little else apart from ill-fitting torn pants and a shirt open to her belly button.

  Normally he would have arrested any female so scantily clad in his town but the rifle on her shoulder changed his mind. Smoke still curled out of its long barrel.

  Kane stared at her as she marched up to his desk and swung the Winchester down until it was aimed at his face. He leaned back in his chair and sniffed the scent of gunpowder trailing from its barrel.

  ‘Buck here tells me that you might know where my betrothed is, Sheriff,’ she snarled. ‘Do you? Do you know where my Iron Eyes is?’

  ‘Iron Eyes?’ Kane repeated the infamous name. ‘Are you looking for Iron Eyes?’

  Sally pushed the barrel into the lawman’s throat. ‘Do you know where he is? I’m looking for him. You’d best tell me or this town is gonna have to hire themselves a new star packer.’

  ‘Calm down, little lady,’ Kane croaked.

  ‘I’ll calm down after you answer my question,’ Sally snorted.

  Kane slowly raised his hand and brushed the metal barrel of the Winchester aside and then mopped his brow with the tails of his bandanna.

  ‘I’ll tell you, young ‘un,’ he stammered. ‘I was wired a few hours back. Iron Eyes is hot on the trail of the Brooks gang and headed to Ten Strike.’

  Sally leapt up onto the desk and kept the rifle trained on the lawman. Her eyes were burning into the nervous sheriff.

  ‘Who wired you, Sheriff?’ she snarled.

  ‘Iron Eyes sent the wire himself.’ Kane picked up the scrap of paper and nervously handed it to the rifle-toting female. ‘Read it for yourself.’

  Sally’s eyes narrowed angrily. ‘What’s it say?’

  Realizing that she probably could not read too well, Kane glanced at the short message and then stared into her eyes.

  ‘It says he’s after the Brooks boys and wants to know if I was authorized to pay the bounty on their dead carcasses, missy,’ Kane mumbled.

  Her expression suddenly softened. She lowered the rifle and then jumped back down on to the floorboards. Her head turned, sending her golden locks cascading over her slender shoulders.

  ‘Where’s Ten Strike, Buck?’ she asked the lumberjack.

  ‘There’s a trail cut out through the forest, Sally,’ he replied, pointing to the west of town. ‘It leads straight there but it’s a mighty dangerous trail.’

  ‘Getting here weren’t no picnic,’ she stated.

  ‘The trail to Ten Strike is even more dangerous, Sally,’ Buck warned the female. ‘Especially if’n you’re driving a stagecoach.’

  Sally exhaled angrily and stomped her foot on the boards.

  ‘Damn it all. Anyone would think that varmint is trying to keep away from me,’ she snapped. ‘Don’t he know that I love him?’

  They remained silent. Neither the sheriff nor the lumberjack was willing to contradict the upset female when she had her rifle cocked.

  Sally ran her fingers over her barely concealed breasts as they searched for and found a few coins in her shirt pocket. She picked them up and shook a fist at the crowd.

  ‘I’m gonna buy a fresh team of horse flesh and head for Ten Strike,’ she growled.

 
Both men watched as Squirrel Sally marched out of the office and headed back toward the livery stable. Bob Kane looked at the towering lumberjack and then nervously moved from his chair to his open door. The sheriff peered around the doorframe as she stalked down the street. His eyes focused on her youthful rear. He then mopped the sweat from his upper lip and shook his head.

  ‘Who the hell was that little twister, Buck?’ he asked as he rested his back against the wall. ‘She plumb scared the life out of me.’

  Buck ran his mighty hand over his beard and sighed.

  ‘She said her name was Squirrel Sally, Bob,’ he wistfully replied. ‘What a gal.’

  ‘No wonder Iron Eyes keeps his distance from that firecracker, Buck,’ Kane said. ‘That little gal is plumb frightening.’

  ‘Sure got herself a mighty fine rump, though, Bob.’ Buck sighed heavily.

  The lawman raised his eyebrows. ‘She also got a darn big split in her pants, Buck. I kinda noticed when she hopped up on my desk.’

  The lumberjack chuckled. ‘It’s a good thing she didn’t notice that you noticed, Sheriff.’

  Bob Kane walked to his desk, opened its top drawer and pulled out a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. He placed them on his ink blotter and pulled the cork from the bottle neck.

  He was about to fill the glasses with the amber nectar when he paused thoughtfully.

  ‘I sure wish I’d been wearing my spectacles, Buck.’ He sighed.

  CHAPTER ONE

  With the coming of nightfall, the blistering heat of day disappeared across the vast untamed territory and was replaced by a deathly chill. The contrast in temperature had claimed countless lives over the years as unwary travellers fell foul of its merciless severity. Within hours of sundown, frost covered the countless trees and glistened in the moonlight that managed to break through the forest canopy.

  An eerie blue haze spread like a cancer across the vast terrain in all directions as a few unholy horsemen guided their mounts through the night fog in search of their next unsuspecting victims.

  Ten Strike was well hidden by towering trees which encircled its scattering of brick and wooden structures. It was a place where only those who knew of its existence ever dared to try and locate it. It was also a town which had escaped the sordid reality that plagued the rest of the West.