by Rory Black
The Home of Great Western Fiction!
In a remote valley, six miners, led by Will Hayes, strike pay dirt. A fortune in golden nuggets is hidden in the dense landscape. The only obstacle to prevent their taking it back to civilization is a small, isolated tribe of natives. But Hayes has a dastardly plan to deal with them ...
After they ruthlessly kill a child, however, and her body is found by the infamous bounty hunter Iron Eyes, they buy themselves a whole new world of hurt. Because Iron Eyes vows to discover who killed her - and make sure they pay for their crime in blood …
IRON EYES 13: THE SKULL OF IRON EYES
By Rory Black
First published by Robert Hale Limited in 2011
Copyright © 2011, 2021 by Rory Black
First Electronic Edition: July 2021
Names, characters and incidents in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
You may not copy, store, distribute, transmit, reproduce or otherwise make available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or by means (electronic, digital, optical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
This is a Piccadilly Publishing Book
Series Editor: Ben Bridges
Text © Piccadilly Publishing
Published by Arrangement with the Author.
Dedicated with love to my eldest daughter, Lucy Jane.
Prologue
San Remo was never the quietest of towns yet it was about to get a whole lot noisier as darkness fell. The sixty or so buildings which encircled the courthouse and spiraled out in a half dozen different directions began to glow as their lamps and lanterns slowly erupted into light. The sound of tinny pianos and guitars flowed from the saloons and cantinas as the strange sight of a man dressed in undertaker’s clothing and steering his tall palomino stallion into the very center of the busy settlement overwhelmed the onlookers.
Few sights could have chilled their souls quite as much as that which greeted them in the flickering amber illumination. The eyes of those who saw the bounty hunter atop his tall mount would never see anything as frightening again. For this was no ordinary rider who had arrived in the midst of the southern Texan town. This was a man who was here for one reason and that reason was to kill.
Iron Eyes stared with cold calculating eyes all around him at the street whilst he sat motionless astride his powerful mount and allowed it free rein. His boots were dug deep into his stirrups and his reins were looped around his saddle horn. The bounty hunter sat with both hands on the grips of his Navy Colts which poked out from his pants belt. Iron Eyes was ready for anything that might occur. He missed nothing as the horse walked on down toward the large whitewashed courthouse.
People gasped at the sight of the stranger in San Remo. Even though none of them had ever seen the bounty hunter previously they all recognized death when it rode into their town.
Iron Eyes reached forward, tugged back on his reins and stopped the stallion right outside the tall white building. His long right leg looped over the horse’s mane of golden hair and the thin emaciated man slid down to the ground. The sound of his razor-sharp spurs rang out as though warning of the danger which now loomed over anyone who got on the wrong side of the bounty hunter. He paused beside his saddle and glared over the shoulder of his tall horse at those who seemed to be frozen to the ground at the very sight of him.
People began to run as he tied his reins to the nearest hitching rail. They ran as though the Devil himself had entered San Remo’s boundaries.
His eyes darted up and down the boardwalk before he stepped up on to it. He had seen the many various saloons as he had entered the large town but had kept on riding.
There was only one reason for which he had now stopped his search for his elusive prey, and that reason was directly across the street. The five lathered-up mounts outside the Golden Bell saloon bore testament to the fact that they had only recently stopped fleeing the man who was walking towards them.
Iron Eyes raised both arms and ran his thin fingers through his mane of long black hair. He then heard more gasps from those who saw the brutalized face he now revealed.
Without missing a step, the bounty hunter jumped down from the boardwalk and continued across the street at pace towards the saloon. The sound of music rang out over the swing doors. Yet Iron Eyes did not hear anything. His entire concentration was now focused on only one thing: locating the Barton gang and killing them.
They were worth two thousand dollars in total.
He pushed his way between the five exhausted horses. They all began to shy and vainly fight their restraints. He had the aroma of death upon him and even weary horses could smell that loathsome scent.
Iron Eyes stepped up outside the saloon and then rested for a few moments. He looked hard at the horses, then nodded to himself. They belonged to Ben Barton and his four cronies, he thought. He turned and took two steps. He paused and glared over the swing doors until satisfied that the men he sought were somewhere within this building’s four walls.
Even choking tobacco smoke mixed with the unmistakable smell of stale liquor could not hide their putrid odor from his flared nostrils. He knew his prey well.
They were in there OK.
Just as he was about to enter the smoke-filled saloon he heard a man clearing his throat beside him. The bounty hunter stopped. His head tilted slightly as he looked through the limp strands of hair at the man who was less than five feet from him. Iron Eyes would have ignored most men who dared to stop him when he was ready to go after his chosen goals but this man wore a tin star on his vest.
‘What you want, Sheriff?’ Iron Eyes asked in a low mumble.
The sheriff felt his heart quicken when he saw the hideous scars on the face of the tall thin figure. He swallowed hard and took another step toward the bounty hunter. ‘Who are you?’
‘They call me Iron Eyes,’ came the swift reply.
‘What’s your business in San Remo?’ the lawman pressed.
‘I’m here to kill five varmints,’ Iron Eyes answered. ‘I’m a bounty hunter and they’re all wanted, dead or alive.’
Joe Hawkins was a man who would never see forty again. For a quarter of his life he had been elected sheriff for San Remo and its surrounding county. Yet in all his days he had never once felt as scared as he did looking at the tall man dressed more like an undertaker than a bounty hunter.
‘W ... who?’ Hawkins croaked.
‘Ben Barton and his boys.’ Iron Eyes took his eyes off the sheriff and returned his attention to the people inside the Golden Bell. ‘You seen them?’
Hawkins shook his head. ‘Nope. Never even heard of them.’
The thin left hand of the bounty hunter rested on the top of the swing doors. ‘Now’s your chance.’
The lawman went to speak but it was too late. He watched as the bounty hunter energetically pushed the doors apart and marched into the busy saloon. Hawkins trailed the man with the long flowing hair who pushed others aside as he forged on towards the back wall of the drinking hole.
‘Barton!’ Iron Eyes screamed out loudly.
Wanted outlaw Ben Barton was sitting with his two brothers Lee and Kit at a poker table. They had already accumulated three near-naked females and an equal amount of whiskey bottles. Now in horror they saw the man whom they had wrongly believed they had managed to shake off their tails days earlier.
‘Iron Eyes!’ Ben Barton snarled.
‘Go for them guns!’ The bounty hunter stopped and kicked the closest table between them away
. ‘Draw!’
They did. As the females screamed out the trio of outlaws dragged their guns from their holsters and started to fan their hammers. Yet Iron Eyes had matched their speed and pulled both his Navy Colts from his belt. As bullets exploded into action the thin man pulled back the hammers of both his weapons and squeezed their triggers over and over again. Iron Eyes felt the heat of their lead as it ripped through the tails of his long black coat. But his expression did not alter as he stood firm. He had seen his own lead tear open their chests in quick succession. Blood spewed over the yelping women as they tried to scramble away from the bleeding bodies which had them pinned down behind the poker table.
Hawkins caught up with the bounty hunter and stared at the men as they slid from their chairs on to the sawdust-covered saloon floor. Pools of crimson spread out as the bar-room girls fled in hysterics to the bar. ‘You killed them.’
Iron Eyes did not respond. He turned and looked around the saloon. Each face with its open mouth was studied in a mere beat of his heart until he was satisfied.
‘What you looking for?’ the sheriff asked.
‘The others,’ Iron Eyes snarled.
‘What others?’
‘Whip Slater and Clem Barker,’ the bounty hunter replied. He strode across the floor of the saloon until he cornered one of the still sobbing girls. He pushed one of his guns into his belt and grabbed her arm. He pulled her towards him. The blood of the Bartons still covered her exposed breasts and dripped from her nipples on to her blue satin dress. ‘Answer me.’
Her eyes widened as they locked on to his mutilated features. ‘Who are you? Why’d you do that?’
He shook her arm and silenced her. ‘Where’s the other two varmints them critters rode into town with? They upstairs with some of your friends? Where are they?’
‘I don’t know,’ she screamed out. Then a deafening shot rang out across the saloon. Iron Eyes released his grip, spun on his heels and stared to where he could see both Barker and Slater as they headed towards the swing doors. A score of men and women stood between the bounty hunter and the outlaws. Gripping one of his Navy Colts in his right hand, Iron Eyes took a step. Both men fired their guns again.
The bounty hunter stopped. He was confused. They had not shot at him but up at the ceiling. Then he heard a sound. Iron Eyes looked up and saw the wooden chandelier falling. Its securing rope had been severed by one of their bullets.
Iron Eyes went to move but it was too late.
The full weight of the chandelier crashed down on to him. He felt his head splitting open as he hit the floor. He could see the candles burning in the sawdust just before he heard the sound of the two outlaws’ horses as they thundered away.
The thin man tried to rise but he could not.
Then everything went black. His mind became a whirlpool and he felt himself falling into a place he knew only too well.
Chapter One
The forest flourished in the heat that radiated off the surrounding land. Heat rose through the jungle-like density of the brush, creating clouds of steam and moisture. An eerie mist hung like phantoms throughout the forty miles of valley, unable to escape the steep sides of the mountains. Vines were intertwined with trees of every kind making it virtually impossible for all but the most determined and skillful of souls to pick a path between them. The deep floor of the valley had a fast-flowing river coursing along its entire length, whilst to each side tree-covered mountains stretched heavenward and loomed ominously over everything below them.
This was a place where few from the outside world had ever ventured. Yet those who had dared to risk their lives in the almost impenetrable forest had quickly realized the opportunities that this mysterious place offered those willing to take full advantage of its innocent inhabitants.
The band of six prospectors led by the seasoned Will Hayes had never turned down a bonanza and they certainly were not going to start now. Hayes had once been an accomplished illusionist and magician in San Francisco, when the first gold nugget had been discovered. Since that fateful day he had spent his every waking moment dreaming of discovering the mother lode.
Each day, leading their horses and pack mules, the six hardened goldminers had ventured deeper and deeper along the valley. The further north they went the more signs they found of the abundant wealth the forest held for anyone willing to claim it. After the first few days of their exploration, they had accumulated more gold nuggets than it was possible to carry.
The miners carefully buried their finds for when they returned south but none of them, including Hayes himself, had any idea of what additional treasures awaited them further up the river.
They were soon to find out. For several nights they had seen the red glowing light of a giant campfire dance across the waters of the river. It lit up the forest right up to the very top of the mountainside. It drew the curious men like moths to a flame.
Set deep in the densest part of the forest a mere ten miles from the end of the valley, a structure made of wood and mud had stood for so long that none of the natives who lived nearby knew anything about it. To them all memory of who had built it had gone. For centuries it had simply stood apart from the much smaller similarly constructed structures in which the natives lived. Each night the Indians built a new fire so large that it was guaranteed to keep all beasts away.
All four-legged beasts, that was.
None of the Indians knew that they were being spied upon by a far more dangerous animal from the shadows.
Totems dotted throughout the valley seemed to tell a story of flying gods in their carvings, and that had intrigued Hayes. The showman sensed, in his soul, an opportunity. He had once made a fortune using his skill as a magician to fleece those who had either faith or superstition. The sight of the Indians bestowing gifts at the entrance to the big building told him that there was something here that he could exploit.
Hayes correctly suspected that the large domed building might still be filled with the gifts placed within it by the Indians’ long dead forebears. For rituals are hard to shake; even when the reasons for those rituals have been forgotten they tend to continue on.
As Hayes and his men had looked on, they had no idea that their wildest dreams were actually true. Golden trinkets encrusted with precious jewels filled the large edifice, although the centuries had virtually covered them from view. No longer remembering how to manufacture the precious ore into works of art the natives now simply placed crude gold nuggets at the building’s entrance.
Will Hayes and his cohorts had found the small village and its innocent inhabitants. They could see the golden rocks gleam as the light of the giant campfire illuminated them. To the miners this was their only god.
The only thing they worshipped.
Like so many of their breed who dreamed of finding El Dorado they knew that this place was probably the closest any of them would ever get to achieving that elusive goal.
Hayes knew that they could simply have entered the village and killed the natives to get their hands on the gold, but that would be to kill those who, he knew, might be turned into his slaves and deliver more and more of the precious ore to his feet.
Then a plan had started to ferment in his fertile mind. It hailed back to his days as one of San Francisco’s finest and most successful magicians.
All it would take was magic and he was a past master at making even the most intelligent of audiences believe anything he wanted them to believe. These were simple Indians who had probably never even seen a white man before. Never known there was another world beyond their tranquil forested valley. They were like children.
Their minds would be like putty in his hands. Will Hayes knew he could control them by using his skill as an illusionist. All it would take was the right trick, and they would be deceived by the most unbelievable of illusions.
A few days later it all fell into place.
Will Hayes had been quick to read the ancient images carved on the now rotting totems. One image
stood out for Hayes and that was an image of what appeared to be a flying man. A man who was also a bird. It seemed to be on every totem pole.
A man bird.
For the first time since he had amazed San Francisco’s finest with his ability to make men or women float above audiences and even lions seemingly vanish into thin air, Will Hayes knew there was a way to use his unparalleled skills to get what he wanted, to obtain all the gold he desired. Unlike in his earlier days, this time his captive audience would make him and his cohorts rich and believe them to be gods.
Hayes had found his bonanza at last.
The following morning as the six men huddled in the dense brush, hidden from the Indians as they paddled back to their camp in canoes, the oldest and most wily of the prospectors gripped the arm of his nearest companion. Hayes gave out a grunt of satisfaction as the realization of how he could fool the natives suffused his weathered features.
‘I’ve figured it, Bob! I got me the trick that’ll fool the whole bunch of ’em!’ Hayes exclaimed triumphantly.
The robust figure of Bob Tobey stared hard at his pal. ‘Keep your voice down, Will. Them Injuns might be the type that take scalps.’
‘I don’t fear no half naked critters!’ Hayes laughed.
Tobey was soaked with his own sweat. He exhaled heavily and rubbed his face with large calloused hands. ‘You mean you figured out what trick will fool them?’
‘Damn right I have!’ Hayes sounded different to their ears. He looked as though he was drunk as the idea filled his mind and brought back memories from half a lifetime earlier. ‘The trick I once fooled an entire city with. Damn! I was famous back then before I got me the gold fever. This was my biggest trick. It fooled even royalty.’
Pete Brown eased closer. ‘I ain’t sure about this idea of us going into that Indian camp, Will. You might have a mighty good trick but they might have a lot of real sharp arrows.’
