by Rory Black
Brooks swallowed hard as his mind raced. ‘Who are you?’
Suddenly the voice of the bounty hunter travelled across the void between them.
‘They call me Iron Eyes!’
The infamous name chilled the outlaw to the bone. He, like most of the wanted men in the West, knew of the name and feared it. To be hunted by Iron Eyes was as good as having a noose around your neck. Outlaws stood more chance with the Grim Reaper on their trail than Iron Eyes.
Sweat trailed down Brooks’s face as his hooded eyes looked at the railroad tracks and wondered when the train would arrive. He knew that he could not hide from the deadly bounty hunter all night.
‘What you after me for, Iron Eyes?’ Brooks shouted out.
‘For the bounty on your head,’ Iron Eyes retorted.
Brooks turned and looked along the wall to where he suspected the voice was coming from. He placed the money bags at his boots and lifted the rifle and held it up against his shoulder.
‘How’d it be with you if I let you have some of this loot, Iron Eyes?’ Brooks shouted out as he waited for a glimpse of the bounty hunter. ‘I got more money here than I’m worth on any of them wanted posters.’
There was a long silence. Brooks moved away from the wall and clutched the money bags tightly as he crouched behind a buckboard.
‘Reckon you’re tempted, Iron Eyes,’ Brooks called out again. ‘I bet you’re thinking about it, huh?’
Again there was no reply. The outlaw cocked the hand guard of his rifle again and strained to see his adversary in the shadows. There was no sign of the gaunt bounty hunter.
‘Why don’t you answer?’ Brooks called out through the frosty mist in frustration as his index finger stroked the rifle trigger of his primed weapon.
Suddenly, without warning, Iron Eyes appeared on the roof above the outlaw. Brooks swung around and saw the ominous figure upon the flat roof of the weathered structure. The deadly outlaw fired his rifle at the haunting vision as terror raced through Brooks’s veins.
Iron Eyes did not move a muscle as the ragged tails of his long dust coat were lifted by the bullet. Then like some mystical creature, he jumped down on Brooks before the bank robber could fire his Winchester a second time.
The mule-eared boots knocked Brooks off his feet. Both men flew off the crude platform and crashed on the moonlit rail tracks. They scrambled like savage wolves on the tracks, exchanging blows until Brooks landed a brutal uppercut which connected with Iron Eyes’s jaw.
The dazed bounty hunter fell backwards as the taste of blood filled his mouth. He narrowed his eyes and watched his opponent stagger to his rifle and snatch it from beside the metal tracks.
Iron Eyes leapt to his side as Brooks fired.
The entire yard lit up as a blinding flame spewed from the Winchester barrel. Iron Eyes felt the heat of the bullet as it passed close to his face.
Without a moment’s hesitation, the emaciated bounty hunter threw himself through the choking gun smoke and caught Brooks around the middle.
Both men fell heavily on to the tracks. Iron Eyes pounded the face of his foe mercilessly until his knuckles were bleeding. Then Brooks brought the metal barrel of his rifle up and lashed its length across the bounty hunter’s skull.
The sound of the crushing blow resonated around the wooden buildings to both sides of the brawling men. Iron Eyes slumped as Brooks pushed his painfully thin body off him.
With blood pouring from the gashes across his face, Brooks got back to his feet and primed his rifle. Before the bank robber had time to squeeze its trigger, Iron Eyes had used his long legs to sweep Brooks off his feet again.
As the still groggy Brooks landed, the Winchester blasted another venomous bullet up into the moonlit heavens. Iron Eyes staggered to his feet and pulled his matched pair of Navy Colts free of his belt and deep coat pocket.
The exhausted bounty hunter stared through his mane of limp black hair at the man on the ground before him. He fired one of his guns and tore the rifle from Brooks’s grip.
His bloody foe glared up at the hideous sight above him as the rifle clattered across the rail tracks. His hooded eyes glared at Iron Eyes as he thought about the .45s he still had holstered around his girth.
‘I reckon this is it, Brooks. I’m through playing games with your sorrowful hide.’
Brooks steadied himself and flexed his fingers over his holstered six-shooters.
‘You can’t shoot me in cold blood, Iron Eyes,’ he growled at the bounty hunter. ‘Not even a stinking hombre like you would kill an unarmed man.’
Iron Eyes grinned dangerously.
‘You ain’t unarmed, Brooks,’ he hissed like a rattler. ‘You got the same amount of guns as me. The only difference is that mine are in my hands.’
Brooks was confused. ‘What’s that meant to mean?’
‘It means you’re dead.’ Iron Eyes squeezed on both his triggers and sent two bullets roaring into the bank robber.
The deafening shots lit up the railhead for a fraction of a second. It was long enough for the bounty hunter to see both his bullets hit the wanted outlaw dead centre.
As the crumpled body of Ben Brooks fell at his feet, Iron Eyes whistled and then stared down at the lifeless outlaw.
‘I showed you the same mercy that you showed them pitiful critters back along the trail.’ Iron Eyes sneered and spat blood at his prize. ‘Sometimes you gotta sink your fangs into a sidewinder before he bites you.’
The palomino stallion trotted up to its master and snorted at the ground. Iron Eyes picked up the three money bags and hung them from his silver saddle horn.
Iron Eyes then grabbed Brooks’s collar and dragged him out to where he had left his saddle horse.
The gaunt bounty hunter was covered in his opponent’s gore by the time he had draped Brooks over the saddle and tied his hands and boots together.
Iron Eyes mounted the tall palomino and then reached across to the saddle horse. His bony hand took hold of Brooks’s horse’s long leathers.
He then opened a fresh bottle of whiskey and poured some of the hard liquor into the palm of his hand and rubbed it over his grazed shoulder. He downed a long swallow and rested the bottle on his thigh.
‘Now all we gotta do is go pick up his pal and ride back to Ten Strike, horse,’ Iron Eyes said as the powerful stallion started to retrace the route it had taken to reach the railhead. ‘Sure hope them Kiowa don’t kick up a fuss, though. There ain’t no profit in killing Injuns.’
As Iron Eyes led the saddle horse away from the railroad tracks, he heard the sound of a train whistle echo in the night air. He looked at the body draped over the saddle behind his golden mount and grinned.
‘The train’s early, Brooks,’ he told the corpse. ‘Looks like you’re gonna miss it, though.’
FINALE
The people of Ten Strike were as joyful as any Iron Eyes had ever seen when he delivered the three money bags to them and dragged the bodies of Ben Brooks and Sol Cohen to the newly appointed sheriff’s office. They had paid him the sum he had agreed and also given him a chit for the delivery of the dead outlaws.
With a long cigar between his teeth, Iron Eyes filled his pants pocket with the rolled wad of bills and the chit he would redeem for hard cash when he reached a town authorized to pay him the reward money. The tall figure had not spoken more than a few words since he had arrived back in Ten Strike with his valuable cargo.
All he could do was wonder how he had managed to avoid the Kiowas’ deadly arrows unscathed. He took the long reins of his handsome golden stallion and headed for the only place in the sun-baked town to offer some respite from the blazing sun.
The morning sun burned into his wounded body as he walked to the river and sat down on its muddy bank. He was dog-tired and it showed. He had rented a room in the hotel again and this time intended to stay there until his wounds had healed.
The palomino lowered its head and started to drink from the crystal clear river as Iron Eyes enj
oyed his cigar.
‘I’ll give the blacksmith an extra few bucks to take good care of you, horse.’ Iron Eyes sighed wearily, pulling the cigar from his lips. ‘If you weren’t so damn fast I’d have lost my scalp back there.’
Suddenly the stallion stopped drinking. It raised its head and stared along the river as droplets of water dripped from its white chin.
‘What’s wrong, horse?’ the bounty hunter asked the palomino and then cast his attention to where the stallion’s eyes were focused. Iron Eyes raised a hand and shielded his eyes from the bright glare that danced across the water.
The sight that met his eyes surprised and chilled him to the bone. Iron Eyes tossed the cigar aside and then allowed his coat to fall from his bony shoulders. The bounty hunter waded out into the river toward the strange object which was floating toward him.
The closer it got the more his heart pounded.
Iron Eyes stood waist deep in the cool water and waited for the large chunk of wood to float toward him. For the first time in a long while he was frightened. Yet it was not the chunk of wood which troubled him. It was the sight of the tiny female lying face down upon it that tore at his very fibre.
As the wood came to a halt beside him, he immediately realized what it was. It was the roof of Squirrel Sally’s stagecoach. His face drained of colour as his long thin arms stretched out until his fingers could grab her. He slid her near naked body across the wet surface toward him and then turned her over.
His thin fingers frantically combed her wet hair off her face and stared in disbelief at her. She was cut all over but the river had washed the blood away.
His heart was beating so hard inside his chest that he imagined it would burst. Terror gripped him as he vainly patted her cheek.
‘Don’t you damn well die, Squirrel,’ he hissed.
Iron Eyes scooped the petite form up in his arms and held her close to him. He waded back to the riverbank and staggered up to where the palomino stallion stood watching its master.
The bounty hunter fell on to one knee and lowered her down gently. His eyes glanced over her perfect body and then pressed his hand under her left breast in search of a heartbeat. All he could feel was her cold skin. He swallowed hard and looked all around them. For the first time in his sorrowful existence, he needed someone to tell him what to do but there was nobody even close to the riverbank.
Not wanting her skin to burn under the merciless sun, he dragged his blood-stained coat over her exposed body. His mutilated face stared down at her helplessly.
What had happened, his mind silently screamed.
Tears ran down his scarred cheeks as his fingers touched her face fearfully. She was colder than the dead outlaws he had just delivered.
Then to his utter surprise she opened her eyes and tore the coat off her. The startled Iron Eyes almost jumped out of his skin.
‘You ain’t dead,’ he stammered.
‘Of course I ain’t dead, you long-legged fool,’ Sally snapped before sitting up and staring at her naked upper half. ‘And what have you done with my shirt? You thieved it, didn’t you? Admit it. You was interfering with me. I take me a little shuteye and suddenly there you are playing with my chests again.’
Iron Eyes raised his eyebrows.
‘You was floating out there,’ he said.
‘Did you touch my chests?’ Sally asked firmly.
He shrugged. ‘I … I guess so but I thought you was dead, Squirrel.’
‘That’s kinda sick, Iron Eyes.’ She sighed. ‘Taking advantage of a gal just cos you figure she won’t object, being dead and all.’
Iron Eyes raised his hands. ‘Honest, I found you like this. I ain’t touched you or stole your shirt.’
‘And why didn’t you touch me?’ Sally pulled him nearer and stared into his eyes. ‘We is betrothed, you know. You got the right.’
Utterly confused, Iron Eyes felt her embrace him tightly and then start to sob into his scarred flesh. He raised a hand and started patting her back.
‘What happened to you, Squirrel?’ he whispered into her hair. ‘Where are your horses and stagecoach? Don’t tell me that lump of wood is all that’s left.’
‘We got hit off the trail by a waterfall.’ Sally shivered at the memory. ‘Damned if I know how I’m still alive.’
‘You’re too damn stubborn to die that easy,’ Iron Eyes told her and touched her chin. ‘Thank goodness.’
She pushed him back and frowned seductively. ‘You owe me a new stagecoach, Iron Eyes. It’s all your fault. If you hadn’t have run off I’d not have had to trail you and got tangled up in that waterfall.’
He nodded. ‘OK. I’ll get you a new one and horses and whatever else you want. Just don’t go scaring me like this again.’
‘I surely love you.’ Sally started to sob again as relief overwhelmed her battered and bruised form. Her arms embraced him and dragged his head into her cleavage. ‘I figured I was gonna die, Iron Eyes.’
‘And I thought you were dead when I seen you floating out there on that chunk of lumber, Squirrel.’ He admitted. ‘I ain’t never felt that way before.’
‘What way?’ Sally asked.
‘Alone,’ he said. ‘I felt plumb alone.’
Squirrel Sally was about to speak again when Iron Eyes took her by her shoulders and looked into her beautiful face for the longest while. He smiled as best he could. She closed her eyes and puckered her lips expectantly.
He kissed her forehead gently and then stood. ‘Stay there till I get back.’
Disappointed, the female arched an eyebrow.
‘Was that it?’ she asked as he started to walk back into the middle of Ten Strike. ‘Where the hell are you going, you ugly galoot?’
Iron Eyes looked over his shoulder. ‘I’m going to buy you something you really want, Squirrel.’
‘A diamond ring?’ Sally grinned.
‘Nope,’ Iron Eyes replied. ‘A brand new shirt.’
‘A shirt.’ Sally repeated and sat cross-legged beside his battered trail coat. She pulled a cigar from one of its deep pockets and placed it between her teeth. She chewed on its black length and shrugged. ‘Get me a rifle as well. Then I can shoot you.’
100 Golden Eagles for Iron Eyes
Rory Black
ROBERT HALE
Dedicated to Gary and Karen George
PROLOGUE
The stagecoach rattled like the bones of a dozen skeletons as the feisty young female lashed her long leathers across the backs of the lathered-up team of horses below her perilous perch. Although Squirrel Sally was not familiar with either the replacement team of six black horses or the trail weary vehicle beneath her torn britches, she expertly steered the horses and creaking vehicle fearlessly. For young, head-strong girls like Sally Cooke could never be deterred from their chosen goals, no matter how many obstacles were cast in their path.
A mere ten days earlier she had ensured that Iron Eyes had kept his promise and purchased the stagecoach for her out of his reward money. Her original mode of transport had lost an argument with a fast moving waterfall and rocks. The notorious bounty hunter reluctantly used the bulk of his reward money and did as the unshakeable female had said.
Yet no sooner had she been gifted the battered old stagecoach than the notorious hunter of men had once again fled from her clutches in case she became too grateful.
Most young women might have taken the hint that perhaps Iron Eyes did not feel the same way toward her as she did for him. Most females, but not dead-shot Squirrel Sally.
Sally had other plans for her betrothed and no matter how many times he managed to slip away from her, she forgave him and doggedly trailed him. Like most besotted young ladies with their sights on her man, Sally was determined to get him.
It never seemed to matter to her how many times Iron Eyes mounted his tall stallion and spurred, for she always had an excuse for his actions. Nothing could stop her and she actually believed that the deadly bounty hunter was warming to her femi
nine charms.
In truth Iron Eyes was frightened of her. There seemed to be no reason why anything as young and pretty as Sally was to be infatuated by something that looked like he did. He had long been known as the living ghost due to his brutalized face and skeletal form. His features bore evidence of every battle he had ever waged.
Why would she want him when there were so many unscathed young men to choose from? He constantly wondered.
It did not make any sense.
He would willingly face heavily-armed outlaws without flinching but when it came to the fairer sex, the bounty hunter simply did not understand them.
Females of any description had always troubled the legendary bounty hunter. Squirrel Sally troubled him more than most. Another unspoken reason for him trying to leave Sally behind him was that he was worried that simply being near him was suicidal for anyone.
But against all the odds, the young female had saved his bacon on several occasions by her uncanny ability with her Winchester. Squirrel Sally had fought beside him better than most able-bodied men could ever have done and yet she was still a total mystery to Iron Eyes.
Why wouldn’t she take the easy option and simply settle down in a safe place? Why did she choose to risk her neck and trail Iron Eyes into the most dangerous of places? Time and time again he had attempted to leave her somewhere safe but she had followed him.
Once again he had abandoned her and ridden out with fresh Wanted posters in his deep trail coat pockets but with her expert tracking skills, Sally had set out after him. The dust hung in the moonlight as the stagecoach hurtled down the barren desert road. Just like the man she followed, Squirrel Sally had no idea where she was heading.
She lashed the hefty reins down on the backs of her new team of horses and drove on through the moonlit night in pursuit of the man she proclaimed she was besotted with.
As she spat the dust from her mouth, her tightened eyes stared out at the distant horizon. She could see the unmistakable sight of a town’s lights. The amber glow lit up the desert like a score of fireflies.
