The Iron Eyes Collection

by Rory Black

  Denver gave a terrifying grin. ‘I am.’

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  After riding for what felt like an eternity, Iron Eyes finally drew back on his long leathers and hauled the powerful palomino to a stop. The snorting stallion was sweating heavily as its master slid from its saddle and rested his back against its coiled saddle rope. His bony hand pulled the arrow from the heavily padded Mexican saddle.

  His narrowed eyes studied the arrow carefully. He traced a finger along the wooden shaft and the stared at the feathered flights. Every tribe could be identified by the tell-tale feathers they emblazoned their arrows with, but the wounded bounty hunter had never encountered any Indian who used this exact type of flight.

  The arrow had come within inches of his leg. Iron Eyes angrily snapped the shaft in half and tossed it aside.

  ‘What tribe have I upset this time, horse?’ he drawled as the stallion started to chew on the plentiful vegetation surrounding them. ‘I don’t recognize them flights at all. We’re too far north for it to be Apaches and it sure ain’t Cheyenne or Sioux. Whoever they are, they’re just like all the others and don’t like me.’

  His eyes looked from behind the veil of long black strands of hair that dangled limply over his hideous face. The famed bounty hunter did not trust anything in this strange land of innumerable trees. His wound hurt like hell and was throbbing constantly under the tattered fabric of his dust coat. He flexed his long bony fingers and shook his hand in an attempt to stop his tendons from seizing up.

  ‘Where the hell is Squirrel?’ Iron Eyes hissed at his resting horse. ‘Trying to catch up with that little vixen is proving more dangerous than tracking outlaws.’

  The wounded bounty hunter paced around the stallion as his weary mind raced. He had no idea where Sally’s trail had led him to or what sort of Indians might haunt this forest.

  His ignorance troubled him as he checked the satchels to both sides of the tall animal. He lifted the last bottle of whiskey from the saddlebags and pulled its cork with his skeletal fingers and then raised it to his lips. He washed the taste of anger down his gullet and then exhaled heavily.

  He glanced at the sky and then returned his attention back to the faithful palomino. The handsome horse was starting to look as beleaguered as its master.

  ‘I sure hope Squirrel had the sense to buy some whiskey with some of my money, horse,’ he drawled as the fumes filled his head and cleared his thoughts. Then another less savoury thought came to the bounty hunter. ‘Whatever tribe was taking pot shots at me might have also taken a hankering to her long golden hair. I’d sure not like for her to get scalped.’

  Iron Eyes dried his lips along his sleeve. He rubbed his chin as the notion of Sally’s scalp hanging from an Indian’s lance chilled him to the bone.

  A fresh sense of urgency filled his pitifully lean frame as he began to picture the horrific scene of the stubborn Sally’s hair as nothing more than a trophy. Iron Eyes shuddered and then glanced at his shoulder again.

  Crimson gore still seeped from the hole in his shoulder and he knew that he had to stop any more blood from escaping his frame. His eyes darted around the forest and then spotted a sun-drenched fallen tree trunk a few yards to his right. His long legs strode to the trunk. He pressed his hand against its moss-filled interior. It was bone dry unlike most of the forest, he thought. A gap in the overhead canopy allowed a steady flood of sunlight to warm the ground in a twenty-foot radius of the fallen tree.

  ‘Reckon I got enough time to tend this blasted wound,’ he muttered to himself as he scooped more leaves on to the moss and patted them down. ‘This oughta do just fine.’

  Iron Eyes pulled out his long bladed Bowie knife from the neck of his mule-eared boot and forced its blade into the dry moss. He took another swig of whiskey and then located a match and ignited it with his thumbnail. He dropped the match on to the moss and then spat the fiery liquor on to the moss. A flash of explosive heat hit the bounty hunter. Within seconds the entire interior of the rotten tree trunk was ablaze around his trusty knife.

  His narrowed eyes stared at the bone handle of his lethal knife as flames licked around its honed blade. A sultry smile etched the corner of his scarred face. His bony finger pushed the knife sending scarlet whispers upward toward the branches that loomed high above the skeletal figure.

  All the bounty hunter could now do was wait. Wait for the Bowie knife to get good and hot. His keen hearing listened out for any tell sign that the Kiowa were drawing closer.

  ‘So far so good,’ Iron Eyes muttered as he carefully placed the whiskey bottle down on the ground beside his mule-eared boots. He tilted his head. His limp black hair fell over his gruesome face as he watched the cold steel grow redder in the burning innards of the trunk.

  Every few seconds he placed more kindling on the fire and then peeled his jacket and shirt off his shoulder. A scarlet stream of bloody droplets wept and oozed from the flesh.

  Iron Eyes twisted his tortured head as the sound of approaching ponies caught his grim attention. The bounty hunter knew that his adversaries had discovered his trail again and were now only minutes from the small clearing.

  He turned back to the fire and tore a strip off his shirt and wrapped it around his bony hand.

  ‘I sure hope them Injuns keep their distance for a while,’ he muttered as he felt the heat of the fire against his brutalized flesh. ‘I gotta fix this wound fast before them Injuns figure out where I am.’

  His bony hand gripped the bone handle of the knife and poked the fire. A million red hot sparks rose up into the eerie forest. He knew that this was going to hurt like sin. It always hurt like sin.

  Iron Eyes swallowed hard and then drew the blade from the fire and swiftly laid it across the savage wound. Sizzling skin hissed from the melted skin. Pain raced through his emaciated body like a lightning bolt. The knife fell from his hand as the bounty hunter buckled.

  With the sickening smell of burning flesh filling his flared nostrils, his shaking hand grabbed the whiskey bottle and raised it to his scarred lips.

  He filled his mouth with whiskey and then turned his head and stared at the smoking wound. Iron Eyes spat a steady stream of whiskey on to the wound and then swayed as he fought with the desire to succumb to unconsciousness.

  Iron Eyes returned the bottle neck to his mouth and started to drain its contents. The whiskey tasted good as it forged a trail into his guts. As the last drop of the fiery liquid drained from the bottle, Iron Eyes rubbed the beads of sweat from his brow, tossed the bottle aside and then plucked the knife off the ground. He returned the blackened blade to his boot, then forced himself back up to his full height.

  Most men who had just endured the pain which the notorious bounty hunter had inflicted upon himself to quell any further loss of blood would have keeled over, but not Iron Eyes. The gaunt figure had a keen sense of self-preservation burning through him. It was far hotter than the blade that he had used to stem the incessant blood flow.

  Iron Eyes staggered back to the palomino, grabbed his reins and then slowly mounted the sturdy stallion. As the bounty hunter gathered his wits as well as the long leathers, his attention was drawn to a noise behind his wide back.

  A flurry of arrows peppered the ground around the stallion as Iron Eyes gripped his reins tightly. His icy stare glanced over his blood soaked shoulder at the brightly painted warriors as they drove their ponies toward the clearing. The Kiowa had seen the smoke rising up into the sky and were charging through the trees at him. They unleashed more lethal projectiles at the bounty hunter.

  ‘I sure hate wasting bullets on critters that ain’t got bounty on their heads,’ he snarled. Fearlessly, Iron Eyes pulled one of his six-shooters from his pants belt and quickly fired three shots in quick succession at the howling warriors before swinging the powerful stallion around and spurring.

  The chilling sound of their whooping had not frightened the bounty hunter, but had instantly brought him out of his delirium. Iron Eyes gritt
ed his razor-sharp teeth and forced the stallion on at a breakneck speed.

  The wide-eyed palomino jumped over the blazing tree trunk and accelerated along the gully. Its pounding hoofs raced through the forest as its painfully lean master hung on and continued firing back at his relentless pursuers.

  Yet the potentially lethal bullets did not slow the warriors as they charged across the clearing. The ponies leapt through the flames of the blazing tree trunk in determined pursuit. Iron Eyes fired the last of his six-shooters bullets and then swapped weapons as he steered the palomino down through the brush. Even as his bony hand cocked and fired back at the howling warriors, they kept on coming.

  Not even the possibility of death could slow their progress. The Kiowa steered their slightly built ponies after the haunting figure who continued to evade their arrows.

  The chase had become something far more than just wanting to kill an intruder. Now it was a quest to finally put an end to the legendary Iron Eyes. To do what so many other Indians had failed to do.

  They were determined to destroy the mythical creature that had fuelled their nightmares for so long. They wanted to slay the hideous Iron Eyes and hold his freshly scalped mane of black hair aloft for all to see. To prove the sheer might of the Kiowa. To prove that even mythical monsters could be hunted and vanquished like all other beings.

  As the golden stallion obeyed its master’s spurs, arrows lifted his coat tails. Iron Eyes mercilessly whipped the stallion with the ends of his reins and fired his Navy Colt in a futile bid to halt the Indians who just would not quit.

  The palomino thundered through the undergrowth and headed deeper into the black heart of the forest hills. The thick overhead branches prevented the blistering sun from penetrating this section of the forest yet the Kiowa were still hot on his tail.

  Their howls gnawed at his very marrow. The bounty hunter had managed to put distance between himself and the Kiowa but knew that their smaller ponies were far more agile in this rough terrain. Iron Eyes realized that he had to find high ground quickly if he were going to get the better of determined Kiowa braves.

  Iron Eyes had to summon every trick he had learned over the years if he were going to have a chance of escaping the wrath of his pursuers. His eyes darted from behind his limp strands of hair as they searched for a way out of this perilous situation.

  His bony hands pulled hard on his leathers and turned the galloping animal sharply. Like a man possessed, he rode between the tall straight trees narrowly avoiding their low hanging branches and then turned the palomino yet again.

  The snorting stallion nearly fell as its hoofs battled with the muddy ground beneath his hoofs. Somehow the muscular horse righted itself and gasped for air as its master studied the treacherous terrain again.

  Iron Eyes ducked as an arrow flew past his face, then swung the horse around and whipped his long leathers again. The palomino obeyed and charged.

  The bounty hunter’s narrowed eyes spotted a steep muddy slope rising up from the floor of the gully to higher ground. It was about two hundred yards to his right beyond the entangled trees and undergrowth. Iron Eyes sensed that if he were to escape the deadly arrows of his attackers, the steep muddy slope might be his only option.

  Not wishing his followers to realize his intention, he rode parallel with the imposing slope. His mind raced as the nerve-rattling sound of the Kiowa grew more intense behind him. With arrows flying all around him, Iron Eyes glanced at the steep slope again and continued to force his mount to weave in and out of the trees.

  It appeared impossible to ascend but the wounded bounty hunter had never been easily deterred. To Iron Eyes the impossible was merely a challenge not yet tackled.

  The gaunt horseman turned his mount again. He spurred and crashed through a wall of thorny brush and then cracked his reins across the muscular horse’s creamy tail.

  ‘C’mon, horse,’ he yelled out and blasted one of his trusty Navy Colt’s at the trailing warriors. ‘We’ll make them Injuns wish they’d never set eyes on either of us.’

  Iron Eyes had tried everything to shake his pursuers off his trail but they were still chasing him. The noise of their arrows embedding into trees chilled the fearsome rider as his keen eyes vainly searched for another way to escape their wrath.

  No matter where Iron Eyes cast his attention, there was no other option but the muddy incline. The daunting slope was damp with moisture and covered in spindly trees but it was the only way out of the corner he had ridden into. The howling Kiowa had somehow managed to drive him into a place where there was no hope of escape.

  Yet their prey was no ordinary man, just as his mount was no ordinary horse. Neither accepted defeat as a meal they could or would chew on. Iron Eyes gritted his teeth and stared angrily at the slope. It loomed over both horse and rider like a mythical dragon the bounty hunter vowed to slay.

  Iron Eyes pushed his gun into his dust coat pocket and stared at the slippery slope again. Every atom of his emaciated body began to hate the muddy obstacle as though it were a living creature. A creature he wanted to defeat far more than the whooping Kiowa.

  He hauled back on his reins then twisted in his saddle and started to ride through a maze of sturdy fir trees. Iron Eyes was trying to mislead the band of warriors to which way he was heading. Yet with every stride the tall palomino took as it used the trees as a shield, Iron Eyes’ icy stare kept returning to the steep slope.

  Iron Eyes knew that nobody in their right mind would even attempt to try and ride a horse up the muddy incline, but that made it all the more appealing to the wounded man. As he lashed the ends of his long leathers back and forth across the shoulders of the golden stallion, Iron Eyes reasoned that the Indians would never believe that he was actually going to attempt the impossible.

  A twisted grin carved across his mutilated face.

  Apart from the thin trees dotted across the side of the slope all the bounty hunter could see was mud. Mud the colour of spilled gore. He slapped the neck of his trusty horse and then headed straight at the severe incline.

  ‘C’mon, horse,’ he bellowed. ‘You can do it.’

  The powerful stallion jinked between trees, jumped over boulders and countless fallen trees which were scattered across the floor of the forest as it instantly responded to its master’s growls. The magnificent palomino defied its weariness and charged like a raging bull at the wall of mud.

  The deathly horseman stood in his stirrups, leaned over the shoulders of the palomino as another volley of lethal arrows narrowly missed his pitifully lean frame. Iron Eyes knew the horse needed to build up momentum if it were going to climb the scarlet slope. Another arrow clipped his mane of flapping hair as it passed within inches of his face.

  It only made Iron Eyes more determined.

  The arrows were getting too close, he thought. Too damn close for comfort. Iron Eyes whipped the horse’s shoulders feverishly as the muscular animal hurtled toward the wall of mud.

  ‘Fly, horse,’ He yelled. ‘Fly like you got wings.’

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The echoing sound of Iron Eyes’ distant gunfire drifted on the mountain breeze and washed over Jody Denver and his trusty cohorts. For the first time since they had captured Squirrel Sally they began to actually believe the petite female had been telling them the truth. The infamous bounty hunter was close and getting closer by the sound of it.

  ‘You figure that’s Iron Eyes, Jody?’ Vance asked nervously.

  ‘I guess so,’ Denver replied dryly as his rubbed the knuckle of his thumb against his jawbone. He glanced at the female who was still on her backside.

  ‘He’ll kill the whole bunch of you critters when he gets here, boys,’ Sally smiled. ‘Then he’ll haul your carcasses to the closest town and collect the bounty on your heads.’

  More shots rang out from the depths of the ocean of trees and hung in the mountain air. The three outlaws glanced at one another. They knew that the tiny young Sally was probably telling them what would
surely happen if they did not stop the infamous bounty hunter.

  Denver looked around the area as the sun finally dropped below the tall trees. Night was quickly approaching and by the sound of the gunshots, so was the feared Iron Eyes. The veteran outlaw rubbed his unshaven jaw as he turned to Vance and McGee.

  ‘It’s time to set the trap,’ Denver said anxiously before pointing at Sally. ‘Get this little runt into the cabin right now.’

  Vance and McGee walked toward the seated Sally.

  They grabbed an arm each and lifted Squirrel Sally off the ground. They carried her kicking and shouting form into the small structure and threw her into a cabin corner. As she skidded on her britches her eyes narrowed and glared through her dangling locks at the trio of deadly outlaws.

  Sally winced as she lifted each buttock in turn off the unforgiving boards to relieve the stinging. Then she lifted her head and yelled at the top of her voice at them.

  ‘You stinking bastards,’ Sally yelped as she felt splinters filling her rear. ‘If my hands were free I’d send you all to Hell. You ain’t nothing but cowards. Snot-nosed cowards.’

  All three of the outlaws chuckled as her words filled the confines of the log cabin. Sally quickly glanced around its interior and made a mental note of its layout. She noted that it had just one door and a solitary window. There was no glass in the window frame and its shutters were wide open to the elements. Her fertile imagination raced as she tried to figure out how to escape from the three brutal captors. Her mind kept returning to thought of her fully loaded Winchester propped against the outside wall of the cabin.

  If she could just free herself and reach the rifle, everything would change.

  Denver checked that the belt wrapped around Sally’s arms was still secure. He then tightened it a notch under her heaving breasts. A wry smile etched his hardened features as he licked lips at the sight of her sweat soaked flesh.