Iron Eyes 11

by Rory Black

  He had seen the figure but it was a long way from where the smoke was rising.

  ‘It does not make any sense, amigos. How could the smoke be over there and the rider down in the trees?’

  There was no time for reply.

  Suddenly a Winchester opened up from between two of the trees. The sound of the shots came a split second after bullets tore into them. Horses reared up as two riders were blasted from their saddles. More shots followed. The horses whinnied in alarm. Gomez spun his mount as another volley of bullets cut into them again.

  His eyes were wide open and unblinking. A pain unlike anything he had ever felt before cut into him.

  Gomez hit the ground hard.

  Seeing Gomez on the ground, Picario drew both his guns and cocked their hammers. Gomez managed to force himself up on one elbow.

  ‘Take cover, Antonio,’ Gomez coughed.

  But mere words of caution were not what hot-blooded men like Picario wanted to hear. His was a far simpler solution. In his view only cowards would take cover.

  ‘Come on, my brothers. Let us make this dog pay,’ the vaquero screamed at the others. He started to fire back at the man who still cocked and fired his rifle at them. The vaqueros spurred and drove on down the hill. Their murderous chants filled the woods.

  Steering the animal with the power of his legs alone Picario cocked and fired each gun in turn as his three fellow riders spread out.

  A haze of gun smoke spread across the clearing, filling the gunmen’s nostrils with its acrid stench. No longer could they see the target of the vengeance they wished to dish out.

  All four riders were within twenty yards of the rifleman when Picario too felt the powerful impact of the bullets which cut through him. The young vaquero was lifted off his saddle like a rag doll. He rolled over the cantle of his saddle and fell. He seemed to float in the air for an eternity as his mount raced on without him. When he hit the lush grass it was obvious he was dead.

  The others continued shooting and charging down to where the plumes of rifle smoke still hung on the warm air.

  The three horsemen hauled rein and blasted their guns at the gap between the two trees.

  There was no reply.

  No return of fire.

  The rifleman was no longer there.

  As their hammers fell on spent casings and their gun smoke slowly cleared the vaqueros realized that their attacker had gone.

  Joe Brewster was already a hundred yards away.

  He was spurring his mount away from the clearing and what was left of the vaqueros.

  Unknown to the vicious outlaw, his route would take him directly to a more deadly place.

  And a far more deadly enemy.

  Chapter Thirteen

  WITH BOTH NAVY Colts gripped firmly in his bony hands, Iron Eyes stood motionless like a granite statue. Nothing on the skeletal figure moved except his mane of long hair. He tried to work out which direction the sound of gunfire he had heard moments earlier might have come from. Then the bounty hunter knew the answer. Flocks of birds had risen up into the heavens directly north of where he stood. He tilted his head back and watched them fly overhead. Iron Eyes’ keen hunting instincts told him that birds always flew away from gunfire.

  The thicket was dense and trees surrounded him on all sides, but that did not matter to the bounty hunter. All his concentration was upon the sounds of the brief battle which continued to ring in his ears. He lowered his guns and then slid them both into his belt beneath the fresh bandages made from Wilma Landon’s petticoats.

  The cold steel chilled his belly. It sharpened his thoughts like a whetstone on a knife’s edge.

  His expert knowledge of all types of weaponry had already informed him that one rifle had taken on at least half a dozen six-shooters. He had already seen one vaquero’s arsenal and knew that for some reason the Mexicans, like himself, seemed to favor handguns over rifles.

  The question which burned into his mind like a branding-iron was a simple one.

  Who had fired the rifle?

  Then he recalled Joe Brewster, the outlaw for whom he was determined to claim the bounty money. He had a rifle. Even wounded, Iron Eyes had seen it in its saddle scabbard when the outlaw had high-tailed it out of Rio Valdo.

  Iron Eyes rubbed his chin.

  Could it have been other vaqueros who had fought with Brewster? According to the burly Dan Landon the valley was crawling with them. The longer he dwelled upon the theory the more it made sense. Who else would they be fighting? Iron Eyes knew that by now they must have discovered the dead body he had left upon the muddy banks of the creek. If they had bumped into the outlaw they would naturally think that he had killed the vaquero. It certainly could not be any of the farmers who were shooting. The farmers were unarmed and far off in the opposite direction.

  ‘Brewster.’ Iron Eyes allowed the name to escape his lips.

  The gaunt man had only briefly encountered Joe Brewster but he knew that the outlaw liked to bushwhack folks. He was not the sort to take anyone on face to face. Outlaws were basically cowards and never got involved in showdowns.

  Iron Eyes lowered his head thoughtfully. A smile crossed the scarred face.

  With everything that had happened to him since he had gunned down the vaquero, Iron Eyes had almost forgotten the reason he was here in the first place.

  He was here to kill the last of the Brewster clan.

  No other reason. Dead or alive meant only dead to Iron Eyes.

  The twisted smile grew wider. Then thoughts of losing the reward money filled his mind and ended the smile. What if they had killed the outlaw?

  His reward money could be lying dead out there someplace, he thought. His teeth gritted.

  An urgency overwhelmed him. He had to discover the truth.

  He glanced keenly all around him. Iron Eyes took a step forward. The brush was unyielding but nature had never been able to stop his progress before. He bent down and plucked the long Bowie knife from the neck of his right boot. His cold eyes stared at the knife. The dried blood of so many outlaws and Indians filled its scratched back above the Nazer sharp-edged blade.

  He gripped its handle and then swung it like a sabre and saw the tangle of thorny brambles fall away.

  The bounty hunter hacked with sweeping strokes until he had managed to cover an extra hundred or so yards into the depths of the woods.

  He then paused once more and listened.

  He could hear a horse laboring through the distant maze of trees and vicious brush. With every beat of the bounty hunter’s cold heart the sound of the animal grew louder in his hunter’s ears. It was a long way away but Iron Eyes could hear it approaching.

  He closed his eyes and concentrated.

  Knowingly, Iron Eyes nodded to himself. The rider was using the woodland and not the far easier creek to travel down the valley. That meant only one thing.

  It was the outlaw.

  Joe Brewster was still alive.

  There was still a fighting chance of claiming the bounty on the outlaw’s head. Iron Eyes relaxed.

  His thoughts returned to the plight of the farmers he had vowed to help. The bounty hunter slid the knife back into his boot, turned and retraced his steps between the trees. He was heading for Dan Landon’s small cabin. From there he would trail the dirt farmers and their families up to the distant rockface.

  There was black powder to obtain.

  There was a trap to set.

  A trap for far bigger prey than the last of the Brewster brothers. It took almost an hour but he knew that the outlaw would not be able to move as fast as he could. The trees were too close together for the most part. His lean frame could slip between them easily. Brewster’s horse could not. Iron Eyes had discovered that when he had ridden through the woods astride the palomino stallion.

  It was late afternoon when Iron Eyes reached the cabin. He then moved silently to the palomino stallion. He threw a blanket on its back and then the hefty Mexican saddle. He reached under the
horse’s belly and grabbed the cinch straps. He buckled the straps, then lifted his saddle-bags up and tossed them behind the cantle. He used the cantle’s leather laces and secured the bags.

  Iron Eyes held on to the saddle horn, poked his left boot toe into the stirrup and hauled his lean frame up until he was able to throw his right leg over the broad back of the nervous animal. He tore the reins free and then gathered them up in his hands.

  It would not take long to reach Landon and the others, he told himself. They were on foot and herding milk cows and children up to the base of the steep rock walls. The stallion would make short time of the journey that they had to toil to complete.

  Iron Eyes turned the stallion and spurred.

  The golden animal thundered up into the woods.

  It sounded like a hundred heavenly thunderclaps exploding one after another along the valley. Yet no mere thunderstorm could have created a more fearsome noise than did the hoofs of the vaqueros’ magnificent horses as they continued on their vengeful quest.

  The sun had fallen behind the towering rocks but night would not arrive for another two hours yet. Until then an eerie half-light would fill the valley as the sky slowly turned crimson above the horsemen. They had driven their mounts hard and without rest for most of the day but now even the powerful white stallion beneath Sanchez was beginning to flag.

  Reluctantly Don Miguel Sanchez brought his thirty or so followers to a halt. The exhausted vaqueros dismounted beside their equally worn-out mounts.

  Only Sanchez remained defiantly atop his horse.

  Like an eagle searching for its prey his eyes narrowed and stared out into the fading light of the lush valley. The creek was wide and the trees to either side of its fast-moving waters appeared almost impenetrable. The Spaniard eased himself off the stallion and remained at the horse’s noble head as others rushed around the scene. His entire body hurt but he would never allow his men to see the pain which racked his body. For men of aristocratic breeding had a duty to their underlings to maintain the illusion of their superiority.

  His features remained the same as he continued to search for those who had infiltrated his empire. No emotion apart from anger ever changed his chiseled, Latin looks. The horses were spent but the ride was far from over, Sanchez told himself. It could not end until he had the bodies of those who had dared to challenge his authority.

  Exactly like the ancient rulers of the Old World from which he had come, Sanchez ruled by might and fear. There was no mercy in the blood which flowed through his veins.

  Sanchez raised a hand and snapped his fingers. Men came rushing to his side.

  ‘Break out the grain, amigos. We shall allow the horses to eat and rest,’ Sanchez informed them coldly. ‘Make a fire and cook some food.’

  The vaqueros began to carry out their instructions.

  Sanchez defied his aching bones and screaming muscles and walked a few yards ahead of his men and their mounts. He kept looking down the valley. There were less than ten miles left before the valley gave way to the desert. Somewhere along this strip of land between the high rockfaces to either side of the valley there were people he knew he had to destroy.

  But where?

  Where were they?

  Sanchez looked back at his men. ‘Before the stars fill the sky we shall be back in our saddles.’

  Chapter Fourteen

  THE PALOMINO STALLION moved as though it had nobody in its saddle on its approach to the rockface. The bounty hunter was so light that apart from the spurs which repeatedly jabbed into its flanks the animal might have thought it had thrown the rider. The trail had been easy for Iron Eyes to follow. That single fact troubled the thin emaciated horseman. For if he could trail these people so easily then others might be able to do exactly the same. He drew back on his reins and stopped the powerful stallion just ahead of the sturdy Dan Landon. Landon stood like a tree before his people. Iron Eyes looked at the high rockface before him. It stretched out in both directions as far as the eye could see.

  To his surprise the caves were far bigger than he had imagined. Big enough to hold entire wagons.

  Iron Eyes carefully looped his long right leg over the neck of his horse and then slid from his saddle to the ground. Even the slight impact of the ground beneath his boots caused pain to rip through the thin body of the bounty hunter.

  He paused for a few seconds until it passed and then looked down at the bandages which were strapped around his pitiful torso holding his broken ribs in check. To his utter relief there was no fresh blood on the white fabric.

  Iron Eyes looked across at the faces of the men, women and children. Every one of them seemed to be looking back at the bounty hunter as though he might just be able to solve all their troubles with the stroke of a magic wand. But Iron Eyes had no magic wand and was beginning to wonder if his dogged grit might not be enough.

  ‘You OK, Iron Eyes?’ Landon asked.

  Iron Eyes nodded. ‘So far.’

  The children were still playing their innocent games around the area. They were blissfully unaware of the dangers which lurked all around them. Dangers which were getting closer with each passing moment.

  It worried the tall thin man. Iron Eyes had seen many dead people in his time but he had never become used to the sight of dead children. He silently vowed that he would try his utmost to prevent these children being slaughtered.

  Iron Eyes handed his reins to Billy Landon, then followed the child’s burly father towards the towering cliff face. A few abandoned wagons were there just inside the nearest of the cave mouths. Then he saw the small barrels of black powder nestled on the flatbed of the closest wagon.

  ‘Five barrels just like you said.’ Iron Eyes rested a hand on the tailgate.

  ‘That enough?’ Landon asked.

  ‘If it ain’t we’re all headed to Hell, pard,’ Iron Eyes replied. He nodded. He looked around the small clearing at the foot of the steep wall of rock. He studied the scene carefully. It was so peaceful and yet he knew that soon that peace would be shattered by those who sought not only the farmers and their kinfolk but the man who had bettered the vaquero. His mind raced as he thought of the explosive black powder and what he could do with it. So many deadly choices.

  ‘What should we do now, Iron Eyes?’ Landon asked.

  The bounty hunter looked straight at Landon. ‘Is there any way that I might be able to get up this hunk of rock, Dan?’

  Landon tilted his head. ‘What you wanna do that for?’

  Iron Eyes looked upward. ‘I wanna get me a better look at this valley,’ he answered. ‘I figure that the higher I can get the more I’ll see.’

  Landon edged closer. ‘You reckon that the vaqueros are headed this way?’ Iron Eyes nodded slowly. ‘Yep. Trouble is I can’t be certain unless I get up high so I can see this whole valley. I reckon Sanchez will have to head along the creek to make good time and if so I ought to be able to see him and his guns from up there.’

  Dan Landon rubbed the sweat from his face on the back of his muscular right arm and screwed up his eyes.

  ‘You ain’t in no fit state to go mountain climbing, Iron Eyes.’

  The bounty hunter smiled. ‘I know that but there ain’t no other way for me to be sure of things. Tell me, can I git up there or not? Is there an easy way to climb this rock?’

  Landon looked at his feet. ‘I reckon there is but it’ll hurt you bad.’

  ‘Hell, I already am hurting bad, Dan,’ Iron Eyes admitted.

  ‘C’mon.’ Landon shrugged and started to walk away from the others. ‘There is an easy way up these rocks down yonder. I’ll show you.’

  The two men walked for more than twenty minutes along the foot of the sheer cliff face until Landon stopped and raised a finger. He pointed.

  Iron Eyes paused and looked at the boulders bathed in the last of the sun’s rays. They were weathered stones but looked like a giant staircase which led up the side of the wall of rocks. The thin fingers ran through the long damp hair
as Iron Eyes deliberated.

  ‘Will I be able to get to the top?’

  ‘Halfway maybe.’

  ‘Good enough.’

  The bounty hunter started the climb. Landon followed.

  Chapter Fifteen

  A STIFF BREEZE swept across the face of the high rocks. It blew the long matted hair off the hideous face of the bounty hunter. Iron Eyes stopped and balanced against the wall of rock as Landon reached his side. They were barely fifty feet up but it was enough to give both men uninterrupted views of the entire length of the valley. The treetops looked like one solid entity from that high vantage point. Iron Eyes remained silent as if waiting for his prey to walk into sight. His eyes sharpened against the fading light.

  A lifetime had created him until he was the most dangerous of creatures. A hunter.

  Landon was about to speak but was stopped by the bony hand which covered his mouth. The dirt farmer screwed up his eyes and stared hard at the man beside him on the narrow ledge. He had never known anyone like Iron Eyes before. He did not speak. He just watched Iron Eyes.

  Even though the sky had become black and a myriad stars now sparkled high above them, the hunter of men continued to search the entire valley with eyes which were keener than those of any ordinary man.

  Was it possible for anyone to see anything out there in the darkness which had overwhelmed the valley, Landon silently wondered. Landon himself could hardly make out where the tops of the trees ended and the creek began.

  ‘There,’ Iron Eyes said flatly.

  ‘You seen something?’ Landon asked.

  Slowly Iron Eyes raised his left arm and pointed a long thin finger to their right. Landon edged closer to the bounty hunter and stared directly along the pointing finger until he was gazing out beyond the canopy of treetops.

  ‘See ’em?’ Iron Eyes asked in a low cold drawl.

  For a moment the farmer did not answer. His eyes were attempting to focus. Then he saw light briefly dance across the surface of the distant water.