The Iron Eyes Collection

by Rory Black

  The scars of every battle he had ever waged remained carved into his mutilated face. The long limp mane of black hair bounced on his wide, bony shoulders like the wings of a bat seeking its next prey. Everything about the horseman sent out ominous warnings to all who dared look in his direction.

  This was no normal being.

  He had been created in a mould long since destroyed. A mistake of nature which would never be repeated. For even the Devil could not recreate such a living nightmare.

  The infamous Iron Eyes silently guided his handsome mount into the strange unknown town. It was a place he had never visited before. His small bullet coloured eyes studied the ground and the hoof tracks which had brought him to Ten Strike. His hunting prowess was still as honed as ever, making him the most lethal of all those who still practised his unwholesome profession. As the sand grew more and more churned up, Iron Eyes raised his eyes and concentrated on the structures before him.

  He knew that the outlaws he sought had ridden this way to inflict their own kind of poison upon fresh victims. Soon he would stop them the only way he knew how.

  Iron Eyes would capture and then kill them.

  There was no other way. Society had branded them and placed a bounty on their heads. The law wanted them dead and that was good enough for the gaunt horseman.

  His flared nostrils caught a familiar scent on the dry air which drifted along through the streets of Ten Strike. It was the scent of freshly killed people.

  The sickening smell of death lingered in Ten Strike as the sound of his approaching hoof beats echoed off the town’s weathered buildings.

  Few men would have detected the fresh stench of decay but Iron Eyes was no ordinary man. He was and had always been a hunter who had once used his unmatched skill to track and kill animals for their meat and furs. When he realized that his ability could bring richer rewards if he hunted wanted outlaws instead, Iron Eyes had become legendary.

  Masked by the heat haze, Iron Eyes continued to steer the stallion further into the heart of the still stunned township like a silent corpse.

  Iron Eyes tilted his head and listened to the people he had yet to spy through the whirlpools of molten air. He did not slow or alter his mount’s pace. He simply sat astride the ornate Mexican saddle and allowed the palomino to continue into the middle of Ten Strike.

  He pushed the tails of his trail coat back to reveal his deadly pair of Navy Colts. The blue steel gun grips poked out from behind his belt buckle like the tusks of a wild boar. They were ready for action.

  Iron Eyes was also ready.

  Fear swept through the hearts of every living soul in Ten Strike like a wildfire. They listened fearfully to the horse’s hoofs pounding.

  The Devil’s heartbeats could not have chilled them more.

  Every man, woman and child looked toward the nerve shattering noise which grew louder and louder. Those who had started to remove the bodies from the bank and sheriff’s office suddenly stopped. They dropped their blood-soaked cargo and backed away from the noise.

  A million thoughts raced through their minds. Were the killers returning to kill even more of them? Maybe a new killer was riding in Ten Strike to mop up what was left of their collective money.

  So many questions and so few answers.

  Iron Eyes emerged through the haze. The blinding sunlight danced off his mount’s silver livery as he raised a bony hand to shield his eyes from the merciless rays.

  Then he caught a fleeting glimpse of the town’s inhabitants.

  His red raw eyes surveyed the fearful townsfolk from behind the limp strands of long black hair which hung before his face.

  As Iron Eyes saw them, they also saw him. A collective gasp of horror swept through the townsfolk as one by one they glimpsed his brutalized features.

  Few creatures had ever survived such horrific injuries but the bounty hunter did not die easy. Every battle he had ever waged was carved into his scarred face. His mutilated flesh appeared to have been stretched over his skull by someone who had never seen what a human head actually looked like.

  None of them had ever witnessed anything that remotely looked like Iron Eyes before. After attempting to clean up the sickening mess they had found in both the bank as well as the sheriff’s office, their attention was gripped by the unexpected appearance of Iron Eyes.

  They panicked at the sight of the unholy horseman.

  Undaunted, Iron Eyes did not move a muscle as every one of the crowd scattered from the street. He drove his spurs back into the flesh of the magnificent stallion and watched them flee in a bid to find sanctuary.

  The infamous horseman raised a busted eyebrow. He reached back to one of the satchels of his saddlebags and pulled out his last whiskey bottle and dragged its cork free with his teeth. He spat the cork at the sand and raised the bottle neck to his scarred lips.

  Iron Eyes swallowed the last inch of fiery liquor and then tossed the empty vessel over his wide, bony shoulder.

  The watchful onlookers trembled and vainly waited for the ominous stranger to unleash his lethal lead and start killing, but Iron Eyes did not do anything except guide his high-shouldered stallion into the centre of Ten Strike.

  They had never seen anything like the bloodstained scarecrow before. A mixture of terror and curiosity pumped through their veins at the sight of the deathly Iron Eyes.

  Every one of them wanted to run away from the monstrous rider but they could not move a muscle. However horrific his appearance, they could do nothing except watch as Iron Eyes rode silently toward them.

  They remained secreted in their hiding places and were unable to take their eyes off him as the palomino stallion advanced.

  Iron Eyes had the same seductive allure of a public hanging. Onlookers could not look away from his emaciated carcass in the same way that they would watch a man with a noose around his neck and wait for him to drop through the gallows trap door.

  It had only been two hours since the Brooks gang had galloped out of the small settlement and now it seemed that one of them was returning to add more notches to his gun grips.

  But none of the Brooks gang had resembled anything like Iron Eyes.

  His hidden audience watched the ghostlike rider as his squinting eyes darted from one terrified face to another. Then he caught a whiff of the sickening smell again.

  Iron Eyes knew that he was close to the bodies that were slowly decomposing in the afternoon heat. He spurred the powerful stallion and increased its speed as his eyes searched the buildings to both sides of the street.

  His long hair bounced on his wide shoulders like the wings from his skeletal frame limply.

  The beleaguered horseman was in total contrast to his magnificent mount. The stallion was adorned in silver trimmings and strode as only a thoroughbred could. Iron Eyes resembled a dead body strapped onto its glorious back. Yet however mismatched horse and rider were, they seemed in perfect harmony as they neared the blood-stained bank.

  Iron Eyes abruptly tugged back on his reins and stopped the tall palomino stallion beside the small red brick structure. He turned his head and stared at the wide open door of the bank knowingly. The notorious bounty hunter looped his leg over the creamy mane of his mount and slid to the ground.

  He rested his wrists on the grips of his Navy Colts as they jutted out from behind his belt buckle. Iron Eyes knew the hidden townsfolk were watching his every move. He placed a thin cigar between his razor sharp teeth as his icy stare darted to every one of his concealed observers.

  He pulled a match from his shirt pocket, scratched its red tip with his thumbnail and lit the cigar. Smoke filled his lungs as he dropped his head and stared at the fragrant bank before him.

  Iron Eyes led the tall-shouldered horse to a hitching rail and secured his long leathers. He could smell the gun smoke still harbouring within the bank as he slowly approached the open doorway.

  His eyes narrowed as he looked inside the blood-splattered building. The afternoon heat had already started
to cause the bodies to decay. He rubbed his nose in a vain bid to rid his nostrils of the stench as he turned away from the recent slayings.

  The legendary bounty hunter straightened up to his full height and looked around the street.

  He sensed that at least a hundred or more eyes were watching his every move. Iron Eyes stepped back to the horse, pulled its reins free of the pole and started across the sand toward the closest structure.

  His eyes glanced at the façade nailed across the porch overhang as he walked toward the weathered structure. The Hogleg Saloon had the kind of scent he preferred to the one he had just inhaled.

  Stale liquor and a variety of bodily fluids mixed in a heap of sawdust were always better than the stench of death. Even to the hardened bounty hunter.

  Like a living corpse, Iron Eyes continued slowly across the sun-baked street toward the saloon. He did not pause until he reached a trough where he allowed his magnificent horse to drink as he tied the animal’s reins to the saloon upright.

  Once again, Iron Eyes looked all around him. He saw heads ducking for cover and then he stepped up onto the boardwalk and pushed the saloon swing doors inward.

  Iron Eyes entered the Hogleg like a bad nightmare. He pulled the cigar from his lips and allowed the smoke to drift through his teeth.

  It was the first time that he had entered a saloon in the middle of day only to find it deserted. His eyes focused on a line of whiskey bottles on a shelf in front of a rectangular mirror behind the long bar counter.

  Iron Eyes pushed the cigar between his teeth and nodded to himself.

  ‘That’s what I’m looking for,’ he growled.

  His painfully thin legs took him across the sawdust covered floor to the bar counter where he paused and studied the interior of the long room more carefully. Apart from colourful tin plate advertisements upon its walls, the Hogleg resembled a hundred other saloons he had visited over the years.

  There was one difference, though. One which seemed curious to the gruesome figure. The Hogleg was far neater than the rest of the saloons he had frequented.

  Iron Eyes wondered why.

  It was a question which he would soon learn the answer to.

  He stared over the counter into the freshly polished mirror and watched the reflection. He could see the street clearly and the nervous people that had trailed him to the saloon. A wry grin etched his horrific features as he stared at the reflections of men, women and children watching him.

  They were totally oblivious to the fact that his cruel eyes were watching them like an eagle on a warm thermal studies its prey.

  Iron Eyes lifted his left boot and rested it on the brass rail which ran the length of the bar counter. He plucked the spent cigar from his mouth and dropped it into a spittoon. It hissed before sending up a puff of smoke from the middle of the brass vessel.

  Iron Eyes lifted his thin frame up off the floorboards and reached across the counter to the shelf. His bony fingers grabbed the neck of a whiskey bottle and pulled it to him. His eyes continued to watch his naïve observers as his teeth pulled the cork from its neck.

  He took a long swig.

  The fiery liquor burned a trail down his dry throat. It felt good. Mighty good. Iron Eyes lowered the bottle and then swiftly swung around on his heels to face the many eyes that were watching him.

  They were like jack rabbits. Frozen to the spot by his impenetrable stare.

  He leaned back against the counter, raised the bottle and called at the numerous onlookers.

  ‘Any of you critters need a drink?’ he called. ‘I’m buying.’

  His words seemed to hit a few of the more thirsty folks like well-aimed bullets. The unyielding sun made it easy to lure them into the saloon. Slowly the room was filling with more and more of the townsfolk.

  Thirst and the offer of free drinks swiftly outweighed any fears they might have had about the intentions of the tall gaunt stranger.

  Iron Eyes lowered his head so that his long black hair fell over his face. The bounty hunter turned back to face the wall mirror again as the saloon gradually filled with the curious crowd.

  A man in a white apron made his way around the bar counter and started placing glasses on top of its damp surface.

  Iron Eyes could spot a bartender at a hundred paces. He reached into his trail coat pocket and searched amid the dozens of loose bullets until he located a coin. He pulled out a golden eagle and tossed it into the man’s hands.

  ‘Drinks for everybody, barkeep,’ he drawled as he put the neck of the bottle to his lips again and took two more swallows.

  The bartender picked up a bottle of whiskey and pulled its cork. He then expertly filled the line of glasses with the amber liquor.

  ‘You got a name, stranger?’ the bartender asked as he poured whiskey at a speed which the bounty hunter admired. ‘We ain’t seen you in these parts before.’

  ‘I ain’t bin in these parts before,’ Iron Eyes said.

  ‘But what do they call you?’ the bartender repeated.

  Iron Eyes lifted his head and shook the limp hair off his dehumanized face. A mutual gasp filled the saloon as they saw the terrible scars his face bore.

  ‘They call me Iron Eyes,’ he answered.

  The bartender had the best view of the bounty hunter’s maimed features. He swallowed hard and then continued to fill and refill the glasses of the rest of his customers.

  ‘I’ve heard tales about you,’ the bartender said as he emptied the last drops of the whiskey bottle into a glass. ‘I thought you was just a tall story.’

  ‘I’m tall OK, barkeep,’ Iron Eyes said dryly as he pulled another long thin cigar from his coat pocket and pushed it into the corner of his mouth. ‘But I ain’t no made up story.’

  ‘I can see that,’ the bartender said as he plucked another whiskey bottle off the shelf behind him and removed its cork before continuing his serving duties.

  A genial old man standing next to the bounty hunter produced a match and ignited it with his thumbnail. He offered it to Iron Eyes.

  ‘Allow me, Iron Eyes,’ he said politely.

  Iron Eyes leaned forward, sucked the flame into the long black weed and nodded.

  ‘Much obliged,’ he said as smoke filtered through his teeth. His eyes darted around the saloon at the faces of the terrified people inside the saloon.

  ‘My name’s Sam Parker,’ the old timer said before blowing out the match’s flame and dropping the spent sliver of wood into a spittoon. ‘Sorry we seemed a trifle nervous when you rode in, son.’

  ‘Most of you still look a tad troubled, Sam,’ Iron Eyes said as he pulled the cigar from his scarred lips. ‘I usually get folks scared but not as bad as you all were.’

  ‘It wasn’t you we was scared of,’ Sam explained. ‘We thought you might be one of the gang that killed the sheriff and bankers two hours back.’

  Iron Eyes levelled his eyes at the old timer.

  ‘They killed the sheriff as well?’ he asked.

  Everyone within the saloon nodded at the same time.

  ‘They sure did,’ Sam continued. ‘They spent the night in the hotel, then the bastards killed the sheriff and then slaughtered old man Holden and his boy in the bank.’

  Iron Eyes took a swig from his bottle. As the whiskey travelled down into his innards, the bounty hunter thought about the men he was chasing. They seemed to have a lot more vigour than he had imagined.

  ‘Three outlaws?’ he checked.

  ‘Yep, three outlaws,’ someone behind his wide shoulders confirmed. ‘Meanest galoots to ever ride into Ten Strike, mister. This is a peaceful town. We ain’t never had trouble like this before.’

  Iron Eyes frowned and then noticed that not one of the men in the Hogleg was armed. It seemed strange to the bounty hunter.

  ‘Ain’t none of you got a gun?’ he questioned.

  ‘We ain’t ever needed any guns, Iron Eyes,’ the bartender said as he continued to fill whiskey glasses. ‘Until today, that is.’
r />   The bounty hunter pulled the cigar from his mouth and tapped its ash onto the floor.

  ‘I’m hunting for three outlaws led by a varmint named Ben Brooks,’ he explained. ‘I’ve trailed them for a hundred miles or more. Their hoof tracks led right to this town. Reckon I nearly caught up with them.’

  ‘They’re vicious, Iron Eyes,’ Parker said wearily. ‘Really vicious.’

  A smile etched a trail across the bounty hunter’s scarred face as he pushed the cigar between his teeth. ‘They ain’t the only ones, Sam.’

  ‘If you head on out by the south road you can catch them, Iron Eyes.’ The bartender pointed. ‘Them outlaws ain’t got more than two hours’ lead on you.’

  ‘You could catch them before sundown,’ another voice said.

  Iron Eyes shook his head and shrugged.

  ‘I’m tuckered out. I need some shut eye before I go squaring up to them varmints. My horse is tired as well. We ain’t stopped since we started out after the Brooks gang.’

  Parker looked up at the coarsened face. ‘You telling us that you’ve ridden for a hundred miles without resting up?’

  Iron Eyes puffed on the black cigar and nodded. ‘Yep, I don’t like sleeping out under the stars if I can avoid it. I do my sleeping in hotel beds.’

  ‘How come?’

  ‘I don’t hanker for wild critters sinking their fangs in me,’ he admitted. ‘Nope, I do my sleeping in hotel rooms on real beds.’

  The old timer took the bounty hunter’s sleeve.

  ‘Them outlaws took every penny from the bank, Iron Eyes,’ he said seriously. ‘Ten Strike is a small town and we can’t afford to lose that much money. We need you to get our savings back, son.’

  Iron Eyes looked down through a cloud of cigar smoke.

  ‘Are you trying to hire me, Sam?’ he asked.

  The old man looked around the faces of his neighbours and then returned his eyes to the tall man. He gave a nod of his head.

  ‘Yep, I’m trying to hire you, son,’ he said nervously. ‘We need that money back or Ten Strike will be just another ghost town. It’s our life savings.’