by Rory Black
The sound of hoofs on wood had echoed all around the area and alerted those within the hacienda that someone had arrived. He rode to the impressive tiled steps and pulled back on his reins. The stallion halted and snorted at the ground. For hours the thoroughbred animal had vainly attempted to outrun the smell of death it carried on its back.
‘Don Miguel! Don Miguel!’ Fernandez bellowed out below the tiled steps which led from the courtyard up to where Sanchez had his own private quarters. For a few moments the vaquero saw nothing above him. Then he saw light race across the glass of the windows as one lamp after another was lit.
Fernandez was nervous.
He had good reason.
Even though he had done nothing wrong, he knew the murderous proclivities of his leader. Those who brought bad news to Sanchez often paid with their lives. The vaquero dismounted as the guards surrounded his horse and the lifeless body tied across its saddle cantle. Then they all looked up at the fearsome man who was walking barefooted down the tiled steps towards them.
Don Miguel Sanchez was draped in the finest silk dressing-gown and held a cocked .45 in his left hand. He said nothing as he descended to the men and the horse.
There was a fire in the eyes of Sanchez. A fire which all who saw it knew would not be easily extinguished.
‘What is this, you pathetic dog?’ Don Miguel Sanchez shouted at the man who held on to the reins of the stallion. ‘What have you done? Why is Pedro dead?’
Fernandez bowed fearfully.
‘No, Don Miguel, we found the body of poor Pedro at the end of the valley. He was slain by someone, Don Miguel. Pepe told me to bring it to you. This I have done.’
Sanchez walked to the side of the stallion and signaled to one of his men to lift the head of the dead vaquero.
The nearest man obeyed and grabbed the hair of the body and raised it away from the saddle blanket. For what seemed like an eternity, Sanchez studied the face of Ruiz. He then gestured to the vaquero to lower the head back. He then returned to Fernandez.
‘Who did this, Luis? What stinking animal had the nerve to kill our beloved Pedro?’
Fernandez shrugged. ‘We do not know, Don Miguel. Pedro was miles ahead of us when we heard two shots. It took hours for us to reach him. He was already dead when we reached him.’ Sanchez gave a heavy sigh.
‘What of Pepe and the others?’
‘They are following the trail left by the killer. They will hunt him down and make him pay for this violation.’
‘Killer? Do you not mean killers, Luis?’ Sanchez stared at the body of the man he had thought invincible. ‘It would take more than one man to have killed Pedro. It must be the vermin who have infested the valley. The settlers did this.’
Fernandez nodded in agreement. ‘You are right, Don Miguel. It must have been the settlers. They must have ambushed Pedro like the cowards they are.’
Sanchez looked at the guards and waved the gun at them. ‘Bury him and then prepare our horses. We shall join the hunt for the killers. They will pay with their lives.’
Fernandez made as though to follow the others.
‘Where are you going, Luis?’ Sanchez enquired.
The vaquero was about to reply when the barrel of the .45 was smashed across his face with brutal force. The sound of cracking teeth filled the courtyard as Fernandez’s head was jerked backwards. He fell on to his knees and stared through blurred eyes down at the fragments of teeth on the sand as blood poured from his mouth.
Don Miguel Sanchez smiled.
It was dawn. The brilliant rays of the sun swept across the valley and brought an end to the lingering frost which had only just started to take hold. Mist rose from the valley to the blue heavens above. The two other dirt farmers and their families had gathered together outside Landon’s cabin when they had become aware of the stranger who had ridden into their midst. Stan James chewed on a handful of grain as his wife and daughters talked and played with Jose Garcia’s large brood. The Mexican sat on the tree stump with a pipe in his mouth and silently stared at the Landon’s cabin door.
‘Little Billy said that his pa was tending to a real ugly varmint, Jose,’ James muttered for the umpteenth time. ‘Ugliest critter ever to walk on two legs, the boy reckoned.’
Garcia nodded. ‘The boy said that the man looked real mean OK.’
James leaned back and looked up to the chimney and the smoke which still flowed from it. He rubbed his neck and then kicked at the dirt.
‘Dan told us not to light our fires ’coz it’ll bring them vaqueros down on us,’ James grumbled. ‘How come he’s got his lit, Jose? How come? Damn! I’ve bin eating cold vittles for a week or more and my guts is plumb hurting. What’s Dan thinking about to have smoke rising up like that?’
Garcia nodded. ‘I too have a bad belly.’
‘Shut the hell up, Jose. Don’t you understand that smoke could bring all of them vaqueros down on us and our families?’
‘I understand, Stan.’ Garcia sighed. ‘I still have a bad belly though.’
Angrily James raised his arm and was about to hammer on the door with his fist. Then he changed his mind and decided to wait a little longer. Dan Landon was too big to make angry.
‘When’s he coming out to tell us what’s going on?’
‘I do not know.’ Garcia shrugged as some of his children started to chase chickens around the Landon’s milk cow. ‘I would like to be able to have some nice hot food. I feel so weak.’ Olive James moved to the side of her man. ‘Is anything happening, Stan? I’m getting mighty troubled.’
‘I don’t know, woman,’ James snapped. Garcia rose to his feet and touched the arm of the taller James before pointing to the side of the small cabin. ‘Look, Stan. Do you see what I see?’ James turned to where his friend was indicating. His eyes screwed up when he saw the tall palomino tied up beneath a canvas sheet spread out from the building and tied to a couple of saplings.
‘Sweet Lord. That’s one hell of a horse, Jose.’
Both men moved closer to the powerful creature. Garcia was first to notice the saddle on the ground.
‘Look at this,’ he said leaning over and touching the hand-tooled saddle. ‘I think this is the saddle of a vaquero, not a cowboy.’
‘What’s that?’ James moved closer to the stallion and saw the brand on the animal’s flank. He touched it and then looked at his pal. ‘Ain’t that the same brand we seen on them other vaqueros’ nags, Jose? Ain’t that the Sanchez mark?’
Garcia stared and then nodded.
‘You are right, amigo. That is one of Don Miguel’s horses.’
James swung on his boots. ‘Who in tarnation has Dan got in there? I sure hope it ain’t one of Sanchez’s murderous riders.’
‘Me too.’
James looked angry. ‘I’m gonna ask Dan about this.’
Garcia trailed his irate friend back to the door of the cabin like a hound tracking a bowl of innards. He watched as James raised his arm and was about to hit the solid wooden door when it suddenly opened.
Both men took a step backwards.
Dan Landon was far bigger than either of his neighbors and cast a longer shadow as he stepped out into the morning light. He sighed and then yawned.
‘What you two making such a ruckus about? I ain’t had me a wink of shuteye all night.’
James tried to look around the side of the well-built man but Landon was far too wide. His eyes looked up into the face of the younger man.
‘Who in tarnation you got in there, Dan? And how come you got that fire lit? That smoke’ll bring them Mex bastards right down on us.’
‘How’d you know we have someone in there, Stan?’
‘Little Billy told us when he come over to play with my gals, Dan,’ James answered.
‘Who is it, Dan?’ Garcia asked in a whisper.
‘A bounty hunter,’ Landon replied.
Both men seemed to freeze. They stood like statues as the words drilled their way into their minds.
‘A bounty hunter?’ James eventually managed to repeat the unexpected words. ‘Them hombres are natural born killers, Dan.’
‘I too have heard of these men,’ Garcia nodded. ‘They kill people for money.’
‘Outlaws mostly,’ Landon added with a smile as he made his way to a water barrel. He scooped two handfuls and splashed it over his face.
Stan James felt himself start to shake. ‘You bin tending him, Dan?’
‘Yep.’ Landon sighed. ‘He had a couple of ribs sticking out of his side and I fixed them.’
James looked at Garcia. ‘He tended a bloodthirsty killer, Jose. A critter who’ll probably kill us all in our sleep.’
Landon walked to the two men and rested his large hands on their shoulders. He leaned down until his head was between theirs and then spoke quietly so that only they could hear his words.
‘This man might be our salvation,’ he declared.
‘Bounty hunters only work for money, Dan.’
‘We have no money, amigo.’
Landon looked at the children playing happily. ‘I reckon this man will help us. He’s already killed one of them vaqueros. That’s how he got that palomino.’
Stan James moved to the open doorway and stared into the dark interior. He could not see anything. ‘This critter got a handle?’
‘He calls himself Iron Eyes,’ Landon replied.
James spun on his heels and stared open-mouthed at the big smiling man beside him. He moved to Landon and looked up into the face.
‘Iron Eyes?’
Landon nodded. ‘Yep. Why? You heard of him?’
James sat down on the tree stump. ‘Ain’t you heard of him, Dan? I thought everyone knew the name of Iron Eyes.’
‘Nope. What’s wrong? You look like you just seen a ghost, Stan.’
‘I also have heard of this Iron Eyes,’ Garcia managed to whisper. ‘He has visited my country many times. They say he is the most dangerous of men. Some say that he is already dead.’ Unable to grasp the fear his fellow farmers displayed, Dan Landon rubbed his neck. He was about to speak when he saw the thin emaciated figure in the frame of the cabin doorway. Iron Eyes had a cigar gripped between his teeth. He struck a match and then raised the flame to the black weed. A trail of smoke drifted from his mouth.
‘I ain’t dead, amigos. I make other folks dead,’ Iron Eyes drawled.
Chapter Ten
THERE WAS A mixed reaction between the two dirt farmers who stared in disbelief at the sight of the tall thin bounty hunter who leaned against the crude doorframe and sucked on the black weed between his gritted teeth. They both had heard tales of the infamous man who stood before them. Tales so tall they could have towered over the mightiest tree within the unnamed valley. Yet the more they stared at the fearsome man, the more they began to realize that all of those stories might actually be true. Dan Landon’s neighbors were torn by the revelation that one of the deadliest gunmen in the entire West was within feet of them. One reason for their confusion was that Iron Eyes might just be their savior, as Landon had whispered. For Iron Eyes had weaponry and knew how to use it to devastating effect.
The second cause for alarm was that this lethal man could also bring about their downfall in one blazing onslaught by the ruthless vaqueros. For both James and Garcia knew that Sanchez could never allow outsiders who entered his own private kingdom to get away with murder. He would be hellbent on vengeance once he discovered that the bounty hunter had already dispatched one of his vaqueros into the bowels of Hell. None of them would be safe again.
They would all be guilty in the eyes of Sanchez.
Each and every one of the settlers would be punished.
Neither James nor Garcia could actually believe their eyes as they looked at the sight before them. With no shirt to conceal his strapped waist or the battleground of old scars which covered his pitifully lean frame, Iron Eyes barely resembled a human being at all.
This man seemed to have more physical and facial scars than anyone else they had ever encountered. Some of the skin on the bruised and battered frame looked as though it had been melted by fire. They were not to know that that was exactly what Iron Eyes had endured many years earlier.
Above all other things the bounty hunter had proved himself to be a survivor. But even his luck had to run out one day, they quietly assumed.
Iron Eyes inhaled and then stepped out into the morning light. Both James’s and Garcia’s wives gave a gasp of shocked horror when they saw him.
Yet the children seemed to accept what they saw.
Somehow their young minds had yet to discover the prejudices that most adults grew into. For they did not fear this wounded man and therefore did not brand him as the rest of the country had done. It mattered little to them what color a person was or how thin or fat some might be. They still had a purity and innocence which did not notice such things.
Yet their mothers rounded them up as mothers do and vainly tried to shield their offspring’s eyes from seeing the very thing their own eyes were unable to stop looking at. Without even knowing it, they were fueling their children’s souls with the seeds of their own fear.
Seeds which would take root and grow.
But one of the children refused to be pulled into the calico skirts of his mother. Little Billy was like his father and just watched the tall figure with interest and curiosity.
Iron Eyes reached the barrel and scooped up some of the water in his left hand and rubbed it over his face. He shook like a dog emerging from a river and the wet strands of limp hair dangled down over his brutalized face. He stared at the people who surrounded him.
They were a helpless bunch, he thought.
Incapable of protecting themselves.
Even wounded, Iron Eyes knew that he was far more capable of surviving in this wild land than any of the onlookers. Perhaps it was because he had no female in tow. Maybe it was because he had no children of his own to protect.
Death held no fear for someone who had ridden with it on his shoulder for an entire lifetime.
Silently the bounty hunter knew that he would probably outlast all of them. For they had a weakness. They required one another whilst he required nobody except himself. He had long wondered why men of all colors desired to be chained down by the burden of families.
It made no sense to him.
He dropped the cigar and pushed his mule-eared boot down upon it until the smoke was crushed into the mud. His eyes still looked at those who kept watching his every movement.
Stan James cleared his throat, found a little courage from somewhere and pointed up at the smoking chimney. ‘Why’d you light that fire, Dan?’
‘Iron Eyes needed some hot vittles.’
‘But look at that smoke.’
Landon glanced upward briefly. ‘Yeah, it is smoking a tad too much, Stan.’
Iron Eyes did not speak. He picked up a wooden pail from the ground and scooped a gallon of water from the barrel. He then walked slowly back towards the door. Just as he was about to enter the cabin again he paused and tilted his head.
His eyes burned at James.
‘What was that you said about the smoke, friend?’
James felt his face twitch. His eyes darted around the others before finding those of the bounty hunter, who waited for a reply like a vulture waiting for something to die.
‘I ... I said that the chimney is making a lotta smoke.’
‘Don’t you like smoke?’ Iron Eyes asked.
James shrugged nervously. ‘I ... I just thought that the smoke might bring them vaqueros down on us. That’s all.’
Iron Eyes nodded. ‘Reckon you’re right. Smoke might bring the whole bunch of them down on us like a pack of hungry wolves. In fact I’m certain it will do just that.’
Stan James smiled. He thought that his reasoning had seemed correct to the stranger who had come to visit their small community.
James had been quite right.
Every eye watched Iron Eyes as he moved into the
cabin towards the smoldering embers of the fire. Then to their utter amazement they watched the bounty hunter raise and then pour the pail of water over the fire.
Instantly the cabin was filled with choking smoke. Even more of the black smoke rose up through the chimney and billowed up into the sky. It was a hundred times more dense than previously.
‘What you do?’ Garcia asked.
‘He’s loco!’ James yelled out in horror.
‘Now even a blind man will be able to find this place,’ Garcia added.
‘We’re done for.’
Iron Eyes tossed the pail out towards the watching men, then reached down to the cot and picked up his guns. He stuffed them into his pants belt and picked up his bloodstained coat. He slid it on and then followed the pail.
He grinned the twisted grin that only his face could manage. He rested a hand on the doorframe again and shook his head as smoke curled all around him.
Landon rushed up to Iron Eyes.
‘Why’d you do that? They’ll know exactly where we are and come to kill us.’
Iron Eyes stared into the eyes of the big man. ‘That’s what I want ’em to do, Dan. I want them to come here coz I’m too tuckered to go looking for them.’
‘What?’ Landon gasped.
‘When you hunting two-legged critters you gotta bait the things. Make the bastards think they’re on top. Draw them into your trap and then finish the job.’ Iron Eyes said coldly.
‘You want them to find our cabins?’ Landon asked.
‘Yep.’
Landon rubbed his neck with his powerful hands. ‘They’ll kill us all, Iron Eyes.’
‘Maybe.’
‘You don’t understand. Don Miguel Sanchez has maybe fifty men, Iron Eyes,’ Landon told him. ‘Can you kill that many?’
Iron Eyes took a deep breath and then saw the blue eyes of the courageous boy looking straight at him.
‘I’ve killed more.’ he admitted.
Chapter Eleven
THE BLISTERING SUN had barely cleared the steep rocks which flanked both sides of the valley but even its fiery heat was nothing compared to that which burned inside the heartless soul of the ruthless Sanchez. The drawbridge lowered from the whitewashed hacienda and a few seconds later Don Miguel Sanchez, astride his white stallion, thundered through its arched portal ahead of the thirty-two well-armed vaqueros. It was the first time for more than five years that he had ridden with his men but that was because there had never been any real threat to his empire before.
