Iron Eyes 12

by Rory Black

  ‘Dead?’

  Hardy nodded. ‘Yep.’

  After these few words had sunk into both men’s minds there was a silence which lingered for what each silently felt was a lifetime. The tall lawman closed the door behind him and ventured across the room towards the stony-faced doctor. He rested a hand briefly on the thin shoulder, then paced to where the body lay. Monte Bale had also seen death many times in his career while wearing a tin star, but it still did not sit well with him.

  His narrowed eyes drifted up and down the scarred creature who lay amid sweat and blood. It looked as though the bounty hunter could have died a hundred times before this. Most of the injuries were bad enough to have been fatal. Fatal to any normal man.

  Nearly naked, Iron Eyes looked even less human.

  Monte Bale rubbed a large hand across his face. He tried to take in the brutal wounds which covered the emaciated body. If there was a bit of the bounty hunter which had not been shot, cut or burned in the past it was impossible to find it in the lamplight. Bale turned the lamp’s brass wheels and lowered the illumination around the table as if in respect to the corpse.

  He, like everyone else in the West, had heard about Iron Eyes and thought the stories were all a tad tall. Seeing what the bounty hunter must have endured through his life made the marshal realize that they were probably all true.

  Sighing, Bale turned and looked back at the doctor. Hardy was staring with glazed eyes into the far wall. The marshal knew that there were few men who were better at his job than this old-timer. Only age had slowed him, not lack of skill.

  ‘You got a blanket around here, Doc?5 Bale asked drily. ‘I thought I’d cover him up.’

  Hardy gestured at the couch beneath the window where he often slept when too weary to go to his bed.

  ‘Use that ’un, Monte,’ Hardy said. ‘It needs a wash anyway!’

  Bale strode to the couch, lifted the white sheet up and then returned to the long table. He carefully covered the body and then rubbed his neck thoughtfully.

  ‘What happened? It looks like you fixed up his wounds just fine, Doc.’

  Hardy gave a slight shrug. ‘Beats me. I thought we were doing fine but I had to burn the poison out from the wound left in him when I extracted that damn filthy arrow. He must have not had the strength to cope with the shock.’

  Bale shook his head. ‘By all accounts this man was the lowest of the low, but anyone who lived his kinda life deserves better than dying on a table. Reckon we all gotta go somehow, though.’

  There were tears in Hardy’s eyes when his head turned and he looked up at the marshal.

  ‘Damn it all, I did my best! I don’t like losing patients at the best of times but when you got some critter like him dying it hurts, Monte. It hurts bad. That man or whatever he was must have lived in pain from all them old injuries for years. I figure he must have bin carrying at least a half dozen chunks of rifle or gun lead in him when he got here. That boy suffered more pain than we’ll ever know. He shouldn’t be dead. If he could handle that he ought to have bin able to handle what I done to him.’

  ‘Maybe it was his time,’ Bale said. ‘His time to go.’

  ‘It ought to have bin his time to die years back.’

  Bale moved back to the old man. ‘Why don’t you and me head on over to the Silver Bell and have us some drinks, Doc? A few cool beers will wash the taste of this out of our mouths.’

  ‘That’s a good idea.’ Hardy nodded and carefully rose to his feet. He placed the bottle of whiskey on his desk and walked over to where his coat was hanging. ‘The fresh air will do me good. The beer will do me even more good!’

  ‘You leaving the bottle?’ Bale smiled coyly.

  Hardy glanced at the bottle. ‘Maybe I’ll have me a few glasses of that when I get back after I’ve filled my innards with beer!’

  Both men’s attention were drawn to the office door by a gentle rapping. Bale looked at the door and his hand rested instinctively on his gun grip.

  ‘You expecting somebody, Doc?’ Hardy pulled his half-hunter from his vest pocket and looked at its reliable hands. ‘Seven sharp! Must be Beulah from the cafe with my evening vittles. Come on in, Beulah dear.’

  Reluctantly the female turned the doorknob and ventured into the room. Word had spread like wildfire through Desert Springs about the inhuman creature whom the marshal had taken to be treated by Hardy. She averted her eyes away from the table, walked towards the two men and placed the tray down on the desk. Whatever was beneath the checkered napkin it sure smelled good.

  ‘Now you make sure you eat this before you go to bed, Doc.’

  Hardy smiled at the shapely female who was somewhere in her mid-thirties.

  ‘I will eat it before going to bed later on, Beulah. I promise.’

  The woman left the office as quickly as her feet would carry her and closed the door firmly. Bale went to lift the edge of the napkin when Hardy slapped the back of the lawman’s hand.

  ‘Come on, Monte! Let’s get out of here!’ Bale put his hat back on and glanced at the body now covered with a white sheet as he headed to the door. He gripped the handle and turned it.

  ‘What about Iron Eyes, Doc?’

  ‘Reckon he’ll keep for a couple of hours, boy,’ Hardy replied. ‘I’ll take me a walk down to old Perkins at the funeral parlor later and get him to come pick him up at his convenience!’

  As the marshal led his companion out into the fresh air, he patted the old shoulder again. ‘You don’t have to go marching all over town, Doc. I’ll send Joshua. He needs the exercise.’

  Hardy sniffed as he closed the door behind him. ‘Good enough.’

  Chapter Nine

  MEN CUT FROM Joe Brewster’s kind of cloth seldom made mistakes unless they were the fatal kind. The outlaw had vowed that if anyone was going to make such a mistake this night, it would not be him. He had somehow managed to move unhindered through the various levels of The Texas House whilst accepting free drinks and helping himself to the ample supply of freshly prepared food. In order not to arouse any suspicions Brewster had placed a few token bets at the roulette table before heading up the flight of stairs to where he had seen Texas Jack and Fargo head thirty minutes earlier.

  He knew that they had now had plenty of time to settle down in Kelly’s office and imagine their rewards when the night’s takings were tallied up. All the outlaw had to do was find that office and make his unexpected introductions.

  When he reached the landing three females draped in smiles and very little else surrounded him. Their perfume was enough to sober up the drunkest of men. Brewster allowed their lips to leave their paint on his shaven face and their hands to grope his freshly bathed body through his new clothes. As they caressed him with eager fingers his keen eyes darted from one door after another until they found what he had been looking for. Right at the very end of the corridor he saw the one door which did not have a number, just the word ‘private’ emblazoned upon its gleaming surface.

  Brewster handed out silver dollars to the females and vaguely promised he would return to them to pursue their obvious pleasures later. With the coins in their hands the ladies sought out new potential clients.

  The outlaw walked down the corridor towards the door. His steps being muffled by the plush carpet, he reached it unheard in a matter of seconds.

  Brewster pushed his coat tails over the holstered guns and gritted his teeth. In one fluid action he had opened the door and entered before the occupants of the room had even realized anyone was there.

  Texas Jack Kelly was sitting behind his desk in a chair fit of a king. Few thrones could have equaled it. Fargo was resting his hip on the edge of the desk. Both men had glasses in their hands when they looked up.

  Their startled expressions amused the bank robber.

  Fargo lifted his weight to stand as Brewster drew both his weapons and cocked their hammers.

  ‘I’d stay exactly where you are, Fargo,’ the outlaw advised.

  ‘You k
now me?’ Fargo asked.

  Brewster simply nodded.

  Kelly placed his glass on his blotter and leaned back against the padded back of his chair. A smile as wide as a canyon filled his face.

  ‘If it ain’t little Joey Brewster!’ He laughed.

  Brewster did not see the joke. ‘I’d be careful about how you talk to me, Texas Jack. I got me a real bad side and only a plumb loco fool would want to see it!’

  The gambler nodded. ‘I apologize, Mr. Brewster. Where’s Clem and Frank?’

  ‘Dead.’ The outlaw snapped a reply. ‘You’re dealing with me now. Savvy?’

  Kelly nodded. ‘I savvy.’

  ‘How’d Clem and Frank die, Joe?’ Fargo looked as curious as his question implied. ‘Did you have trouble with that last bank job?’

  ‘Nope,’ Brewster replied. ‘That went sweet and easy. We got what we went into that bank to get. Our trouble came a little later.’

  Fargo turned on his hip. ‘What kinda trouble could get the better of Clem and Frank?’

  ‘We had a run-in with Iron Eyes,’ Brewster replied. He walked across the room towards the two men who, he knew, would kill him as quickly as he would kill them given half a chance.

  ‘Iron Eyes?’ Kelly repeated the name and leaned forward. He rested his elbows on the desk and stared up at the man with the pair of Colts in his hands. ‘He’s in town, Joe. Did you happen to know that?’

  ‘What?’ Suddenly Brewster’s expression changed. ‘He’s here already?’

  Fargo smiled. ‘You look a little sickly there, Joe. You scared of that bounty hunter?’

  The outlaw swallowed hard. ‘That critter is dangerous. He killed my brothers and nearly done for me. He’s been following me all the way from Mexico.’

  Kelly smiled again. ‘Relax! My spies tell me that he’s close to death. The marshal had to carry him to old Doc Hardy’s place earlier this evening.’

  Brewster blinked hard. ‘How come?’

  ‘He tangled with some Apaches and they sure got the better of him by all accounts.’ Fargo nodded and then laughed.

  ‘He had an arrow in him,’ Kelly added. ‘Leastways, that’s what my spies told me.’

  The outlaw was now at the desk. One gun was aimed straight at Kelly and the other at Fargo. Sweat dripped from beneath his hatband as the fear of encountering the bounty hunter again swept over him.

  ‘Our deal will never happen as long as Iron Eyes is still breathing, Texas Jack,’ Brewster said in a low, cold tone. ‘He’ll ruin everything for all of us.’

  Kelly looked at the younger man long and hard. ‘What would you suggest we do?’

  ‘If you had any brains, you’d send some of your boys to that doctor’s place and kill Iron Eyes,’ Brewster advised. ‘That varmint is like a leech! He don’t quit! Send some men to make sure he’s dead, Texas Jack.’

  Kelly looked at the fearful man. ‘But I’m told he’s as good as dead, Joe.’

  ‘He don’t die like regular folks,’ the outlaw shouted. ‘If you don’t kill him he’ll probably kill all of us.’

  Fargo raised an eyebrow. ‘But he only goes after men with bounty on their heads. Men like you.’

  Joe Brewster looked at Fargo, then diverted his eyes to Kelly. A knowing smile etched across his face. ‘You telling me that neither of you has any paper on you? There ain’t no reward posters out there some-place with your faces on them?’

  Both Kelly and Fargo looked concerned.

  ‘You might have changed your names but he’ll figure it. Iron Eyes don’t ever forget a face he’s seen on a poster. No matter how old it is, he’ll recall it. He’ll even know how much you’re both worth dead. And that’s the only way he collects.’

  Kelly snapped his fingers. ‘Fargo! Take Layne, Smith and Green with you to Doc Hardy’s office! Kill that bounty hunter and whoever else happens to get in the way!’

  Fargo looked at Brewster. ‘Is it OK with you if’n I do what Texas Jack wants, Joe?’

  The outlaw nodded. ‘Get going. But make sure you kill him, Fargo.’

  Kelly watched the door close behind Fargo, then stared up at the bank robber. He pulled a cigar from a silver box, bit off its tip and spat it away. ‘Now to business, Joe. The deal I had with Clem was that you boys would bring me a bag of fresh-minted golden eagles and I’d pay you twenty-five cents on the dollar. Have you got them?’

  ‘It was fifty cents on the dollar and I’ve got them!’ Brewster answered as his companion struck a match and raised it to the expensive smoke. ‘I got me plenty of them. Half-eagles as well.’

  ‘I’ll take every one of them for fifty cents on the dollar, Joe.’ Texas Jack could not hide his eagerness at laying his hands on so much gold coin. He sucked in the smoke from his cigar and allowed it to trail from his lips. ‘With my connections in the gambling-halls across southern Texas I’ll be able to turn those eagles into hard cash faster than a fly can find a ripe outhouse.’

  Joe Brewster continued to hold his guns at hip height.

  ‘Don’t you trust me, Joe?’ Kelly asked.

  The bank robber walked to the door, opened it carefully and checked the corridor. He glanced back.

  ‘Nope. I don’t trust you, Texas Jack.’

  Kelly watched the man leave his office. He tapped the ash from his cigar into a glass tray and nodded to himself. ‘You got brains, Joe.’

  Chapter Ten

  THERE WAS A spring in the step of Joe Brewster when he left The Texas House and walked between the lines of men who were anxious to get into the gambling-hall.

  The lanterns and torches bathed the outlaw in their flickering light as he hurriedly made his way back in the direction of the hotel. For the first time since he had started out for the gambling-hall earlier that evening Brewster was confident. He knew that all he had to do was deliver the two large bags of coins into the hands of Texas Jack Kelly and he would be able to leave Desert Springs a very wealthy man.

  A billfold full of crisp one-hundred-dollar bills was a lot easier to carry than the hefty gold coins he had toiled with for so many weeks that he had lost count.

  But Brewster should have remained alert. He should have kept his habit of always looking over his shoulder that his elder brothers had taught him. Then perhaps he might have noticed the four heavily armed men who watched his every move from the safety and protection of the shadows close to the hotel. A quartet of men ready to dish out death because they had been told to do so by their wealthy boss.

  Fargo might have agreed to go to Doc Hardy’s place and ensure that Iron Eyes was actually dead, but he had had earlier instructions from his employer. Instructions which he and three of Kelly’s henchmen would execute along with the bank robber before they made their way down to where they knew Iron Eyes was. First things first. The bounty hunter could wait, the small fortune in golden eagles could not. Kelly wanted that in his safe because he had never intended paying any of the Brewster brothers a red cent for it.

  The sharp-eyed Fargo leaned back until the shadows cloaked him. He looked at Jed Green, Seth Smith and Ben Layne beside him and gave a simple nod. They knew what that meant. Guns were slid from holsters and made ready.

  All four men clutched a pistol in their hands as Brewster reached the boardwalk outside the Desert Hotel and entered its open doors.

  ‘Let’s give our pal a visit, boys!’ Fargo drawled.

  There was a sound of subdued laughter as the four men curled around the corner and raced to the hotel. Fargo reached the doorway first. Brewster was about to start up the staircase when he saw them. Instinctively his hands went to go for the holstered guns beneath the tails of his new coat. They stopped when he looked straight down the barrel of Fargo’s cocked Peacemaker.

  ‘You bastard!’ Brewster growled.

  The four men surrounded and disarmed Brewster swiftly as Fargo pushed the barrel of his gun into the face of the bank robber and plucked the key from the outlaw’s hand.

  ‘Room three.’ Fargo smiled. ‘Lead the wa
y, Joey boy!’

  The old man had not enjoyed any of the three glasses of beer he had consumed whilst sitting with Marshal Bale in the heart of the near-empty saloon. Even not having had to pay for any of them had not made them taste any better. To Doc Hardy it was impossible to forget the fact that he had failed a fellow man. All his knowledge and experience had amounted to nothing yet again. These were things which all medical practitioners learned to accept if they wished to remain doctors. It was still a very bitter pill to swallow even for the most seasoned of souls, though. Death would eventually defeat even the greatest of them. Some thought that it was attempting to cheat death itself if you dared to interfere with the course of nature. To give a simple tonic might be seen as interfering with some divine purpose, and yet men still tried to save those who were sick.

  They tried to help. For them there was no other course that their lives could ever take. They tried to postpone Death’s inevitable victory over mere mortals.

  Apart from Bale and Hardy and the bartender the Silver Bell saloon was virtually empty. It seemed the same with all the other drinking- and gambling-holes in town. The draw of the new Texas House had proved too hard to resist.

  ‘This beer tastes like dishwater, Monte,’ Hardy complained.

  ‘Mine was just fine, Doc.’ The lawman smiled.

  ‘Maybe it’s just me, then.’ Hardy sniffed.

  ‘Maybe it is.’

  Hardy looked around at the wall clock. ‘Did you send Joshua to the funeral parlor like I asked?’

  ‘Yep’

  ‘Knowing Perkins, he’ll wait until I’m asleep before he comes knocking on my door,’ the doctor grumbled anxiously. ‘Maybe I ought to go check that Perkins got the message. What you reckon, Monte?’

  Bale stood, placed his empty beer glass down and smiled at the older man. ‘No need, Doc.’ Joshua came back here and told us that he had a word with Perkins and he said he’ll pick up the body when he’s got time. Don’t you recall?’

  Hardy wrinkled his eyes. ‘Nope. Maybe this beer is stronger than it tastes. I must be plumb tuckered out if I forgot you telling me that.’