by Rory Black
‘You better not hurt any of my team with that kinda driving,’ Sally shouted. ‘Turning horses that hard could make them bust a gut.’
Then out of the carriage window, her blue eyes spied a long structure set out in the eerily dark desert surrounded by high walls. Amber light glowed like a herd of fireflies amid the shadows like a lighthouse set in a sea of sand.
Although Squirrel Sally did not realize it, she was now being taken into the stronghold of one of Mexico’s wealthiest families. The stagecoach was heading into the heart of the hacienda belonging to Don Jose Fernandez.
‘What the hell is that doing out here in the middle of nowhere?’ Sally mumbled as she fought to remain upright as the stagecoach took another severe turn.
Countless lanterns and torches guided the stagecoach toward it. The sound of chains rattling between the team’s traces filled the interior of the coach as Squirrel Sally tried to get a better look at the magnificent edifice.
Then she saw riders. They had come from the whitewashed hacienda to escort the coach into the building’s grounds. Sally could see the moonlight glint off their rifles and pistols.
A concerned expression filled her face.
Suddenly the reality of the situation began to dawn upon her. She watched as the horsemen rode beside both the carriage doors. The riders rested the stocks of their rifles on their thighs as they flanked the speeding stagecoach.
‘This ain’t good,’ she muttered softly. ‘This ain’t good at all.’
As the inquisitive youngster moved her head back to the window of the rocking vehicle, it was driven back by the gleaming metal barrel of the rider’s Winchester. More dust and splinters filled the interior of the coach.
Sally stared up at the horseman with a look that could sour cream.
The hacienda grew even larger as the stagecoach closed in on it. Sally propelled herself across to the opposite bench and stared at the large whitewashed wall. There were men on the wall’s parapets.
Men with rifles.
Her buttocks felt the slowing of the stage.
Sally braced herself by placing her bare feet on the opposite bench seat. She did not want to end on the floor of the coach again.
Finally, as the team was slowed, she heard the brake pole being engaged. The ear-piercing sound of the leather pads arguing with the wheel rims grated her senses.
‘I’d better remember to grease them brakes,’ Sally snorted as the stagecoach jolted to a halt. ‘If I ever get a chance, that is.’
The stagecoach stopped. The light of numerous torches and lanterns filled the carriage as the rocking of the vehicle finally ebbed.
Sally strained to free her hands but the rawhide tethers would not give. She gritted her teeth and stared through her long hair at the carriage door.
Every fighting instinct in the feisty female wanted to tear into her captors when they opened the door of the coach but even a cougar could not pounce when its paws were tied behind its back.
For a few endless moments nothing happened.
Then as the dust finally settled, she saw the elegant face of Don Jose looking at her through the window as one of his men sliced through the rope that secured the door.
Fernandez opened the door and looked into the blazing eyes of Squirrel Sally. He had heard of the young girl who was said to be the mate of Iron Eyes. He had expected someone older and was surprised by the attractive female.
He gave a bow of his head.
‘You are the famed Squirrel Sally?’ he politely asked. ‘The one who belongs to Iron Eyes?’
Sally blew a loose curl off her face and nodded.
‘He belongs to me, more like,’ she corrected.
‘Please pardon my error.’ Don Jose nodded. ‘You are Squirrel Sally, though?’
‘Damn right I am, old timer,’ she growled as her feet rested on the floor of the carriage. ‘And I’m gonna rip your heart out of your frilly shirted chest when I get a chance.’
‘I understand your anger, señorita,’ Don Jose said as he watched Sally disembark the vehicle. ‘When you learn our reasons for bringing you here I hope you will look more kindly on me.’
‘I surely doubt it,’ Sally grunted as vaqueros held her in check and led her past the nobleman as she lashed out with her feet.
Fernandez stepped back and signalled with his hands to the vaqueros to either side of him.
‘Take our guest to her room, amigos,’ he said. ‘But be careful. I think the little squirrel is as dangerous as her reputation implies.’
CHAPTER EIGHT
The warm sea breeze wafted over the moonlit beach and the assembly of whitewashed adobes which were strung along the top of the dunes. The magnificent palomino had attracted the attention of the small settlement’s people, for as its owner had rightly calculated, horses were a rarity in this region.
Powerful thoroughbreds were even less common. Yet none of the curious ventured too close to the animal as it stood drinking its fill from a trough beside the exterior of the cantina.
The haunting stare which the bounty hunter flashed like a honed dagger had silently caused even the most curious of souls to eventually retreat and leave both horse and master in peace. For it was obvious to even the dullest of wits that Iron Eyes was not the sort of creature to rile. The threat of death oozed from his every pore in silent warning.
The bounty hunter watched the breaking waves from the courtyard of the cantina. He was waiting for Bodine and Walters to row back to the beach like a cat waiting for birds to land. When they did, he would pounce.
The singing and guitar playing still spilled through the swaying beads but Iron Eyes did not listen to the joyous sound. His cold-blooded attention remained focused on the beach below the fishing village. Somewhere out there the outlaws were hiding in the rolling surf. When they came ashore, he would be waiting for them with his prized Navy Colts.
Methodically, Iron Eyes had forced down a bowl of strong chilli and mopped up its crimson gravy with a chunk of bread as his small unblinking eyes observed everyone and everything before him.
Nothing of importance would evade his icy stare as he sat alone beneath the large moon. The coloured lanterns swayed on the fine ropes that fringed the courtyard but they too went unnoticed by the single-minded avenger.
The sound of festivity from within the cantina still wafted through the beaded curtain but it meant nothing to the bounty hunter. All Iron Eyes was interested in was Bodine and Walters.
Once he killed them, he could ride back across the border and claim their bounty. It was as simple as that in his mind.
Iron Eyes dropped the spoon on the plate, wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve and pushed it into the middle of the circular table. His innards were not used to solid food and the sensation of the chilli filling his painfully thin guts was uncomfortable. He pushed a thumb into his belt and belched. The stallion raised its head from the trough and looked at the skeletal figure.
‘You’ve made worse,’ the bounty hunter sneered. The stallion returned its head back to the cool liquid.
Iron Eyes had positioned his lean frame so that he was sat at an angle which allowed him to watch the water line as he ate. If a boat was to suddenly wash up on the beach, he would spot it before anyone else in the tiny fishing village. Yet for nearly an hour Iron Eyes had not seen anything to warrant his brutal attention.
Sleep was a luxury that the bounty hunter had not allowed himself since he had set out after both deadly outlaws. No matter how weary he became, Iron Eyes refused to acknowledge it. Only lesser mortals slept when there was work to do, he continually told his tired mind.
The sound to his left told him that someone had moved through the dangling beads. Iron Eyes did not turn his head to try and see who because he already knew. He recognized the sound of her bare feet as they moved across the tiles toward him.
A well-proportioned female with long black hair tied in a pony tail had bravely faced her own fears and waited upon her unusual customer sever
al times. She had brought him his food and the six bottles of tequila he had requested. A large golden eagle had paid for his order with plenty of unwanted change.
‘Did you enjoy your supper, señor?’ she managed to ask without allowing her eyes to linger upon her customer’s face.
‘It was fine,’ Iron Eyes mumbled as he kept watching the breaking waves.
The female glanced at the beach and then back at Iron Eyes curiously. ‘What are you looking at?’
‘I’m waiting for a row boat to come ashore,’ he whispered.
‘But the men do not fish when the sun is down, señor,’ she said to him. ‘There will be no boats coming ashore.’
Iron Eyes sighed heavily. ‘We’ll see.’
No matter how deadly he appeared to be, he interested her in a way few of the locals had ever done. She stood close to the seated bounty hunter. ‘What do they call you?’
‘Who?’
‘Your friends, señor.’ She sighed heavily. Her ample bosom caught the rays of the moon and sparkled as sweat trickled over them. ‘My name is Conchita. What do your friends call you?’
Iron Eyes frowned. The question made no sense. As far as he was concerned, he had no friends. Squirrel Sally was a pest that he could not seem to shake off, but he had never thought of her as a friend.
‘My name’s Iron Eyes,’ he muttered without looking at her.
‘That is an unusual name.’
The buxom Conchita floated around the table and wondered how many more golden eagles this fearsome figure might have hidden in the depths of his blood-stained pockets.
To her, gringo money was always better than anything her own country ever minted. She had taken the golden coin and slipped it between her large breasts and allowed it to nestle in their warmth. There was plenty of room for more.
‘You need the company of a woman tonight,’ Conchita told him as she wandered around his motionless form. ‘A good woman who will pleasure you. A woman like me.’
Iron Eyes rubbed his thumb along his jaw. ‘I’m kinda busy, Conchita.’
It had only been a hundred heartbeats since Conchita had wandered out from the still noisy cantina to where Iron Eyes sat and picked up his plate as was her usual practice and something she had done countless times previously. The difference between her usual patrons and Iron Eyes was that unlike the local fishermen, this hideous creature had money and Conchita liked money. Especially the gringo variety.
The enterprising female could feel her heart pounding as she looked down upon the man with both his Navy Colts spread out before him on the table top. Sweat glistened on her exposed skin as she tried to draw his attention from the beach. She rested her hands on the table to either side of his plate and leaned forward. Her fully ripened breasts nearly fell from her white bodice as she vainly attempted to tempt him.
‘I cannot wait to go to my rooms and rest upon my bed, Señor Iron Eyes,’ she purred. ‘But it is so lonely. You look as though you need a little rest. We could rest together.’
‘I’ll be just fine, ma’am,’ he rasped. ‘If you’re tuckered then you should go and rest. Don’t let me stop you.’
His response did not dampen her enthusiasm. Although she sensed that Iron Eyes was obviously dangerous, the thought of his golden eagles was too great. Conchita had already marked her twenty-fifth birthday and she knew that time was running out. If she could get enough money together, she could escape this village and head for somewhere more exciting.
There was no way Conchita could turn her back on such a prize, no matter what that prize looked like. She walked behind his wide shoulders and teased his long black hair.
‘Is there anything else you require, Señor Iron Eyes?’ she asked with a hint of a woman who could ignore her own revulsion long enough to strip this horrendously scarred man of his money. Conchita bent over until her heavy bosom was close to his ear. ‘Anything at all?’
Without looking up at the female, Iron Eyes gave a slight shake of his head.
‘Nope. Just keep them friends of yours away from me,’ he muttered in a low ominous growl. ‘I ain’t in the mood to be sociable.’
Daringly, Conchita remained bent over beside Iron Eyes, displaying her wares. The cotton fabric of her blouse was barely capable of restraining her breasts as she tried again to make him look at them. Yet the unblinking figure continued to stare straight ahead at the length of the beach.
‘Maybe Conchita can soothe your tired body, Iron Eyes,’ she suggested as the perfume from her cleavage filled his flared nostrils. ‘I have a little room above the canteen. You could come with me there and I could be very nice to you.’
‘I don’t need no soothing, gal,’ Iron Eyes grunted without moving a muscle. ‘If you’re tired you should go and take a rest.’
Conchita had not seen his brutalized features clearly since Iron Eyes had first arrived at the cantina. His long black hair hung over his face like a widow’s veil. A mixture of vanity and bruised feelings swept through Conchita. She tried to remain calm but it was not easy, only the thought of his losing his money to another kept her by his shoulder.
‘You don’t want to make love to Conchita?’ she whispered into his ear as her fingers toyed with strands of his hair. ‘I do not charge much, Iron Eyes. I give you good time upstairs.’
‘I’m fine right here,’ the bounty hunter sighed.
‘You do not understand, señor,’ she continued. ‘You look alone and I could keep you company if you like. It is not good for a fine man like you to be alone.’
‘I ain’t alone,’ Iron Eyes grunted in a dismissive tone.
Conchita raised her eyebrows in surprise by his blunt statement. The floodgates of superstition engulfed her soul as her eyes vainly searched the cantina yard.
‘Who is with you, señor? I see no one.’
‘I see him,’ Iron Eyes hissed. ‘He’s always with me.’
The attractive female clutched at her throat as her eyes darted to every shadow in fear. She swallowed hard.
‘Who do you see, señor?’
Iron Eyes turned his head and looked into her large dark eyes. Strands of his unkempt mane fell away from his scarred features, revealing the atrocities that had maimed him forever. For the first time since his arrival, Conchita could see his mutilated features clearly. An uncontrollable whimper burst from her lovely lips.
‘Death, Conchita,’ he whispered. ‘I see death. He’s always with me riding on my shoulder. You can’t see him, but he’s here right enough. He’s always here like a rattler waiting to sink his fangs in anyone he wants. One day it’ll be my turn.’
His words made little sense to her. All she could do was stare at him in horror at the sight of his maimed face. She was unable to conceal her terror from him. Conchita diverted her eyes and gripped his plate in both her shaking hands.
‘Are you afraid?’ Conchita asked.
‘There ain’t no point in being fearful, gal.’ Iron Eyes gave a shrug of his wide, bony shoulders. ‘Death will get us all when he’s ready. There’s nothing we can do to stop him.’
The attractive young female straightened up. She was embarrassed by her outburst but still racked by terror. All thoughts of enticing this stranger up to her small room above the cantina were long gone.
‘I’m so sorry, señor,’ she stammered. ‘I did not mean to yelp like a dog.’
Iron Eyes gave a nod of his head and focused on the crashing waves along the beach. He rested his hands on the table with his fingers spread out like the legs of a spider.
‘Ain’t no call for you to be upset, gal,’ he drawled before lowering his chin until it touched his chest. ‘I’m used to scaring critters.’
Tearfully the female scurried away and rushed back into the brightly illuminated cantina. The sound of its beaded curtain rang out like a toll of deathly bells. The bounty hunter glanced at the swaying beads for a brief heartbeat.
‘Reckon I plumb scared her.’ He grinned.
Iron Eyes returned his blisteri
ng attention to the beach and then pulled a long slim cigar from his deep trail coat pocket. He straightened it and placed it between his teeth. He recognized the look in her horrified face. It was one he had seen many times on many faces before.
His fingers located and struck the match across the wooden surface of the table and lifted it to the end of the long cigar. He sucked in the strong smoke and allowed it to fester in his lungs.
As it filtered back through his teeth, his bony fingers pulled the cork from the neck of the tequila bottle. Iron Eyes drew the cigar from his mouth and then lifted the bottle to his lips.
He took a long swallow and then placed the bottle down beside the five others and his guns. A dissatisfied grimace enveloped his face.
‘That sure ain’t whiskey,’ he snorted as the fiery liquor burned a trail down to his guts. ‘That tastes more like horse liniment. If they had more horses around here they wouldn’t have to drink this stuff.’
With the cigar back between his teeth, the bounty hunter rose to his full height and scooped up the six bottles. He strode to where his mount was tethered and lifted one of the flaps of his saddle bags. He placed the bottles into the satchel cavity and then dropped the leather flap over them.
As his fingers went about securing the small buckle he heard another sound. It was totally different to the ruckus spilling out from the adobe cantina. Iron Eyes made his way back to where his guns lay on the table. He picked one up and dropped it into his bullet-filled pocket. Then he plucked the other Navy Colt off the wooden surface of the table and spun its chamber. Iron Eyes dropped his arm until the deadly six-shooter rested against his leg in readiness.
The familiar sound grew louder, like the steady rhythm of beating war drums. It echoed off the whitewashed structures which surrounded the gaunt bounty hunter. Even before he set eyes upon them, it became obvious what had drawn his attention.
It was the unmistakable noise of saddle horses as they approached the tiny fishing village. Iron Eyes listened to the pounding hoofs echoing all around him as he walked away from the colourful lanterns to the side of the adobe.
