by Rory Black
Oblivious of the eyes on his back, Dan Landon moved along through the woods at his best pace towards the twisting spirals of flame which lit up the small clearing where his cabin stood. The closer he got the more he realized that it was the wagon that Iron Eyes had set alight and not his home. His huge frame moved down past the nervous and exhausted palomino stallion tethered beside the cabin and out into cleared area. He had barely focused upon what remained of the wagon when he felt the cold gun barrel at his neck. He paused and then looked to his side and saw the brutal features of the bounty hunter.
‘You’re gonna get your head blown off one of these days, Dan.’
‘Git that gun out of my face.’ Landon brushed the gun aside and glared at the man who appeared even more horrific in the dancing light of the fire. ‘I came to help you.’
Iron Eyes lowered the weapon and edged to Dan’s side. He saw the axe firmly gripped in Dan’s huge left hand. He nodded.
‘I knew you’d come to help me,’ Iron Eyes said.
‘How’d you know?’
‘Men like you can’t do nothing else but help other folks.’
‘Give me one of them guns you got there.’ Landon pointed at one of the .45s hanging from around the neck of the bounty hunter. ‘I can pull a trigger just like any other man.’
Without even a hint of argument, Iron Eyes pulled one of the vaqueros’ Colts free of the leather lace which held it. He pushed it into the farmer’s free hand and forced a grin.
‘You got guts, Dan. Them other farmin’ varmints are yella through and through.’
Landon stared at the weapon in his hand. His lips went dry and he tried to lick them but there was no spittle.
‘Maybe I’m just the loco one,’ he suggested.
Iron Eyes went to reply when something stopped him. His senses had been alerted. He stepped away from his friend. His keen instincts told him that the riders he and Landon had spotted earlier were close. They were coming from all directions.
Landon was about to speak when he heard the sound of the vaqueros’ horses as they were being forced through the untamed woodland which surrounded them. His head swung around as he tried to make out the position of the men he feared.
‘Riders,’ Landon whispered.
‘Yep. A lot of riders,’ Iron Eyes agreed.
‘Where are they?’
‘All around us by the sound of it,’ Iron Eyes muttered in a low drawl. ‘We gotta make sure they don’t get lost, Dan. C’mon.’
The startled farmer found himself following his thin companion towards the burning embers of the fire. Iron Eyes turned and looked hard into the big man’s face.
‘Git as much wood as you can find and pile it on to these ashes, Dan. Dry or damp. It don’t matter none. I want them vaqueros here.’
Landon did not argue. He pushed the gun into his belt and rushed to the edge of the clearing. He found plenty of dead wood and cut more branches with his axe. Within a few minutes he had piled enough wood on to the fire to get it burning feverishly once more.
The sound of firewood crackling filled the clearing as Landon walked quickly to the side of the silent Iron Eyes. Sparks rose into the air and drifted downwind.
Iron Eyes grabbed the arm of his companion and then edged away from the light of the renewed blaze. A shadow at the side of the cabin gave them cover as the bony hands pulled both his Navy Colts from his belt and cocked them.
‘Is this how you planned it?’ Landon asked.
‘Kinda.’
‘But what can we do if we’re surrounded?’
‘We are surrounded, Dan,’ the bounty hunter told him. ‘Them bastards are all around us right now.’
‘What?’ Landon felt his heart start to pound inside his broad chest. He cast his gaze at the brush and trees all around them. Vainly he tried to see them. ‘Are you sure they’re all around us?’
Iron Eyes nodded. ‘Yep.’
Then a chilling sound erupted. It was the collective noise of the riders as they made their final charge through the trees towards the small isolated cabin. Landon’s head moved back and forth as he looked out from the shadows and saw the vaqueros force their mighty horses into the small clearing. He did not know what to do and he stared at the face of Iron Eyes beside him. There was no sign of emotion upon the scarred features of Iron Eyes.
More horsemen appeared from behind the pair. Iron Eyes dragged his companion down until they were both kneeling beside a bush. The vaqueros rode past them without seeing the two men.
‘What we gonna do?’ Landon whispered frantically into the ear of the silent Iron Eyes.
The bounty hunter tilted his head and smiled. ‘You ain’t gonna do nothing ’cept hang on to that axe and gun. Me? I’m gonna kill me a whole bunch of heathens.’
Dan Landon’s powerful right hand gripped the bounty hunter’s thin wrist. He held Iron Eyes in check and pulled him closer. ‘I came here to help you. Damn it all. Let me help.’
‘OK.’ Iron Eyes gave a slow nod and felt the mighty fingers release their hold on his wrist. As Dan’s head turned to look at the gathering riders less than twenty feet from where they knelt, Iron Eyes swiftly raised one of his weapons and clubbed it hard across the farmer’s head. Landon slumped down to the ground at the bounty hunter’s side. ‘Sorry about that, Dan. But there ain’t no way I can let you get killed.’
Iron Eyes covered the unconscious figure over with leaves and then moved away. The bounty hunter crawled like a snake through the brush on his belly until he was behind trees and the horsemen who had filled the clearing.
His eyes narrowed as they focused upon them. They all had their guns drawn for action but could not locate anyone to unleash their lead fury on.
It was obvious to Iron Eyes who the leader of this well-armed group of men was. Don Miguel Sanchez stood out from the other horsemen like a sore thumb. The white charger beneath him was adorned with more silver on its saddle than Iron Eyes had ever seen before. Yet for all his evident wealth he was no wiser than any of his vaqueros. The expression on Sanchez’s face was exactly the same as that on those who surrounded him. They were exactly as the bounty hunter had hoped they would be. Sanchez and his men were utterly confused.
Iron Eyes placed both his Navy Colts down on the grass before him and took stock of the situation.
With cold accuracy his keen eyesight soon calculated how many of them there were. Thirty-two. Most men would have shied away from such an overwhelming force of evil but not Iron Eyes. For he had already set out the kegs of black powder around the area. All he had to do was ignite the trails of black powder with the glowing red tip of a smoldering cigar.
Iron Eyes felt for a cigar in his pocket. He gripped it between his teeth, lit it and picked up his Navy Colts. He pushed them deep into his trail coat pockets. Then, slowly, he began to crawl once more through the brushwood. He slithered between the saplings and stouter trees until he was within a mere ten feet of the blazing fire that Landon had earlier renourished with more branches.
The middle of the fire was white-hot.
He stopped and carefully got up on to his knees. The vaqueros were well spread out. Some had dismounted and were searching the cabin. Another had found the palomino.
Iron Eyes knew that he had to act quickly before they also found the unconscious dirt farmer hidden on the other side of the log cabin. He pulled out the cardboard box filled with bullets for the vaqueros .45s and removed its top. He gradually rose to his feet until he was at his full height. The fire was still fearsome as its flames consumed the fresh wood.
Iron Eyes held the box of bullets in his right hand and leaned as far back as he could. Then he swung his arm like a coiled spring and watched as the box hurtled through the air. It landed in the very heart of the blazing fire.
None of the vaqueros had noticed a thing. Iron Eyes edged back behind the tree and rested his spine against its rugged bark. He drew his Navy Colts again and waited.
He did not have to wait long.
&nb
sp; Suddenly, no more than twenty seconds after the box had landed in the fire’s white-hot center the blistering heat started to make the bullets explode. Deadly shots burst out in all directions from the flames.
Iron Eyes listened to the screams of the men and animals who were caught in the lethal barrage. Then he made his move and ran out from the cover of the trees with both guns in his hands. So many of them had already fallen. Horses were pawing at the air with hoofs as terror and lead cut into them. The vaqueros were still stunned as at least a third of their number fell from the bullets which the fire expelled.
With cold exactness, Iron Eyes blasted one gun after another in turn. Men were lifted from their saddles as deadly bullets cut them down. Within a few seconds less than half of the vaqueros were left. Ignoring the return fire, Iron Eyes continued to pick off his targets. Sanchez was screaming out orders as his own mount was hit by bullets erupting from the middle of the flames behind him. As Sanchez hit the ground beside his stricken mount he realized that none of his band of hired gunmen was either listening or obeying.
Fewer than ten of the vaqueros still remained astride their horses. They turned their animals and spurred. Iron Eyes threw himself to the side as the horsemen thundered past him in the direction of the creek.
Only when he had pushed one of his guns back into his pants belt did Iron Eyes remove the cigar from his teeth and run across the clearing, which was now filled with the dead and dying.
Roughly twelve yards from the flames the black powder trails of the five kegs met. He dropped the smoldering cigar into the powder. A plume of smoke engulfed him for a second. Then he watched as five trails of smoke sped away from him. It was like watching locomotives race through the darkness into the woods.
Then the ground shook.
The entire area lit up as though it were suddenly noon. The cries of death rang out and then blackness returned. Five explosions a hundred yards down the trail had torn the fleeing horsemen apart just as Iron Eyes had planned.
Then a sound of a bullet rang out from behind him. It went through the tails of his long, tattered coat and creased the side of his bony left leg. Iron Eyes spun on his heels and saw Sanchez standing amid the bodies of men and horses alike. Smoke trailed from the barrel of his gun.
‘You are the Devil.’ Sanchez screamed loudly. ‘But I, Don Miguel Sanchez, shall kill even the Devil. No stinking gringo can do this and live.’
Faster than the blink of an eye, Iron Eyes raised the gun in his hand and squeezed its trigger. To his horror the gun was empty. His eyes flashed at the leader of the vaqueros. Sanchez was smiling. Iron Eyes could see the thumb hauling back the hammer of the gun as it was levelled straight at him.
Like the Grim Reaper Sanchez began to walk slowly towards his chosen prey, defying the bounty hunter to try and draw one of his weapons before he squeezed his own trigger.
‘Not so brave now, are you?’ Sanchez mocked. ‘The Devil is a coward. Don Miguel Sanchez will rebuild his empire and be even stronger than I was before. Go for those guns if you have the courage.’
‘You don’t scare me.’ Iron Eyes allowed the empty Navy Colt to fall from his hand. Then he flexed his fingers. He wondered if he could grab one of his guns and fire it before Sanchez squeezed that trigger.
The gun was aimed straight at his midriff. Iron Eyes knew that the man was far too close for his bullet to miss even his thin torso.
Iron Eyes lowered his head.
He had to try to draw one of the guns, he told himself. Then he heard a sound which caused him to look up. It also caused Sanchez to stop in his tracks.
Iron Eyes looked through the strands of long hair which hung before his eyes. To his horror he saw the small child standing beside the cabin wall. Billy Landon had been scared by the sound of the explosions and gunfire, but concern for his father and the mysterious bounty hunter had forced him to break cover.
‘Iron Eyes?’ Billy called out. ‘Where’s my daddy?’
Distracted by the youthful voice, Sanchez looked over his shoulder and saw the boy. It was the last thing he would ever see.
Swiftly, the bounty hunter grabbed both the .45s which hung from around his neck. He cocked their hammers and then fired both weapons straight at Sanchez. The vaqueros’ leader was lifted off the ground by the sheer power of the bullets. Iron Eyes continued to fire the guns until he had emptied all twelve bullets into the lifeless man. ‘Where’s my daddy?’ Billy sobbed. Iron Eyes strode through the dead and plucked the boy off the ground. He carried him to where Dan Landon was lying among the leaves.
‘What’s wrong with him?’
‘Your pa bin having himself a little sleep, Billy.’
Finale
THE SMELL OF death was everywhere. Even the aroma of the strong cigar and the smoke which still rose from the smoldering ashes could not mask its putrid bouquet. The palomino stallion was wide-eyed and nervous as its new master prepared it for another long trek. Iron Eyes secured the cinch straps and unhooked the stirrup from the saddle horn. He lowered the fender and pulled the reins free of the tree at the side of the cabin before leading the animal back to where the entire community had returned. The tall bounty hunter had not spoken a word since he had dispatched the vaqueros and their brutal leader.
Eventually he stopped and looked at them. The three farmers and their families had been unable to believe what had confronted them as the sun had risen to greet another day. There were so many bodies to be seen and even more that were yet to be found.
Iron Eyes looked at Landon who was sitting on the stump of the tree outside his cabin door nursing his sore head. Wilma and Billy stood to either side of the large man. A crooked smile crossed the face of the bounty hunter as he gathered up the reins in his skeletal hands and paused beside the side of the large mount.
‘Why’d you hit me. Iron Eyes?’ Landon managed to ask.
‘I had to hit you,’ Iron Eyes sighed as he lifted his left boot and poked it into the stirrup. ‘This bunch would have shot you for sure if I’d let you stand by my side.’
Landon screwed up his eyes. ‘How’d you figure that?’
‘Easy.’ Iron Eyes eased himself up on top of the palomino and held the reins in his left hand. ‘Even the worst shot in the world couldn’t miss a critter as big as you are, Dan.’
Landon forced himself up and stood beside the horse. He looked up at the rider.
‘How’d you manage to kill them all?’
‘I had a little help.’ Iron Eyes glanced down at the boy who stood beside his mother.
Landon looked to where Iron Eyes was staring. ‘You mean Billy helped you?’
‘Yep.’ Iron Eyes pulled the reins gently to his left and steadied the skittish stallion. He looked at the bodies of men and horses scattered around. ‘You oughta clean that up before it gets too ripe, Dan.’
Landon placed a hand on the saddle. ‘Hold up there. How did my Billy help you, Iron Eyes?’
The bounty hunter gave the boy another fleeting glance. ‘He called out for you and made that Sanchez bastard take his eyes off me for a couple of seconds. That was time enough for me to get the drop on him. Thank you kindly, Billy.’
‘You’re welcome, Iron Eyes,’ Billy Landon replied from behind his mother’s apron.
Landon released his grip. ‘Tell me something. Do you figure them vaqueros will be back?’
‘There ain’t enough of them left to bother you folks none, Dan. But if I was you I’d gather up all their guns and ammunition and share it out just in case some other varmints come to rustle you off this land.’
‘Where you going?’ Landon asked. ‘You need to rest up for a couple of weeks.’
‘I’ve got me an outlaw to catch and kill, Dan,’ Iron Eyes stated firmly. ‘I can’t afford to waste time resting up.’
The burly farmer could see the five Mexican canteens hanging from the saddle horn. ‘You make sure that you fill those up with water at the creek before you head off into the desert again. You hear?’
‘Why?’
‘They’re full of mezcal, Dan.’ Iron Eyes swung the stallion full circle and tapped his spurs. ‘I kinda salvaged it from some of them dead horses’ bags.’
‘What about vittles?’
‘I ain’t got much of an appetite at the moment,’ Iron Eyes said. He slowed the mount as he passed the small wide-eyed boy. ‘See you, pard.’
Little Billy waved a small hand. ‘Bye.’ Dan raised a muscular arm and waved. ‘Thank you.’
There was no reply.
The fearsome rider balanced in his stirrups and whipped the shoulders of the palomino with the ends of his long reins. They all watched as the bounty hunter thundered into the dense woodland.
The war was over.
Iron Eyes was gone.
About the Author
“My real name is Michael D. George. I write westerns. In my time I’ve done a lot of things. I’ve been a barber, a freelance commercial artist, a portrait painter, a grave stone designer (a dying trade), an animator and author. I did spend a few years in the Merchant Navy and was lucky to have travelled around the world four times before I was 23. I spent a lot of time in America during those days and cruised for two summers between California and Alaska. Now it is forty years later and these days I spend most of my time writing novels under my own name and no less than seven pseudonyms. I’ve been lucky to number a few of my old cowboy heroes as friends, and my walls are covered in the photographs of several of my cowboy hero pals. I’ve written a lot of books and I hope you enjoy this one, because there are plenty more to follow! As one of those friends, the late, legendary Monte Hale used to tell me, ‘Shoot low—they might be crawling!’ Always your pal, Michael D. George.”
The Iron Eyes Series
By Rory Black
