by Rory Black
The sight which greeted Iron Eyes was unlike anything he had ever seen before. He drew rein and stopped his mount as his bullet coloured eyes focused upon the scarlet wall of rocks. It was massive and rose defiantly out of the desert sand.
Iron Eyes held his exhausted mount in check as his eyes scanned it, looking for any hint of an entrance to what he knew lay beyond its seemingly impenetrable walls. Towering spires, the colour of blood rose up into the sky like devilish fingers.
A stretch of desert sand lay between the ridge where the bounty hunter was perched and the escarpment. It was no more than 200 yards distance to the rocks but Iron Eyes could not see any protective cover. The smooth yellow sand was devoid of vegetation. He knew that it would be suicidal to try and cross the sand unless he could come up with a plan.
His cruel eyes noted the hoof imprints left by the dead Apache’s pony in its otherwise pristine sand. They led straight to the stony archway.
Then the sound of his companion’s flagging mount drew his attention as it followed the bounty hunter up to the top of the ridge. Iron Eyes glanced over his wide shoulder and stared at the sight of the snorting horse and pony and their equally spent rider.
‘You sure took your time getting here,’ Iron Eyes growled before returning his attention to the sun-drenched rocks across the sand.
Wearily, Pablo slowed to a halt and watched Iron Eyes rise up in his saddle and balance in his stirrups. The bounty hunter’s sharp eyes studied the crimson escarpment again.
‘Why did you stop, Señor Iron Eyes?’ Pablo asked as he pointed ahead of them. ‘The tracks are quite clear. They lead across the sand.’
There was an eerie silence as the skeletal figure slowly sat down upon his ornate saddle. Iron Eyes said nothing as he reached back and pulled a bottle of tequila from his saddle bags with his bony hand.
Pablo drew alongside the hideous bounty hunter. There was something about the scarred Iron Eyes which the younger horseman admired. He did not know what it was, but Iron Eyes was probably the most honest man he had ever encountered.
The young Mexican watched as the bounty hunter’s hands pulled the cork from the bottle neck and raised the glass vessel to his lips and drank. When Iron Eyes lowered the bottle Pablo spoke.
‘What is wrong, señor?’ he asked.
Iron Eyes glanced at Pablo and then returned his narrowed eyes to the red rocks ahead of them. He pointed the bottle to where the stony archway loomed.
‘That’s the way in,’ he declared.
Pablo looked but could not see what the bounty hunter had already spotted. The secret entrance to Devil’s Cradle had been well disguised by nature over the countless centuries it had existed.
‘I see nothing but red rocks.’ He shrugged. ‘What do you see?’
Iron Eyes returned the cork to the neck of the bottle and then returned it to his saddle bags. He dried his mouth with the back of his sleeve and leaned toward the Mexican.
‘I see shadows, boy,’ he whispered. ‘Shadows where there shouldn’t be any shadows. That means that there’s a way into them rocks. You can’t see it from here but it’s there OK. Mark my words, that’s the way into them rocks.’
‘You mean the camp we seek is beyond that halo of rock?’
Iron Eyes gave a nod of his head and then looked heavenward at the still high sun. He bit his lip and shook his head. Getting close to the escarpment was not going to be easy, he thought.
‘I do not see any sentries guarding the hidden entrance to Running Wolf’s lair.’ Pablo ventured. ‘We could ride straight there without any trouble.’
‘And get ourselves shot off our saddles,’ Iron Eyes added.
Pablo frowned. ‘But there are no sentries.’
‘There ain’t none that we can see, boy,’ the bounty hunter corrected. ‘That don’t mean they ain’t up in them rocks someplace. We’re dealing with Apaches. They’re tricky critters.’
Pablo looked again at the blood-coloured rocks and vainly searched its crevices for signs of hidden Apache rebels. He could tell that Iron Eyes was trying to formulate a plan of action. Just like him, the bounty hunter wanted to dash across the small expanse of sand to the rocks and rescue little Maria. But unlike the youthful Mexican, Iron Eyes was seasoned enough to know that it was far wiser to think before acting.
‘I just wanna get my hands on them Apaches and rescue that little gal,’ Iron Eyes growled as he looped his leg over the neck of his horse and slid down on to the sandy ridge. ‘They’re over there, boy. Damn it all. They’re so close I can smell them.’
Pablo dismounted beside the far taller bounty hunter and tied his long leathers to some brush. He watched as the bony figure paced around the area like a caged cougar until he reached the Indian pony. Then for some reason, he stopped and stared at the animal.
‘I knew there was a reason why we brought this little Injun pony along with us, sonny.’ Iron Eyes sighed as he ran a hand along the back of the skittish animal.
There was a look of astonishment on Pablo’s face. ‘What are you thinking, señor? What use could that little horse be to us?’
Iron Eyes looked at the younger man and smiled.
‘I’ve just figured out a plan, boy,’ he hissed. ‘A mighty daring plan but if it works, we’ll get into them rocks without being riddled with bullets.’
Pablo looked at the pony and then the emaciated bounty hunter in turn. No matter how hard he tried, he could not think how Iron Eyes imagined the Apache mount might assist them in this dangerous venture.
‘How can this skinny pony get us into Running Wolf’s stronghold, Señor Iron Eyes?’ he asked.
Iron Eyes tilted his head. His mane of long black hair fell over his horrendous features. ‘You have to be as crazy as a fox to outsmart one.’
The Mexican shook his head. He was no wiser. He was about to probe even deeper when Iron Eyes pulled off his trail coat and hung it over his saddle. As the painfully lean bounty hunter removed his tattered shirt, Pablo moved closer to him.
‘What are you doing, Señor Iron Eyes?’ he asked as the thin man tossed what was left of his blood-stained short on top of his coat. ‘Why are you undressing?’
Iron Eyes paused for a moment and stared at his comrade through his long limp hair.
‘Hell, Pablo boy,’ he muttered. ‘Ain’t it obvious? I’m gonna save that little sister of yours.’
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
It had taken less than five minutes to transform himself into what appeared at first glance, an Apache. Iron Eyes had smeared his brutally scarred torso with a mixture of water and the red dust that was covering the legs of the Indian pony to mask his pale flesh. He then tore his shirt apart and wrapped a strip of it around his mane of long hair.
‘How’d I look?’ he asked the youngster.
‘You look like an Apache, señor.’
‘Good.’ Iron Eyes nodded and then carefully poked his Navy Colts into his belt. ‘Give me your rifle.’
‘My rifle?’
Iron Eyes nodded firmly. ‘I gotta look like that dead Injun. He had a carbine.’
‘What are you intending doing, señor?’ Pablo already knew the answer to his question but still needed to hear the bounty hunter say it out loud. ‘Why are you pretending to be one of Running Wolf’s rebels?’
The long-legged man strode to the younger man and loomed over him. He leaned over until his lips were close to Pablo’s right ear.
‘I’m gonna ride across the sand pretending to be the same critter that left their encampment earlier, boy,’ he drawled. ‘I need you to pretend to be dead. I want them to think that one of their braves has killed you and is bringing the body back to show Running Wolf. Savvy?’
Pablo’s eyes widened.
‘You want me to pretend to be dead?’ he repeated.
‘I sure do,’ Iron Eyes confirmed. ‘It’ll be mighty risky, though. We could both get peppered with lead if’n they see through our trick.’
‘How will I pretend to be dead, se
ñor?’ Pablo croaked.
‘You’ll be lying over that high shouldered horse,’ Iron Eyes stated. ‘And I’ll be on the pony. I’ll be leading you across the sand. If I follow the tracks I’ll locate the way into their camp real easy.’
Pablo thought about his sister and nodded. ‘It is a good plan. What happens when we get to the encampment?’
Iron Eyes shrugged. ‘We’ll either be dead or we’ll be ready to start fighting.’
Pablo gave a nervous nod and watched as Iron Eyes secured his own mount to the entangled undergrowth before turning to the other two horses. He paced around the far smaller pony and patted it with his bony hand.
‘We’ll leave my horse here, sonny,’ the skinny figure said as Pablo carefully pulled himself up on to the saddle. He lay across the saddle and gripped his pistol in his hand.
‘I hope I do not fall off,’ Pablo said as his head hung close to one of the stirrups. ‘I have never ridden a horse on my belly before. It is not comfortable.’
‘Just keep that gun hid, boy,’ Iron Eyes said as he mounted the bareback pony and gathered up the crude rope reins. He pulled the long leathers of the stallion free and then tapped his boots against the sides of the Apache pony. ‘If you feel like you’re gonna fall off, just grip on to the fender and remember what’s at stake.’
‘Sí, I understand,’ Pablo said as he felt the tall stallion start to follow the smaller pony.
They headed slowly down the ridge toward the desert sand. With his mane of black hair flapping like the wings of a bat, Iron Eyes sat slumped across the back of the pony beneath him as the animals reached level ground. His unblinking eyes peered out from behind the veil of long strands of hair in search of the enemies he knew were watching him. With every stride of the horses’ legs, both men felt their hearts quicken.
They were getting closer to the red monolith. Closer to the bullets they felt sure would soon rain down upon them.
Just as Iron Eyes had surmised, there were watchful eyes in the scarlet rocks keeping guard of Running Wolf’s hidden valley. A pair of Apache warriors moved through the rocks, unseen by anyone who dared look up into the craggy heights. They had spotted the two horses as soon as they dared cross the unprotected desert sand. The braves recognized the painted pony easily and mistakenly thought they knew its rider as well. Iron Eyes had the shimmering heat haze to thank for the Apaches’ confusion.
Not even the keenest of eyes could focus clearly on anything or anyone as the hot midday air moved above the hot sand. Both braves were curious by the sight of the tall horse with the body across its saddle trailing the pony. Just as the bounty hunter had hoped, they thought that their fellow Apache was bringing back his trophy for the rest of their dwindling numbers to look upon.
Tall thoroughbred horses were valuable, even to the Apaches who knew they could easily trade a fine animal for guns and ammunition.
By the time Iron Eyes had reached the halfway point, one of the warriors had started to make his way back down from their perilous perches. He would inform Running Wolf while the remaining brave moved like a sure-footed mountain goat across the high rocks with his carbine in his hand. Iron Eyes lifted his chin off his chest and watched the agile rebel as he gradually descended the crimson rocks.
‘We’ve bin spotted, Pablo,’ he hissed through gritted teeth. ‘One brave is making his way down to greet us.’
Iron Eyes continued to approach the blood red rock face with the stock of the Winchester resting upon his thigh. A trail of sweat ran down his scarred features. For the first time in his life Iron Eyes realized that he was about to face an untold number of foes.
There was no way of knowing how many warriors lay beyond the towering monolith. How many Apaches were willing to fight to the death for their rebel leader?
Every instinct told him it was a bad idea riding into the heart of the Indian stronghold but the photographic image he had seen in Don Jose’s parlour kept him moving forward. The face of little Maria was branded into his mind and he was going to try and rescue her, whatever it cost. His half-naked body bore the scars of every battle he had waged. Iron Eyes knew that if he got too close to the athletic Apache, his deception would be unmasked. Yet if he fired one of his Navy Colts before he reached the camp, the echoing sound would alert Running Wolf that trouble was close.
Iron Eyes would have to kill the approaching Indian quickly and silently if he were to gain entry into the hidden stronghold. His narrowed eyes glanced down at the hilt of his Bowie knife in the neck of his mule-eared boot.
Once again he looked at the brave as he leapt from one boulder to the next on his way down to greet him. Iron Eyes knew that it was only a matter of time before he was exposed as an imposter. The closer he guided the pony to the stone archway, the more likely it was that the Apache warrior would realize that he was not who he alluded to be.
The blazing sunlight danced along the barrel of the carbine in the warrior’s grip. If he fired that rifle to warn Running Wolf and his men, the game was over.
‘Keep that gun cocked, sonny,’ the bounty hunter told Pablo as he leaned backwards and pulled the long leathers so that the stallion drew level with the pony. ‘One of Running Wolf’s braves is making his way down here.’
Pablo had never felt so sick in all his life. Draped like a sack of flour over the saddle bowl and bouncing up and down on his stomach was agonizing to anyone apart from a real dead body. Even so, he managed to whisper his reply back to the ruthless rider masquerading as an Apache.
‘My pistol is ready, señor.’ He groaned. ‘I wait for your orders.’
Iron Eyes patted the rump of his fellow daredevil.
‘Good boy. When I give you the order you sit up and start shooting.’ Never taking his eyes off the Apache as he made his way down the crimson escarpment, Iron Eyes leaned down to his boot and caught hold of the handle of his Bowie knife. His bony fingers encircled its bound handle and slid it out from the neck of his boot.
The Indian pony reached the stone arch as the descending warrior clambered down to a ledge. The Apache was about to jump down to the sun-bleached sand when he noticed something different about the rider straddled over the pony.
The Indian started to shout at the figure he knew was not his fellow brave. Then Iron Eyes looked up as the carbine was swung around and aimed in his direction. His cruelly scarred face stopped the Apache in his tracks. The fearful shock of seeing the haunting face of the infamous bounty hunter staring up at him filled the Indian with terror.
As the Indian hesitated, Iron Eyes mustered every scrap of his strength and threw the knife as fast and accurately as he was able. The long blade buried itself into the chest of the startled brave. The rifle fell from his fingers.
There was a sickening gasp and then the warrior toppled off the ledge. He fell and landed heavily on his back. Dust rose from around the body as the bounty hunter quickly dismounted and crossed the distance between them. Iron Eyes looked all around the prostrate figure and then pulled his knife clear of the bloody chest. He wiped the gore from the blade and returned it to his boot.
Iron Eyes ran back to the pony and leapt like a cougar on to its back. He looked at Pablo.
‘Now, Pablo,’ he shouted as he looked at the narrow gap in the rocks and instantly realized the elusive entrance to Running Wolf’s stronghold.
Pablo dropped off the saddle and caught the Winchester tossed to him by his cohort. He cranked its mechanism and then poked his boot into the closest stirrup. He mounted his tall horse swiftly and looked at his companion.
‘What should I do?’ he asked as he held his mount in check and watched the bounty hunter turn to face him.
‘Don’t get killed,’ Iron Eyes snarled before driving the Indian pony into the shadows of the secretive entrance into the towering red rocks.
Both horsemen thundered through the shadows toward the valley beyond. The sound of their horses echoed all around them in the confines of the narrow trail. Then both riders could see the blindi
ng light ahead of their mounts.
For a few moments neither Iron Eyes nor Pablo could see anything as they galloped toward the blinding light. Then their eyes focused and could see the unexpectedly lush valley beyond. Before anyone within Devil’s Cradle realized what was happening, both horses cleared the mountainous rocks and raced out into the luminous area.
Suddenly they realized that the camp they sought was close to the red rocks. By the time they had time to slow their mounts they were well into the fertile valley. The horses continued racing between well-nourished trees and the permanent structures.
Then Iron Eyes hauled back on his rope reins and stopped the pony as it reached a cluster of trees. The bounty hunter dropped from the back of his mount and pulled both his guns from his belt. He cocked the hammers of his weapons as Pablo reined in and halted his stallion. The young Mexican threw himself from his ornate saddle and raced to the side of the hunched bounty hunter. Pablo gripped his Winchester firmly in his hands.
Suddenly they saw warriors rushing from their teepees toward them. None of the heavily armed Apaches seemed to be able to even imagine anyone entering the isolated camp.
Then they saw the pair of intruders in their midst.
Iron Eyes did not wait for the shooting to erupt from their weapons. He blasted both his guns in turn as he defiantly advanced toward the crude structures. Plumes of fiery venom spewed from his gun barrels.
Every shot found its target.
As the less experienced Pablo carefully fired his rifle at the Apaches, Iron Eyes continued moving toward them. The bounty hunter felt the heat of their rifle bullets pass his crouching form but did not slow his advance.
The sound of terrified screams rang out above the noise of the guns and rifles. Then Iron Eyes’s guns ran out of bullets. Being out of ammunition did not dampen his desire to find little Maria, though.
