by Rory Black
‘That’s Squirrel Sally’s stagecoach tracks, horse,’ he growled and steadied the palomino as his eyes strained and studied the trail road as it led up the hillside deeper into the forest. ‘I’m closing in on that little chilli-pepper. When I find her I’ll be able to get my hands on my golden eagles and drink all her whiskey before kicking her butt.’
With renewed resolve, Iron Eyes encouraged the palomino to start trotting and looked around the dense undergrowth which surrounded him. As the exhausted stallion continued up the trail and rounded a bend, the bounty hunter caught the scent of smoke in his flared nostrils. Mist made it impossible to see the smoke that his nose had already identified. He eased back on his reins and stopped the stallion.
Iron Eyes sniffed the cooling evening air and held the horse in check for a few moments as his keen senses tried to work out where the smoke was coming from.
He frowned.
‘That’s coming from a smoke stack,’ he said. ‘That means there’s a cabin up here someplace.’
The bounty hunter instinctively knew that the smell of smoke was coming off the mountain from a place he had yet to reach or discover. Iron Eyes gathered up his reins as he thought of Squirrel Sally again.
No matter how hard the emaciated bounty hunter tried, he could not rid his mind of the tempestuous female. He kept telling himself that he was simply chasing his small fortune in golden coins but in truth Squirrel was far more precious to the brutalized bounty hunter.
Suddenly he heard the howls of a distant timber wolf.
It echoed all around him and sent a cold shiver up his spine as he looked all around him. Iron Eyes had not even considered that there might be wild animals in this vast forest until he had heard the wolf baying at the large moon.
‘Damn it all,’ he cursed as he steadied the horse. ‘First there was back-shooters, then Injuns and now wild critters. What next?’
Iron Eyes cracked his long leathers and carried on up the trail road through the eerie light of the rising moon. His bony hands replaced his spent bullets with fresh ones and then poked the six-shooters back into his belt.
The stallion had only travelled a few miles through the moonlight when something else caught his attention on the trail road. Iron Eyes slowed the muscular mount and narrowed his eyes as the horse slowly trotted to what he was looking at.
His scrawny hands pulled back on the long leathers and slowed the stallion. As the palomino reached the abandoned stagecoach, Iron Eyes drew back on his reins and looped them around the saddle horn.
Iron Eyes felt his heart pounding inside his chest as the high-shouldered animal came to a halt. Sally should be with her prized stagecoach but she was nowhere to be seen, he thought. Where was she?
He dismounted silently as every fibre of his being knew his feisty friend would not desert her precious stagecoach willingly. Iron Eyes moved like a nervous panther and approached the coach. He rested his hand upon its tailgate and glanced at the ground.
His eyes focused on the ground as frost sparkled upon the marks left by the last people to move across its surface. He knelt and studied the boot prints.
‘Three men,’ Iron Eyes muttered before looking at the impressions closer to the back of the coach. He gritted his teeth and leaned down until his face was only ten inches above the ground. ‘Sally was kneeling and then dragged off.’
He did not want to believe the tracks he had just read.
Iron Eyes returned to his full height. He shook his head and then walked along the vehicle before stopping beside the carriage door. He looked into the coach but Squirrel Sally was not there. He had hoped to see her sleeping, but knew she had been taken by someone.
All the bounty hunter knew for sure was that whoever had taken his precious Squirrel were not Indians. The boots gave that away.
He raised his hand and ran his bony fingers through his hair and forced it off his face. A sudden thought filled him with dread.
What if they had killed her?
A fury suddenly rose up inside the gaunt bounty hunter as he strode across the frosty ground following the tracks into the undergrowth. He stopped at the edge of the treeline and stared into the blackness as his pulse rate increased.
He snapped his fingers.
The golden stallion walked wearily toward him and stopped at his shoulder. The large horse nudged the bounty hunter and snorted.
‘Somebody took Squirrel, horse,’ he rasped angrily. ‘They might have killed her for all I know. If they have, I’ll surely kill them.’
Iron Eyes turned and ran to the front of the stagecoach and climbed up to the driver’s seat. He swung his legs over and rested his hip on the long sprung board. The bright moon filled the box with its eerie illumination. His fiery eyes stared down into the box to where Sally kept her most precious things. Within seconds he found the small leather bag, loosened its leather lace and stared at the golden eagles.
Yet even holding the weighty bag meant nothing to Iron Eyes. All he could think about was the short flame-headed beauty he had christened ‘Squirrel’. He dropped the bag of coins back into the box and then found her whiskey bottle.
He loosened its cork and downed a quarter of its contents quickly in a vain attempt to calm himself down. Yet no amount of the amber liquor was enough to achieve that goal. He pushed the cork back into the clear neck of the bottle and dropped it into one of his pockets.
He was about to return to his horse when he saw something at the end of the long driver’s seat. It was her pipe.
His bony digits touched it. It was ice cold.
Iron Eyes exhaled loudly and felt his outrage growing. He had tried to remain calm, but something inside his tortured soul refused to remain detached from the situation.
‘Squirrel,’ he repeated her name several times and then raised his head. No creature this side of Hell could have been more dangerous as Iron Eyes was as he climbed down from the high vantage point.
He had a fire burning inside him. A fire that was out of control. His narrowed eyes were red as he marched back to his awaiting horse and picked up its long leathers.
The bounty hunter reached up, grabbed his saddle horn and then mounted the palomino. He drove both boots into his stirrups and then tapped his boots against the flanks of the stallion.
‘C’mon, horse,’ he hissed like a serpent about to strike out at its unsuspecting victim. ‘Let’s go find that little gal.’
As the high-shouldered stallion walked into the trees, the stern-faced bounty hunter pulled a cigar from his pocket and pushed it into the corner of his scarred lips. His thumbnail scratched the tip of a match and raised its flame to the end of the cigar. He filled his lungs with the acrid smoke and then allowed it to slowly escape through his teeth. As it trailed out into the cold air he tossed the match at the frost-covered ground and then pulled the whiskey bottle from his deep trail coat pocket.
He leaned back and lifted a satchel flap and then dropped the bottle into its empty void. The gruesome bounty hunter did not need any more whiskey to fuel his volcanic temper as countless emotions raged through his veins. Iron Eyes was like a stick of dynamite as its fuse burned toward its detonator cap. His half closed eyes darted all around him in search of the three men who had taken his precious Squirrel Sally.
The Denver gang had made a mistake.
They had taken Sally in order to lure her man into their crossfire. Like so many others before them, they had underestimated the sheer fury of the notorious Iron Eyes. They had considered him to be like all the others of his blood-thirsty profession.
That was a mistake.
Iron Eyes was different. He had always ridden with death as his constant companion. For some unknown reason, death had always protected him in his pursuit of the wanted men the law was incapable of finding. A dark omen shielded the gaunt horseman as he allowed the tall palomino to navigate through the forest in search of his prey.
What troubled Iron Eyes was that its protection might not be shared by the petite Sal
ly Cooke. Squirrel Sally might have already fallen foul of the Grim Reaper’s retribution. The thought chilled the wounded bounty hunter.
‘They’d better not have hurt Squirrel,’ he muttered as the palomino made its way deeper into the trees. With every step the bounty hunter sucked in smoke and stared at the boot prints he was following. ‘You ain’t gonna escape, amigos. I’m the best tracker there ever was. You got my Squirrel and I’m gonna kill you.’
Iron Eyes allowed the weary horse to find its own pace as it made its way between the trees. As the horse quietly strode on through the forest, its master listened out for any clues to how close he was to his prey.
His long fingers pulled the spent cigar from his mouth and tossed it aside. He rubbed his face and then saw a trail of chimney smoke rising from the trees and curling up into the moonlight. He was getting closer, he thought.
Soon he would get them in his gunsights and teach them a permanent lesson. If they had harmed one hair on Squirrel’s head, he would make their journey to Hell a slow, lingering ordeal.
Iron Eyes could not see the cabin through the barrier of trees and undergrowth but he could smell it. He was like a ravenous wild animal with the scent of his chosen targets in his nostrils. He tapped his boots against the flanks of the exhausted stallion and urged it on.
They would pay for their actions, he vowed.
Iron Eyes allowed the tall palomino to continue heading toward the smell of wood smoke. As thorny brambles tore at his already mutilated flesh, the unblinking horseman continued on oblivious to everything except finding his beautiful female companion and confronting her captors.
Then his narrowed eyes caught sight of the lamplight as it cascaded from the cabin and wove a path through the trees toward him. A haunting smile etched his horrific features as he slowly drew closer to the clearing. Every sinew in his wounded body wanted to ride at them with his guns blazing and show them no mercy, but Squirrel Sally was there. He lowered his head and glared through his long limp hair at the trees and the cabin. The powerful stallion walked on toward the clearing as if it knew exactly where its master intended for it to go.
The claw-like hands of the beleaguered bounty hunter checked his guns.
‘They’re gonna pay big time,’ Iron Eyes hissed.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The forest which surrounded the remote cabin suddenly fell silent as if the wild animals that lived within its confines recognized the smell of death as it moved silently through the trees. The moonlit heavens were suddenly filled with birds as they fled the approach of the ominous Iron Eyes. Yet the bounty hunter kept on coming toward the lamplight like a moth drawn to a naked flame.
Within the logger’s shelter, Jody Denver warmed his bones against the stove in blissful ignorance that the scourge of all men of his dubious occupation was getting nearer with every beat of his ruthless heart.
It had been hours since the three outlaws had set their trap and waited for the legendary Iron Eyes to stumble into their crossfire. The night had brought a bone-biting chill which gnawed at their bones. McGee and Vance had drawn the short straws and were huddled out in the cold courtyard that surrounded the small cabin, while their brutish leader sat on a cot close to the wood burning stove. Yet with both the window and door wide open, the cabin was little warmer than it was outside.
The long wait was wearing all three outlaws down as much as the dropping temperature. They all began to doubt that the notorious bounty hunter was going to show at all. Minutes had turned into hours and the forest grew ever colder as the last three surviving members of the Denver gang waited.
The cabin was bathed in the flickering amber light of the lamp set upon the small table close to the open doorway. Sally remained seated on the hardback chair directly before the door.
‘Where the hell is he?’ Denver growled as he flexed his fingers. ‘I thought you said that Iron Eyes was following you, Squirrel.’
‘He is,’ Sally said without moving a muscle.
‘I’m starting to think that you’re just a little gal with a real big mouth,’ Denver got to his feet and moved to the stove as he glanced over his shoulder at her. ‘I’ll bet you don’t even know Iron Eyes at all. This has all bin a pack of lies to stop me and the boys from having our way with you.’
The golden haired female gave a slight laugh. ‘Like I told you, I’m the betrothed of Iron Eyes. He’s coming and when he finds out what you done to me, he’ll be mighty angry.’
‘Bull,’ Denver shouted across the cabin. ‘You’re just a real smart little gal. I’m beginning to think that we should forget all about waiting for your betrothed and do what we want with you.’
Sally did not say anything.
‘I’m gonna call the boys back in here,’ Denver opened the black stove door and pushed two logs onto its crimson heart. ‘I reckon that they’ve earned the right to pleasure you after spending the last couple of hours freezing their long-johns off out there.’
Sally stared at the open door. She began to wonder if Denver was right about Iron Eyes not trailing her. Her doubts did not last long though as her keen hunter’s eyesight caught a glimpse of something moving in the trees. Although she could not make out the approaching rider perfectly, she knew that it could only be Iron Eyes.
‘You should call them back in here,’ Sally bluffed Denver without turning her head to look at him. ‘I ain’t feared of any of you.’
Denver moved with his rifle cradled between his hands to where Sally sat. He grabbed her mane of hair, jerked her head back and looked down at her beautiful face.
‘What game are you playing, missy?’ he riled. ‘Nobody can be as calm as you are. Are you so dumb that you can’t see how dangerous me and the boys are?’
There was no expression on Sally’s face. She just looked into Denver’s troubled features blankly. He released his grip.
Sally watched the elder outlaw pace to the open doorway and stare out into the clearing and the trees that fringed it. Unlike herself, Denver did not notice the approach of the mysterious horseman.
He paced back to the stove and opened its iron door again. The heat felt good to the outlaw as he warmed his hands before the crackling flames. Denver turned his head and saw the emotionless face of Sally staring at him from the chair.
‘What you looking at?’ Denver snapped at her.
Sally sighed, ‘I’m looking at a critter who’ll more than likely be dead before sun-up.’
Denver forced a smile and then picked up his Winchester again and pointed its long metal barrel at the unconcerned female. The rifle shook with every word he uttered.
‘Shut the hell up, Squirrel,’ he stammered. ‘I could have killed you back at your stagecoach but figured me and the boys might get some pleasure out of you. But I warn you, it don’t matter to me if’n you’re dead or alive.’
Sally shook her long wavy hair back and smiled at the rafters. She then raised an eyebrow and stared straight at the outlaw fearlessly.
‘Kill me then,’ she taunted. ‘It don’t matter none to me.’
Jody Denver marched from the stove and stood over her half naked body. He pushed the barrel into the side of her neck and panted like an old hound dog. He was angry enough to kill her but women were scarce in these parts and no matter how annoying Sally was, he could not allow himself to waste anything quite so precious.
‘I should pull the trigger,’ he threatened. ‘But that would be too easy. I’m gonna make you beg to be killed, girl. When me and the boys are through with you, you’ll be begging for us to end your misery.’
Defiantly, Sally tilted her head and smiled.
‘You and them half-wits out in the yard ain’t gonna be doing nothing except dying, old timer,’ Sally said calmly before turning her head and then fluttering her eyelashes at the anxious Denver. ‘Iron Eyes will kill you when he gets here. If you harm me, he’ll kill you real slow.’
Her words burrowed into the hardened outlaw. Somehow she refused to be intimidated and that
not only confused Denver, it also troubled him. Squirrel Sally was unlike any female he had ever encountered. He began to realize that she was probably telling the truth about being Iron Eyes’ woman. She seemed totally unafraid as he imagined any female belonging to the infamous bounty hunter would be.
Denver backed away from Sally and lowered his rifle. His face was twitching as his mind raced. He rubbed his sweating face along the back of his sleeve and tried to figure out why the tiny female was so confident.
‘You’re plumb loco, Squirrel,’ he spat as he clutched his rifle and stared at his captive. ‘I ain’t never met a gal as loco as you. You’re crazy enough to belong to Iron Eyes.’
Sally sniffed the evening air and then started to nod.
‘Maybe I am loco,’ she agreed. ‘But my nose tells me that my betrothed is headed this way.’
Denver’s rugged face suddenly went pale. He moved back toward her and circled the chair until he was directly before her. He bent forward.
‘You can smell him?’ he asked fearfully.
She nodded. ‘Yep, I can smell him OK.’
Denver moved closer to her.
‘Are you serious?’
‘I sure am,’ Sally answered. ‘Iron Eyes carries the smell of death with him. Can’t you smell it?’
Denver swung around on his heels and moved to the open doorway. He gripped his rifle firmly as he looked out into the clearing. He inhaled the cool air through his flared nostrils but could not smell the acrid stench which he expected to detect.
The outlaw had his back to Sally as his eyes nervously scanned the surrounding trees for any sign of the lethal Iron Eyes. The petite female pushed the bandanna off her ankle and quietly stood up.
It took only one last wiggle of her shapely torso to free herself of the leather restraint. As the belt reached her shoulders she raised her hands and silently unbuckled it. She allowed the long strap to fall at her side and then gripped it firmly.
‘Hey, old timer,’ Sally whispered in her most alluring tone. ‘I’m ready now.’
