by Rory Black
Then they would be gone forever.
He grabbed his reins and tugged.
The large stallion followed its master as Iron Eyes walked back to where the hoof tracks were still visible. Iron Eyes halted. Something else had alerted his honed senses.
As his bullet coloured eyes looked up, he caught a glimpse of something standing close to the dune beside a fishing boat.
He dropped the reins and flexed his bony fingers. Iron Eyes watched the man through the limp strands of his long black hair as he steadily approached.
The large sombrero cast an unholy shadow in the moonlight.
So did the ammunition belts across his chest.
‘So you are the stinking dog who has been following my amigos,’ the man stated as he rested the palms of his hands on his holstered guns.
Iron Eyes raised his head until his tortured features were fully exposed.
‘Yep. I’m the stinking dog that’s been trailing Bodine and Walters,’ he hissed like a sidewinder in reply.
The Mexican gunman suddenly stopped advancing. The sight before him was both a surprise and a shock. He had never before set eyes on anything that came close to looking the way Iron Eyes looked.
‘Who are you?’ he stammered.
‘I’m your executioner, amigo,’ Iron Eyes said. ‘I’m Iron Eyes.’
Even south of the border the name of the legendary bounty hunter was well known. Few actually believed the torrid tales connected to the name. Even fewer believed the description of Iron Eyes could be true but when their eyes set upon his savaged countenance, all doubts evaporated.
‘Iron Eyes?’ The man hesitated as he sensed his own demise getting close. ‘You are Iron Eyes?’
The bounty hunter strode across the sand toward the shaking creature he took to be a bandit. Iron Eyes stopped less than ten feet from the heavily laden man. He had never seen so much ammunition on one man before.
‘What do you know about this?’ the bounty hunter snarled.
‘Bodine paid me to wait and watch, señor,’ the shaking creature answered. ‘I was to make sure that the bounty hunter remained here.’
‘And if I decided to ride away from here?’ Iron Eyes asked as his long skeletal fingers continued to move like spiders above the grips of his guns. ‘Then what were you meant to do?’
The bandit gulped. He was not sure.
Iron Eyes sighed and nodded as his icy glare burned into the shaking man. ‘You got bounty on you, stranger?’
The man forced a pathetic smile. ‘Sí señor. I am wanted dead or alive and worth 200 pesos. They call me Mexican Joe.’
‘Well, Mexican Joe,’ Iron Eyes started. ‘Tell me where Bodine and Walters went.’
‘I am sworn to secrecy, señor,’ the bandit replied. ‘Nothing you can do will make me tell you what you wish to know.’
‘OK.’ Iron Eyes dragged both his Navy Colts from his belt, cocked their hammers and then fired. Both bullets carved a route from the guns and tore into the wanted man.
The bandit flew backward and crashed in a bloody heap in the shade of the fishing boat. Iron Eyes strode over to the body and then pushed his still smoking weapons back behind his belt buckle.
‘I’m sure glad you were wanted dead or alive, Joe.’ Iron Eyes spat at the corpse and turned back to where his palomino stallion was standing. ‘I plumb hate wasting lead on folks who ain’t worth nothing.’
CHAPTER FIVE
Like a haunting statue, Iron Eyes stood beside the high-shouldered stallion and thought about the situation he had ridden into. What should have been a normal chase had turned into something quite different and the gaunt Iron Eyes did not like it one bit. He was tired from days of constant riding but knew that there would be no time to rest until he had slain both Walters and Bodine. Most bounty hunters would have considered trying to bring them in alive but not the intrepid Iron Eyes. He only hunted those who the law stated were unfit to live and killed them.
For some unknown reason the two outlaws had tried to make it appear that they had ridden into the vast Pacific in a bid to shake off whoever was hunting them.
Iron Eyes still could not understand the motive behind the attempted deception. Only a fool would fall for that, he told himself.
Were they trying to make it appear that they had committed suicide? Was that it? Did they have some plan that required that they kill their mounts and simply vanish? None of it made any sense to the cold-hearted bounty hunter.
Were they so afraid of him they would risk the waves?
Were they willing to risk death just to avoid facing the wrath of the legendary Iron Eyes?
To Iron Eyes death was a constant companion and nothing to be feared. He had learned that lesson when he had first set traps in order to fill his belly. Death was always far closer than anyone could imagine. Always waiting on the one mistake we all eventually make.
The Grim Reaper took no prisoners.
Neither did Iron Eyes.
So why had the outlaws tried to make him believe the unbelievable? The problem festered inside his skull as his eyes darted between the dead horses and the dead bandit.
Why had they hired the hapless Mexico Joe? Maybe Joe was meant to kill anyone who came looking for the outlaws. If Joe had managed to fulfil his contract he was probably meant to go and tell Bodine and Walters.
That meant that the outlaws would be coming ashore somewhere close, Iron Eyes reasoned. Somewhere very close indeed.
He stepped into the closest stirrup and hauled himself back up on to his Mexican saddle. His prized stallion remained alert as it waited for its master’s next command. Iron Eyes looked at the waves and grinned.
‘I sure hope you don’t drown before I get a chance to kill you, boys,’ he hissed and gathered up his long leathers.
The gaunt horseman turned the stallion and tapped his spurs. The palomino headed back toward the dunes. Iron Eyes noted that along the beach there were at least a half dozen other fishing boats resting beneath the bright moon. Their nets swayed in the gentle breeze.
Bodine and Walters were probably still out there on the shimmering waves somewhere, he thought. Iron Eyes did not envy the outlaws rowing a boat on the rolling waves.
The tall stallion passed the dead Mexican bandit who had made the mistake of facing the legendary bounty hunter and underestimating him. Iron Eyes touched his temple in silent salute and then searched the deep pockets of his trail coat for something to fuel his weary mind. The sound of loose bullets filled the night air as his long bony fingers located what he was looking for.
Iron Eyes withdrew his hand. He had plucked a long thin cigar from his deep coat pockets without breaking it. He rammed it between his scarred lips and gripped it with his razor sharp teeth. He pulled a match from his shirt pocket and ignited it with his thumbnail.
A golden glow lit up his hideous features as he cupped the fiery eruption against the ocean breeze.
The flickering flame was raised to the cigar. Iron Eyes sucked on the weed until his lungs were full of the acrid smoke and then he flicked the match at the sand.
He mercilessly pulled on his reins, turned the mighty stallion and looked around the ridge of dunes that faced the breaking waves. He had not observed anything on his determined ride to the beach. All his scarred eyes had seen were the hoof tracks which had led him to this place. Now it was time to study his surroundings more carefully.
Iron Eyes held the powerful horse in check as he spotted a line of colourful lanterns swinging in the sea breeze about a mile away from where he sat. Below the lanterns were amber lights spilling from numerous doors and windows.
There was a small fishing village almost hidden by the dunes. Iron Eyes exhaled a long line of smoke at his observances. It was just far enough along the beach for him to get a good view of the fishing boat should the outlaws decide to return to shore. He tapped his blood-stained spurs into the flanks of the stallion and got the huge palomino walking toward the sandy rise.
As the stallion obeyed its maste
r’s painful commands, Iron Eyes thought about the two outlaws and how he should kill them. It was usually his habit to kill wanted outlaws quickly but these men had tried to fool him. That angered the bounty hunter and he wanted to make them pay.
Nobody tricked Iron Eyes and lived to brag about it.
The skeletal horseman stood in his stirrups as the handsome animal climbed up the dunes. Iron Eyes sat back down and aimed his mount at the distant lights. Cigar smoke drifted over his wide shoulders as he encouraged the horse to find more pace.
Smoke billowed from between his teeth as Iron Eyes turned his brutalized head and looked back at the moonlit water. He did not envy anyone out on the incoming waves. He reasoned that the outlaws would not dare to take the boat out too far from the shore. Even deadly outlaws ought to have enough sense to figure out that ocean waves could be as lethal as his Navy Colts.
The sea did not take prisoners, either.
‘They’ll be real green by the time they set foot on dry land again, horse,’ Iron Eyes snorted and slapped the neck of his mount. ‘Killing them critters is just gonna be too damn easy.’
They would probably row the boat as best they could along the coastline to where they could come ashore safely, he deduced. If they did not capsize it first. It was obvious that neither outlaw had worked out what they were going to do after they returned to dry land.
This was not Texas and there was not an abundant supply of horses to either buy or steal in these parts. Since crossing the unmarked border, Iron Eyes had seen a lot of oxen and burros but not one saddle horse. If Bodine and Walters had assumed that they could easily get their hands on fresh mounts, they were sadly mistaken.
Saddle horses were as rare as hen’s teeth in these parts, he thought. Bodine and Walters would soon live to regret killing their precious horses down on the beach.
The outlaws might have shaken him off for now, Iron Eyes silently admitted, but no matter how long it took, he would wait for them to reappear. Then he would face their guns and kill them with his usual sadistic ease.
His hands eased back on his reins. The stallion slowed and started to walk through the eerie moonlight toward the colourful swaying lanterns. Iron Eyes carefully reloaded his Navy Colts as the palomino carried on walking.
Iron Eyes slid his primed six-shooters into his deep trail coat pockets next to the loose bullets in readiness for what he knew would soon happen as the high shouldered stallion steadily continued toward the small fishing village. When Bodine and Walters finally came back ashore they would be even more dangerous than the wanted posters implied.
That did not trouble the haunting rider, though.
Iron Eyes would be ready for them.
He gripped the long black cigar between his teeth and then caught the familiar aroma of cooking food in his flared nostrils. Iron Eyes knew there was plenty of time to eat before he had to face the outlaws. Time enough to fill his lean frame with the food he seldom allowed to pass his lips.
Iron Eyes tapped his spurs. It had been a long while since he had eaten anything. He was about ready to start again.
The palomino trotted on toward the swaying lanterns.
CHAPTER SIX
The elegant Don Jose Fernandez stood within the courtyard of his impressive hacienda like a general awaiting the return of his troops from battle. Yet there was no sense of victory in his aged soul. For Fernandez was not looking for trouble, only the solution to trouble that had unexpectedly sought him out.
The hacienda was at the heart of the land he and his family had owned for over a century. Yet for all his wealth none of this meant anything to the silver haired Fernandez.
He had a dozen vaqueros working for him, yet not one of them could do what he required doing. None of his men had the cunning or skills to achieve the seemingly impossible. He had sent out his only son with two of his best vaqueros to find the golden-haired Squirrel Sally and bring her back to the whitewashed hacienda.
Yet it was not the young female he wanted.
It was her man.
Bringing Squirrel Sally to his hacienda was a bid to entice the otherwise elusive Iron Eyes out of the shadows to where Don Jose wanted him. It was pointless trying to ask the bounty hunter to pay the remote hacienda a visit. Men like Iron Eyes would never respond to a normal request. They had to be hooked like a savage catfish and reeled in. To do that you needed the correct bait and Squirrel Sally was the only bait they knew could entice him to them.
A month earlier, Don Jose had sent his best vaqueros deep into Texas in search of Iron Eyes. Once located, they had to carefully make him start hunting Bodine and Walters.
Somehow they had managed to lure the bounty hunter away from his usual hunting grounds. They had done the seemingly impossible and got the bounty hunter to track the two outlaws deep into Mexico. Without knowing it, Iron Eyes was doing exactly what Don Jose Fernandez wanted him to do.
Iron Eyes was trailing Bodine and Walters back to the land Fernandez and his family ruled. It had been far easier getting Sally to bite at their bait and follow Iron Eyes.
Don Jose’s vaqueros kept in constant touch with their employer until he knew exactly where the gaunt bounty hunter and his beautiful follower were.
Fernandez inhaled on his long slim cigar as his men milled around the elegant household. The equally elegant Don Luis had been standing on his porch for hours as he waited in the moonlight for a sign that the operation was successful.
Then off in the distance amid an ocean of sand, he saw the eerie light of the moon catching the rising dust of a stagecoach as it came over a crest and began heading toward him.
Don Jose looked to the well-armed men in the courtyard of his splendid home.
‘Prepare yourselves, amigos,’ he called out to them. ‘They are coming with the bait we need to bring Iron Eyes into our midst.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
The wheels of the stagecoach seemed to find every rut in the makeshift road as the burly vaquero lashed Sally’s bullwhip above the heads of the exhausted team. There was an urgency in the hands of the driver as he forced the six horses on toward the moonlit hacienda.
With her hands tied behind her back, Squirrel Sally was tossed around the inside of the coach like a rag doll as it travelled along the moonlit road. The burly vaquero on the driver’s seat lashed the long leathers down on the backs of the six-horse team as the vehicle thundered through the moonlight toward its mysterious destination. Then as the six powerful black horses veered to the left, the stagecoach was nearly upended and Sally found herself flipped up on to one of the padded benches.
The fearless female arched her tiny body against the back and side bulkheads of the coach. It took every ounce of her youthful strength and willpower to remain upon the soft seat as all four wheels returned to the ground.
Finally she had managed to remain in one spot long enough to look out of the vehicle’s windows. The scenery was bathed in the strange blue light of the bright overhead moon as the stagecoach rocked on its leather springs. Sally inhaled deeply as she watched the barren terrain flash past the window she was pressed up against.
Wherever she was, it was totally unknown to her.
Clouds of dust were kicked up by the horse’s hoofs and the stagecoach wheels. Sally squinted hard in a vain bid to try and work out where she was being taken but this land was unlike any other she had ever experienced before. The unfamiliar landscape unfolded before her. The bright moon cast its unholy illumination across the desert but did nothing to explain to her young mind where she was headed.
Her dust-covered face could see something ahead as she poked her head out of the window. Two glowing torches a half mile ahead of the galloping team appeared to be set to either side of the road.
‘Where in tarnation am I being taken?’ Sally muttered as dust filled her mouth. She spat at the ground but refused to withdraw back into the stagecoach.
She was as curious as a six-legged cat and determined to learn the answers to the countless quest
ions that buzzed inside her head.
The handsome Pablo had charmed her with his well-practised flattery and then managed to get the better of her. That seemed stupid to the bruised female.
Why had she been tossed into the coach of her stage? Did Pablo want her as well as her stagecoach?
Then her bruised head recalled the young Mexican telling her that she was merely the bait to entice Iron Eyes into his father’s trap.
Sally swallowed hard. Was she going to be the downfall of the man she adored? Her heart pounded inside her ill-fitting shirt.
Buffeted like a bronco buster as the stagecoach thundered through the night, Sally frowned and raised her leg. She gripped the rope that had been used to ensure the carriage door could not be opened with her flexible toes.
Then she pressed her back against the padded backrest and steadied her small frame from being further thrown around the interior of the coach. She exhaled as her bottom bounced up and down on the padded seat.
Sally blew the loose strands of long golden hair off her face and shook her head.
‘What the hell is going on here?’ she muttered to herself as the glancing light of fiery torches filled the coach.
With the same curiosity that had killed countless cats, the beautiful dust-caked female slid across the seat and poked her head out of the window once more.
Dust blew into her face, adding to the already thick layer that still covered it. She spat and screwed her eyes up tightly.
Her face was peppered by grit and dust but Sally caught a brief glimpse of two beacons behind the stagecoach. Flames leapt up from the blazing torches set atop stone plinths and licked at the sky.
‘Where the hell are you taking me, you fat galoot?’ she screamed at the top of her voice as she shook the dust and debris from her mane of golden locks. ‘Where are we?’
As she vainly tried to comprehend the motives behind her abduction, the coach suddenly rocked on its springs. The alert female knew that the stagecoach was being turned hard to the right.
