by Rory Black
Downstairs, beneath the vaulted ceiling of the main room, the ruler of this land stood beside his fireplace with one foot on the grate and watched the flames as they twisted up the chimney. The large logs crackled as they were devoured, but Don Jose heard nothing apart from what was going on in his courtyard.
The sound of his small army as they moved around the courtyard echoed off the high walls but did nothing to ease his trepidation. The nobleman had done the unthinkable and sent for the one man who was feared more than the Devil himself.
Don Jose inhaled the final dregs of his cigar and then tossed it on to the logs. As the strong smoke slowly escaped from beneath his well-trimmed cigar, he turned and stared at the open doors.
The nobleman had done many things in his long life that he regretted, but nothing to equal this. He had resorted to kidnapping an innocent female in order to lure one of the most dangerous men on both sides of the border to him. He needed the help of the one man he knew capable of helping him, but he was still filled with regret. There was no knowing what Iron Eyes might do when he eventually arrived.
All he could do was await the inevitable.
Fernandez walked across the vast room toward the open doors. The sound of his steps echoed off the floor tiles as he reached the torch lit yard.
His eyes glanced around its expanse. Squirrel Sally’s stagecoach was parked close to the covered stable where her team of six horses were being watered and grained. He then studied the riflemen on the parapet that surrounded his home.
The sound of approaching horses drew his attention to the gates. Fernandez looked up to the sentry on its high walkway.
‘Are they coming?’ he shouted.
The vaquero nodded and turned to look down on his master.
‘Sí, Don Jose,’ he said, clutching his rifle across his chest. ‘I can make out Pablo and Luis. There is another rider with them. He is atop a palomino.’
Fernandez nodded and sighed.
He had heard about the palomino stallion the infamous bounty hunter had been riding for the last few years. His son had found Iron Eyes and was bringing him to him just as instructed. No matter how hard he tried, though, Don Jose could not shake off the feeling that he was inviting a fox into his hen house.
Had he bitten off more than he could chew? Soon he would discover the answer.
A bead of sweat defied the cool evening temperature and rolled down the face of the elegant Fernandez. He sensed that soon he would learn how much the notorious bounty hunter cared for the small female.
Most men would comply with the overwhelming odds that were stacked against them. Most would realize that it was futile to try and resist the many guns that guarded Don Jose and his prisoner. They would do as they were told for fear of what might happen if they did not.
But Iron Eyes was not like other men.
He never did what you expected him to do. For all the nobleman knew, Iron Eyes would start shooting as soon as he entered the courtyard. Don Jose moved to the edge of the wooden boardwalk that surrounded the hacienda and he placed his trembling hand on the ivory grip of his holstered pistol. Yet he knew that if the stories about the deadly bounty hunter were only half true, he would never be able to draw his gun before Iron Eyes had dispatched him.
What had seemed like a good plan was now becoming more and more worrying. Iron Eyes had already unleashed his fury on the vaqueros Don Jose had sent north of the border in a vain bid to hire his services. He began to doubt that kidnapping the fiery female to lure him to his hacienda would mellow the notorious bounty hunter into submission.
In fact, it could have the totally opposite effect. Iron Eyes might not be in any mood to either listen or help the nobleman, having had his woman snatched in the dark.
Don Jose felt his heart pounding inside his frilly shirt.
Had he opened Pandora’s Box? Were they bringing a nest of vipers into the heart of his home? Sweat trailed down his moonlit profile as he stared fearfully at the open gates and the armed sentries upon its parapets.
Don Jose knew that many men build walls to keep their enemies out when in fact those same walls can also keep their worst nightmares trapped within.
‘Don Jose,’ one of the sentries shouted out as he pointed his gleaming rifle at the approaching trio of horsemen. ‘They are nearly here.’
Fernandez gave a nod as his eyes darted around the interior of the torch-lit courtyard. The blood-soaked legend of the infamous bounty hunter flashed through his mind. He prayed that it was an exaggeration but feared that it was more likely a watered down version of the truth.
Don Jose swallowed hard but his throat was as dry as the surrounding desert. It was now too late to do anything but pray that he might be able to explain his reasons for bringing both Squirrel Sally and Iron Eyes to his home before the bounty hunter started to unleash his fury.
The sound of the three horses grew louder. Their hoof beats echoed off the whitewashed walls all around the fortified hacienda.
Then he saw them enter the courtyard.
Fernandez could not take his unblinking eyes off the horseman riding behind his son and the vaquero. He took a faltering step forward and stared at the rider. The blazing torches spilled their crimson light on to the unearthly entity.
A terror gripped the nobleman.
Don Jose had never been so frightened before by the horrific sight that approached him. The long limp hair flapped on the wide shoulders of Iron Eyes as his skeletal face stared with unblinking eyes down at him.
Fernandez was looking straight into the face of death as the high-shouldered palomino stallion cantered toward him. His heart was fit to burst as every one of the gruesome stories he had heard concerning the deadly hunter of men filled his mind. He wanted to run but his feet were glued to the spot. All he could do was watch the devilish horseman as he bore down on him.
His wide open eyes watched in horror as the scarlet torchlight bathed Iron Eyes in its fiery hue. What sort of creature had he invited into the inner sanctum of his home?
Was this Satan? Fernandez would soon discover the answer.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The spires of solid rock loomed up from the desert floor like the fingers of some unearthly monster vainly trying to rip the large moon out of the sky. The moonlight cast its uninterrupted illumination down from the cloudless heavens as though the gods themselves wanted to find the elusive Running Wolf and his followers.
Black shadows in total contrast to the light spread out from the impressive mesas and ridges of ancient stone. In every shadow it was said a dozen or more eyes watched the braver creatures who rode through the eerie light.
Yet there were eyes in many of the shadows that tapered away from the massive monoliths. They were the eyes of the rebel Apaches who guarded the solitary trail path that led through a splintered boulder and into a place few even knew existed.
An arch of stone rose from one side of the trail to the other. It was said that to ride beneath the archway was to invoke the wrath of the gods but as it was the only way down into the hidden valley, few heeded the ominous warnings preached by generations of tribal medicine men.
This was how the place had first gotten its name.
Devil’s Cradle was a fertile valley fed by crystal clear water that made its way down from the imposing mesas in defiance of the heat which had slowly burned everything beyond its granite walls and turned them to ash.
Only the keenest of eyes would have even realized that there was such a fertile land set in the otherwise arid desolation but Running Wolf had. After fleeing the retribution of the homesteaders and army north of the unmarked border, he had headed down to the vast, sun-baked desert toward Costa Angelo. His keen instincts soon noticed the tell-tale signs around the lush valley.
Just like the formidable Iron Eyes, Running Wolf had spent his life hunting all types of game in a multitude of terrains and could read the land as easily as some read the printed word. After nearly a year of moving his dwindling band of fol
lowers from one encampment to another, he noticed the strange rocky spires that towered above everything else within the parched region.
It had not taken the ruthless Apache long to find Devil’s Cradle. Running Wolf had used the secluded gulch as a base for his increasingly small army of Apache rebels. They constructed more permanent dwellings as time rolled on, but Running Wolf and his score of lethal killers still raided homesteads and attacked forts when it suited them. There seemed to be no logical explanation in their attacks but to men who had seen their way of life destroyed by the ceaseless invasion of intruders, there did not have to be a reason.
Geronimo and Sitting Bull had each proclaimed at different times that they would kill all those who defiled their land and send all of their enemies back to where they had come from. It eventually dawned on them that there were simply too many to either kill or send retreating.
They had fought valiant fights but knew it was impossible to stem the flow of this wound. Geronimo and Sitting Bull had been wise enough to know that although they had won many battles they had lost the war.
Running Wolf had not been as wise as his cousins.
Even knowing that his days were numbered he had continued to make brutal raids on both sides of the border for precious livestock and food provisions, but it was his taking of female prisoners of any age, which had caused the most revulsion.
Many of the females’ relatives had vainly tried to find their loved ones but none had ever been successful in their quest. Death had struck down all those who had attempted to enter the legendary Devil’s Cradle with brutal and merciless retribution.
The Devil’s Cradle had been a safe haven nobody could either locate or penetrate to recover the females who had been trapped within. But was it?
Was that about to change with the arrival of Iron Eyes in the region? Would even the most lethal of bounty hunters dare to challenge the merciless Running Wolf and the even more formidable Devil’s Cradle?
Death was said to await all those who dared approach the infamous Devil’s Cradle and try to enter its uncharted terrain, but there were a few who did not fear death.
Iron Eyes was one of them.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The sandy beaches that fringed Costa Angelo were still shrouded in the cloak of darkness as storm clouds gently moved across the heavens and blocked the bright moon. The row boat that Walters and Bodine had used to make their escape was finally returning to the shore, but few noticed its return.
Waves broke in sickening succession along the countless miles of sand. They started to resemble bronco-busters as they crashed into the shore. Then the row boat rode one of the shoulder high rollers and came down heavily into the wet sand.
The sound of its wooden skeleton being broken was lost in the deafening noise of the continuous incoming tide. Planks of wood were ripped from the body of the small fishing boat and sent in various directions as it was pounded by the brutal power that only oceans can muster.
As the boat twisted and turned, a few of the local fishermen raced down from the small group of adobes and attempted to haul what was left of it ashore.
It was a futile effort.
As the hands of the villagers dragged the water-logged vessel up on to the dry sand, they wondered how one of their best fishing boats could have ended up like this.
The mast had gone and whoever had been within the boat had also suffered the same fate. As the men rested and looked into the bowels of the row boat, a few more of the small village’s inhabitants joined them from the cantina.
The buxom Conchita looked at the wreckage and then began to recall that which Iron Eyes had uttered to her earlier.
‘He said that he was waiting for a boat to return to the shore,’ she said as one of the fishermen stared at her.
‘Who did?’ he asked.
‘Iron Eyes. He was expecting a boat and here it is,’ Conchita said the name and then felt a cold chill trace her spine. She shivered and pulled her shawl up over her shoulders. ‘I do not understand.’
A silver-haired man placed his hand on her shoulder. ‘Whoever stole this fishing boat has paid the price for his crime, Conchita. The sea has taken them.’
Conchita turned and began walking back to the cantina. As she reached the ridge she stopped.
She looked at one of the other fishermen. ‘Did you see the strange gringo drinking in the yard of the cantina?’
The man shook his head.
‘I did not see anyone, my little one,’ he answered and continued up the dune to the array of coloured lanterns. ‘Maybe you dreamed of him.’
Conchita shivered. ‘Iron Eyes does not inhabit dreams. He is the thing nightmares are made of.’
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Not even the darkest of shadows could have hidden the fear and trepidation that was carved into the faces of both Pablo and Luis as they led the gaunt bounty hunter toward Don Jose. By the expressions on their faces it was obvious that neither of them were in control of the stranger they had just escorted into the spacious yard. His Navy Colts could be seen poking out from behind his belt buckle. Iron Eyes was ready to draw and start killing at any moment.
Like a man watching the approach of his own death, Don Jose Fernandez simply stared at the gruesome figure riding a few paces behind his son and the vaquero. As the three horsemen passed beneath the flaming torches and continued on toward him, his fear grew.
Pablo drew rein as his mount reached the spot where his father stood. He gave a nod to the older man but Don Jose did not return the greeting.
Fernandez could not take his eyes off the hideous features of the rider astride the palomino. Never in all of his days had he ever imagined anything that resembled Iron Eyes. This was the remnants of a man who somehow refused to die. His brutalized features glanced around his surroundings yet it was impossible to tell what was going through his mind.
The mixture of moonlight and torchlight gave the bounty hunter the look of something that was dead but too angry to acknowledge the fact.
The older man stepped back as Iron Eyes steered the stallion toward him. Iron Eyes dragged his long leathers up to his chest and stopped the snorting palomino. He then hung over the creamy mane of the powerful animal and glared down at Don Jose.
‘Are you the varmint that stole Squirrel?’ he snorted.
‘Sí, señor.’ Don Jose knew that every rifle was trained on the bounty hunter but it did not make him feel any safer. His face twitched as he watched Iron Eyes loop his leg over his saddle cantle and slowly dismount.
Iron Eyes held the bridle firmly in his hand and studied the far smaller man bathed in the lantern light which flowed from the open doorway behind him.
‘Answer me this,’ Iron Eyes growled. ‘Why did you kidnap my Squirrel?’
Without opening his mouth, Don Jose shrugged.
Iron Eyes straightened up to his full height. His eyes darted around the riflemen atop the parapets and then returned to Don Jose.
‘You’d better not have hurt her,’ he warned.
‘We have not harmed her, señor,’ Don Jose finally managed to say. ‘We only brought her here in order to get an audience with you. I am desperate to talk with you.’
Iron Eyes tossed his reins into the hands of Luis and marched to the side of Fernandez. ‘Feed and water my horse.’
The vaquero rode toward the stables with the palomino in tow and Pablo dismounted. The younger Fernandez followed his father and the tall bounty hunter into the well-lit house.
‘I am grateful that you decided to come here to help me, señor,’ Don Jose said as he walked toward a table filled with an array of decanters, each filled with a different coloured liquor.
Iron Eyes trailed him to the decanters and lifted the one with the darkest contents. He pulled its stopper and allowed its familiar aroma to fill his flared nostrils.
‘I didn’t come here to help you, Fernandez,’ he muttered before moving to a well-padded chair with the glass decanter in his hand. He sat dow
n and watched the father and son as they anxiously trailed him. ‘I come here to get Squirrel.’
Don Jose sat opposite his fearsome guest and watched as the bounty hunter drank from the decanter.
‘Did you not read my letter, señor?’ he asked. ‘I have detailed everything in it concerning the reasons for our kidnapping your woman.’
‘I didn’t read it,’ the bounty hunter drawled.
‘But you still came to rescue your woman,’ Don Jose said.
Iron Eyes lowered the decanter. ‘Squirrel ain’t my woman, Fernandez. She’s a thorn in my side, but she ain’t my woman.’
Pablo looked surprised. ‘But she said she was.’
‘Squirrel sure thinks she is.’ Iron Eyes accepted a cigar and then scratched his thumbnail across a match and sucked in its smoke. ‘It’s plumb pitiful, but for some reason she just won’t quit.’
‘But you risked your life coming here to rescue her.’ Don Jose looked baffled. ‘If she isn’t your woman why would you do this, señor?’
Ignoring the question, Iron Eyes placed the decanter on the floor beside his boot and then inhaled more smoke into his emaciated body. He shrugged and stared straight at Don Jose.
‘Tell me why you lured me here?’ he scowled. ‘I was waiting for two valuable outlaws to show themselves back at a tiny fishing village when I got diverted.’
‘The outlaws are in our pay, señor,’ Pablo admitted. ‘We paid them to lead you to Costa Angelo.’
Iron Eyes narrowed his eyes. ‘Walters and Bodine led me here?’
Pablo nodded nervously.
‘My young daughter has been kidnapped by Apaches, señor,’ Don Jose revealed bluntly. ‘She was taken as she was being escorted here.’
‘Just like you done to little Squirrel.’ Iron Eyes showed no interest as he tapped ash on to the tiled floor. ‘Why should I get involved?’
The elder Fernandez lowered his head and started to sob. His son placed a comforting hand on his father’s shoulder and looked straight at the bounty hunter.
