by Rory Black
‘Keep chewing, Bass. You’re damn good at chewing.’
The wily old sheriff did as he was told and ate his breakfast silently. Bass chewed and watched as Iron Eyes inhaled the acrid smoke and pondered the empty room. There was a look on the face of the famed bounty hunter he had never seen before. It was the look of a man trying desperately to conceal something, not from onlookers but from himself. It was as if he had just caught sight of his own reflection for the very first time and been numbed by the awful truth.
Neither Bass nor Iron Eyes had spoken since entering the now quiet saloon opposite the Rio Vista Hotel. The wooden toothpick had found every cavity within the older man’s mouth as he wondered exactly how long the brooding bounty hunter would remain trapped within his own dark thoughts.
They had been sitting at a table with a bottle of good whiskey between them for over thirty minutes and neither had poured a single measure into their glass. The smoke still drifted from Iron Eyes’ mouth as he stared out of the open doorway, past the swing doors.
Finally, Bass lifted the bottle off the table and pulled out its cork and poured two drinks.
‘Drink this.’
Iron Eyes glanced at him and lifted the glass to his lips and swallowed the whiskey in one go.
‘Happy?’
‘Not really.’ Bass shook his head as he washed the dryness from his mouth.
‘I figure I’ve got enough money in my bags to last until I’m about two hundred and fifty years of age,’ Iron Eyes said, placing his cigar back between his lips and looking hard out into the bright street with a renewed interest.
‘What’s caught your eye, son?’ Bass asked as he refilled their glasses.
‘Reflections in store fronts can be mighty useful, Bass,’ Iron Eyes said bluntly, pointing across the wide dry street. ‘I can usually spot trouble coming a good minute before it arrives.’
‘What are you talking about?’ Bass asked, as he stood and leaned over to where the bounty hunter was seated in a vain attempt at seeing what had caught his attention.
‘Father Jose is heading here.’ Iron Eyes exhaled a long line of smoke at the floor.
‘Don’t be stupid....’ Bass found his words echoing around the room as the robed priest stopped at the swing doors of the saloon and peered directly at them, entered, and walked towards them hurriedly.
‘I have found you,’ Father Jose sighed thankfully, as he took a seat next to the narrow-eyed man who chewed on the butt of his cigar.
‘Anything wrong, Father?’ Bass asked, seating himself back down between the two very different men.
‘I was afraid you might have left town already, Mr. Iron Eyes.’ Father Jose rubbed the sweat from his face.
Iron Eyes looked into the face of the man he had met the previous evening and could see something had changed. Now the inner peace had been disrupted by something serious and it showed to one capable of recognizing such things.
‘You look a tad troubled, Father Jose.’
‘I am troubled, Iron Eyes.’
‘Spit it out.’
Father Jose glanced at Bass and then back at the cold-featured bounty hunter who sat motionless as he chewed on the remnants of his cigar.
‘I have come to ask you to return with me back to the chapel where a dear friend of mine has something to tell you.’
Iron Eyes rose to his full height and spat out the cigar into a spittoon.
‘I’ll come with you.’
Bass rose to his feet.
‘Do you wish for me to tag along, Father?’
The priest rested a hand upon the shoulder of the lawman and shook his head.
‘No, Sheriff. You must understand, this is merely for Iron Eyes’ ears only.’ Father Jose followed the tall ghost-like figure out onto the boardwalk
Iron Eyes looked back at the open-mouthed Bass in the saloon as he headed towards the whitewashed chapel with the priest at his side.
‘You sure you want me, Jose? Sheriff Bass is the law’
‘You said you thought you had been brought here to Rio Vista for a purpose, my son. I think I now know what that purpose is.’
Iron Eyes gritted his teeth as he strolled beside the robed man along the shaded boardwalks towards the imposing chapel. As they walked, only the sound of the bounty hunter’s vicious spurs made any noise in the otherwise silent street.
Chapter Ten
A solitary oil lantern illuminated Father Jose’s Spartan living-quarters. Although still early, no daylight reached this cell of a room buried within the heart of the chapel. As the priest closed the door behind him he watched as Iron Eyes paced towards the old man who lay upon the crude cot. He said nothing as he pulled a chair away from a table and sat down beside the fatigued man.
Father Jose moved to the cot and ran his hand over the fevered brow of the old man.
‘I have brought a friend, Pablo.’
The man raised himself up onto an elbow and nodded at the thin-faced Iron Eyes.
This man is known to me and my people, Father,’ Pablo said weakly. This is Iron Eyes.’
‘You know of me?’ Iron Eyes raised an eyebrow as if unable to believe an honest man of the soil could have heard of anyone as infamous as himself.
‘Si, you are Iron Eyes, the hunter of evil men,’ Pablo sighed smiling.
Iron Eyes looked at Father Jose, who was taking a seat next to the cot, with a confused expression carved across his sharp features.
‘What’s going on here, Jose?’
The question was blunt but well placed and made both his companions look hard in his direction.
‘You could be the miracle my friend Pablo came here to find, my son,’ the priest replied.
Iron Eyes felt uneasy. ‘Get to the point, boys. I’m starting to feel a mite edgy.’
Father Jose placed a hand upon the shoulder of the dog-tired man beside him and began to explain.
‘Pablo is the elder of his little village over the border. They chose him to come here to try and find someone who would assist them.’
Iron Eyes searched his pockets to find the last of his cigars.
‘Keep talking. I’m listening.’
‘These are a poor people who have little money. They are farmers and usually the soil gives their little community everything they require. For the past few weeks a gang of bandits has been visiting their village and doing bad things.’
‘What kinda bad things?’ said Iron Eyes, chewing on the cigar.
For a few seconds the two men opposite the bounty hunter spoke in Mexican to each other before the priest returned his attention to Iron Eyes and translated their brief conversation.
‘At first they came to Pablo’s village just for food. It did not take these evil men long to discover how defenseless these poor souls were. There is not a single firearm within the small village. Then the bandits returned once again, demanding money which his people did not have. They are an honest people who barely have enough food to feed themselves. What little money they can earn is by coming over the border and picking crops for their Texan neighbors. When the bandits could find no money they became angry and did many evil things. At first they destroyed their precious beasts of burden, then they turned their attention to the females of the village. Do I have to go into detail, senor?'
Iron Eyes said nothing for a few seconds as he digested the priest’s words. Then he struck a match and lit his cigar and spoke through the haze of smoke.
‘What did they do to the womenfolk?’
Father Jose lowered his head as he answered the question.
‘There are but ten adult women in Pablo’s village. Each one has been raped and brutalized beyond my ability to explain. The worst thing of all though is the children’s fate....’
Iron Eyes drew himself forward and stared hard into the face of the elderly man.
‘They hurt the children too, Pablo?’
‘Far worse than just hurting them, Iron Eyes.’ Pablo began to sob as his mind painted pictures he wa
s unable to cope with.
The bounty hunter rose to his feet and paced into a dark corner where he brooded silently.
‘Will you help these people, my son?’ Father Jose moved from his chair to the side of the taller man.
Iron Eyes sucked on the choking smoke and looked down at the holy man.
‘What were the men folk of Pablo’s village doing when these bandits were satisfying themselves, Jose?’
‘They tried to stop the bandits, Iron Eyes,’ Father Jose began again. ‘I fear these farmers were no match for heavily armed desperadoes. Two of the men were killed in the most ugly of fashions whilst the rest have had their bodies and their spirits broken.’
Iron Eyes paced back to the cot and glared down at Pablo whose eyes were still red and sore.
‘You being old got you the job of coming to look for someone like me, huh?’
‘Si, senor’ Pablo nodded sorrowfully. ‘My people have been praying for a miracle.’
There was a long silence as the thin figure dwelt upon the story, puffing thoughtfully upon the scented cigar gripped firmly in his teeth. Both men watched Iron Eyes moving around the room like a caged puma with only the ringing of his spurs marking time.
Finally the priest stepped forward in the path of the cold-eyed man who stopped abruptly.
‘Will you help Pablo’s people, Iron Eyes?’
Iron Eyes’ chest heaved.
‘I’m just a bounty hunter, or at least I was until I made me a heap of money, Father Jose. Now I’m a rich man who don’t have to do nothing except spend his money. It ain’t me Pablo needs. He needs a gunfighter or the like.’
‘You have helped people before, senor. I have heard stories of you helping people.’ Pablo’s voice was shaking as he spoke.
‘Always for money, old man,’ Iron Eyes corrected. ‘I’ve always worked for money.’
‘Pablo can pay you,’ the priest said quietly. ‘He has been entrusted with the entire fortune of his people.’
Iron Eyes stared down at the old man.
‘How much money, Pablo?’
The old man pulled a small leather pouch from inside his shirt and handed it to the bounty hunter.
Iron Eyes pulled at the draw string and stared within the small bag for a few seconds before handing the pouch back to the weak old man.
‘Like I said, I’ve got me enough money never to have to hunt bounty ever again, boys.’
The priest watched him open the door and walk into the chapel where the hundreds of candles drew him to a halt. He stared up at the golden crucifix.
‘So you will not help them, my son?’
‘Only when my saddlebags are empty once more, Jose,’ Iron Eyes responded as he looked up at the glistening image. ‘I ain’t risking my bacon until I need the money. Like I told you, I only ever work for money’
‘I understand,’ Father Jose said, shaking his head sadly as he stood before the altar crossing himself.
‘What did you say his name was again?’ Iron Eyes pushed the hair off his face and stared up at the holy image.
‘Jesus Christ, our savior. He gave His life so we might live, my son.’ Jose watched the expression on the tall man’s face change as he absorbed the sentence.
Iron Eyes looked down into the face beside him.
‘He don’t look the foolish type.’
‘He was anything but foolish, Iron Eyes.’ Father Jose cast his eyes upward and looked at the beautiful figure which seemed almost animated in the flickering of the candles.
Iron Eyes suddenly found himself staring at the tears rolling down the priest’s face and felt uneasy.
Shrugging, the bounty hunter walked down the centre aisle until he was at the large wooden doors, then paused to look back at the priest. For a brief moment, Iron Eyes was going to speak, then he felt his throat muscles tighten. Turning faster than he had ever done before, the gaunt bounty hunter left the chapel and marched out into the morning sunshine.
Even within the sanctuary of this holy building the sound of the spurs echoed around its white walls.
Chapter Eleven
It was roughly noon when Father Jose stepped out of the general store and saw Iron Eyes entering the chapel carrying his saddlebags over his left shoulder. For a brief moment the priest could not believe his eyes. Then he ran along the boardwalk and jumped down onto the dry dusty street. Hurrying back toward the chapel, Father Jose had only managed to place his sandals on the first of the tiled steps when the bounty hunter walked back out into the blazing sunshine and stared down at him.
‘Why have you returned, my son?’
‘It must be your lucky day, Father Jose,’ Iron Eyes said, as he waited for the man to ascend the steps.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Like I said, it’s your lucky day.’ Iron Eyes pulled the limp bags from his shoulder and handed them to the priest to inspect.
These bags are empty, Iron Eyes,’ Father Jose said in disbelief.
‘Yep,’ Iron Eyes nodded, with a blank emotionless expression.
‘I do not understand.’ The priest gazed hard into the stone-featured face of his companion, unable to see beyond the mask behind which Iron Eyes hid.
‘Remember I told you I would only help Pablo when my saddlebags were empty?’ the bounty hunter asked.
‘I remember, my son.’ Father Jose handed the bags back to the tall man who tossed them over his shoulder. ‘Does this mean you will now help Pablo and his people?’
‘Yep. Now I’ve gotta help him; I need the money.’ Iron Eyes gave a long hard look at the sun-baked town below their elevated position.
‘I think I am beginning to understand, my son.’ Father Jose moved around the man who seemed to be looking to a far off place which no other creature could envision.
‘Like I told you, I only work for money,’ Iron Eyes grunted.
‘What happened to the fortune you told me was within your saddlebags, my son?’ The priest stared up at the man who seemed to be thinking of something far more interesting than mere wealth.
‘Let’s just say I ain’t got it any more, Jose.’ The reply hung on the hot air which swept over the buildings of Rio Vista as the sun reached its highest point of the day.
‘But where is it? Were you robbed?’
Iron Eyes found a smile tracing across his face as the suggestion of anyone being stupid or foolhardy enough to even attempt robbing him, filled his thoughts.
‘Nope. I wasn’t robbed, Father Jose.’
‘You are a good man, my son.’
‘Nope. I’m only doing it for the money.’ Iron Eyes pulled the small pouch from inside his red shirt and showed it to the priest. ‘See? I only work for money. Pablo hired me fair and square.’
Once again, a tear ran down the cheek of the holy man as he followed the gaunt bounty hunter back within the chapel.
‘Indeed you did tell me you would only ever work for money, my son. I understand you would never do anything for anyone for mere compassion.’
‘I ain’t ever heard that word before. What exactly does it mean?’ Iron Eyes pushed the small pouch into his deep pocket where it would rest amongst the bullets and newly purchased supply of cigars.
‘It means you feel sorry for someone.’
Iron Eyes raised an eyebrow.
‘I still don’t understand.’
The priest pointed at the deep coat pocket.
‘How much money is in that pouch, Iron Eyes?’
‘Enough, Jose. Just enough.’
Chapter Twelve
The priest could not believe the sight before him as he walked out into the blazing afternoon sunshine, with his arm around the frail old figure of Pablo. Below the tiled steps of the chapel, two fresh saddled horses waited with four heavily-laden pack mules. Sheriff Bass held the reins of the lead horse as Iron Eyes descended the steps toward the lawman.
‘You sure about this, Iron Eyes?’ Bass asked, as the thin hands accepted the leather reins and began gathering them up. ‘T
his ain’t your fight.’
‘Maybe it is.’
‘How come?’
‘Maybe them bandits have a price on their heads. If they have, it’s mine, Bass.’ Iron Eyes began to grin as the thought of hunting vermin filled his mind.
Bass shook his head and pulled the brim of his hat down to shield his eyes from the merciless sun.
‘It still don’t figure.’
‘You get everything I told you to get, Bass?’ Iron Eyes asked as he studied the pack mules carefully.
‘I got the whole darn caboodle,’ Bass answered.
Iron Eyes slapped the man’s shoulder, stepped into his stirrup and mounted the horse.
‘Is this horse fast?’
‘Faster than the wretched critter you rode in on, boy,’ Bass said, as the priest and Pablo reached them. Try not to use them spurs too much and it might just get you there and back.’
‘Get mounted, Pablo,’ Iron Eyes ordered.
The old Mexican did as he was instructed, although it felt strange to be atop a fine horse instead of a stubborn mule.
‘What is all this, my son?’ Father Jose asked waving his arms at the heavily-laden pack animals.
‘Supplies,’ came the brisk response from the bounty hunter as he checked his matched Navy Colts. ‘I thought the folks in old Pablo’s village might need a few supplies.’
The priest stepped close to the sheriff.
‘Who paid for these things, Sheriff Bass?’
Bass glanced up at Iron Eyes before looking back at the holy man.
‘Iron Eyes paid for it, Father Jose.’
‘I thought you had no money?’ The priest rested his hands upon his hips and looked hard at the man who sat in his saddle silently.
‘I bought this stuff before I mislaid my money, Father,’ he responded, placing a cigar between his lips and striking a match on his saddle horn.
‘I must tell you, it is a sin to lie to a man of the cloth, Iron Eyes.’ However the priest found himself admiring the strange man who seemed to resemble evil personified as he sat in his saddle looking around the quiet town defiantly.
