Iron Eyes, no. 1 (2 page)

Iron Eyes
continued his relentless march up the centre of the deserted
street. Dust rose around his feet as he aimed his boots at the
cantina.

Twenty-three
steps later he walked through the hanging beaded curtain and
stopped.

The noise of
the beads was the only sound within the dark, cool room. A startled
bartender was frozen at the sight of the thin killing-machine. Iron
Eyes stood like a statue as he absorbed the room. Only his eyes
moved as they flashed around the scene before him. One elderly
Mexican man sat at a table with a spoon in his hand and a
half-eaten bowl of chilli before him.

The old man had
stopped eating when he had seen Iron Eyes. Now only the flies moved
around the brown food.

It seemed like
hours but in reality was only a matter of seconds before Iron Eyes
heard the noise to his left. The corner was hidden in shadows but
the bounty hunter had heard the sound that he had heard many times
before. It was the sound of a pistol being pulled from its leather
holster.

Iron Eyes did
not hesitate.

With a movement
that defied belief; he had drawn both his long-barrelled Navy Colts
from his pants belt and somehow fired into the blackness of the
corner. A shot was returned but went wide and was obviously not
aimed. This was a bullet leaving the barrel of a gun being held by
a man who was falling.

The noise of
the body hitting the floor vibrated around the cantina as Iron Eyes
returned his left pistol into his pants. The old Mexican and the
bartender watched silently as the tall, thin figure walked over to
the dark corner. To both men’s utter shock Iron Eyes fired another
bullet into the stricken body before returning the gun into his
belt.

Whether the man
who lay on the floor had been only wounded before Iron Eyes
finished him off was open to conjecture, all that was certain now
was that Dan Hardy was indeed dead.

Grabbing
Hardy’s shirt collar in his bony hand, Iron Eyes dragged the corpse
out of the cantina and down the long street.

His destination
was the small sod-built building that had the word ‘SHERIFF’
painted along its frontage.

The small man
with the tin star stood shaking as he watched the figure of Iron
Eyes approaching with his trophy. The breeze blew the black, limp
hair over the gunman’s face, making it impossible to see his
expression.

Iron Eyes
dropped the body of Dan Hardy at the law officer’s feet and
returned to his full height.

‘
You wanna see the wanted poster?’ Iron Eyes
growled.

The sheriff
nodded carefully with his shaking, out-held hand.

After studying
it for a few moments, he gulped. ‘What do you want me to do,
sir?’

Iron Eyes
looked around the area for telegraph wires. He finally saw them and
pointed.

‘
Wire for my money,’ he advised.

The sheriff
nodded silently as Iron Eyes headed back down the dusty windswept
street toward the hotel. Then the small man noticed the blood
running freely around his boots from the body with such a surprised
expression upon its lifeless face.

The message
that greeted Iron Eyes as he read the wire did not sit easily in
his guts.

He had to ride
to a town named El Paso to get his money. The news angered Iron
Eyes greatly as he paced around his hotel room, puffing on his long
cigar.

El Paso was
across the Rio Grande and in Texas. A long, hard ride, with nothing
in-between except Apache.

The cantina
fell silent as the gaunt man sat and ate his meal that evening. The
music had stopped when he had entered and would not resume until he
left. Iron Eyes chewed his chilli thoughtfully as all around him
kept their distance.

It was almost
midnight when he mounted his grey and rode away from Rio Drago. The
moon was still big enough to light his way as he galloped through
the barren landscape.

Iron Eyes would
continue to ride his mount as fast as the animal could manage. Day
after day and night after night. Stopping only to water and feed
the beast, Iron Eyes would not rest until he had the money in his
saddle-bags.

El Paso was a
town that he had been lucky in. Iron Eyes remembered the time when
he was walking down one of its long, aimless streets, littered with
saloons and whorehouses, when he saw a face in the crowd.

Not just any
old face. A face he had seen on a wanted poster. That was all the
reason he required to follow the man. It was a long walk before the
man stopped to buy himself some comfort from a five-dollar wench,
but that was all the time Iron Eyes had required. He called the
man’s name, and the guns were drawn and fired blindly

Smoke filled
the scene for several minutes before the bounty-hunter found
himself standing over the body of a big, fat, pay-day bounty That
day he walked out of the First National Bank with a saddle-bag
filled with ten-thousand-dollars-worth of gold.

Iron Eyes still
had the ability to see what others missed. His was the eyesight of
a bird of prey.

As long as
there was a bounty on the head, he would do anything to kill that
face.

This had been
his life for over a decade since he found making a living out of
hunting animals less than profitable. Turning his talents into
hunting men did not bother Iron Eyes. In fact, he found killing men
far easier than killing animals.

Men often
deserved to be dead and buried.

Iron Eyes was
always willing to oblige.

As the sun rose
on the third day, Iron Eyes had to rein his mount to a premature
stop.

He stood in his
stirrups and stared ahead. Dust was rising on a hill ahead of him.
For a few minutes, the cold grey eyes gazed at the dust and watched
as it moved across his path.

There was only
one sort of person Iron Eyes hated more than white folks.

‘
Apache,’ he growled.

Without a
moment’s hesitation, Iron Eyes drove the spurs deeply into the
flesh of his grey The mount leapt across the sagebrush and galloped
over the high sierra, with its merciless rider hanging on to the
reins.

Iron Eyes was
heading due east. The grey soon began to flag with total exhaustion
as it climbed the steep ridge which led to a valley of ample
cover.

The Apache
warriors were not slow to spot the dust rising, and soon the entire
hunting party had thrown themselves on to their bareback ponies and
were in pursuit.

Thrusting his
spurs into the grey was doing little but sending spurts of crimson
over Iron Eyes’ filthy pants and boots. The rider soon realized
that his escape was not going to happen easily with this horse.

He had ridden
every ounce of strength and energy out of the poor beast. Iron Eyes
pulled the reins up hard and felt the horse’s legs buckle beneath
him as he slid from the saddle, grabbing his Winchester from the
sheath as his boots hit the soft sand.

The horse
staggered away, seeking rest and water, as its owner marched up the
remaining few yards of the slope.

Even in extreme
danger, the ruthless bounty-hunter knew no reason to become overly
concerned.

The breeze that
swept the top of the dune lifted his long coat allowing it to flap
like Old Glory. The matted hair whipped across his whiskerless face
as he narrowed his hard, cold eyes to study the scene below
him.

Cranking the
Winchester, he counted seven Apache heading straight at him upon
their ponies.

Ponies.

Iron Eyes gave
his horse a glance and knew that if he was truly lucky, he just
might get himself one of those ponies. It would mean that he would
have to kill all the approaching Indians, but that was nothing.

Men were men.
Their colour never concerned his bullets or their aim. These were
real men that rode at him. Hunters. Not like the majority of
cringing critters that he so often encountered.

When you faced
an Apache, you faced a real man that knew nothing of fear. Fear was
for mere mortals.

Iron Eyes
decided to use his rifle first. That would allow him to pick off
the leading braves. He had to time his killing perfectly.

One shot too
early would send the empty mounts racing off in all directions. He
had to wait until the young warriors were close enough to strike
out at him. They would want him dead and strung up for the buzzards
to tear off strips of his flesh.

He knew they
would never allow a lone rider to get past them alive. He gritted
his stained teeth and started to raise his rifle.

His every
action was slow and timed.

The Apache grew
closer with every passing second. Now he could see their war paint.
These were young bucks out for glory to take back to their elders.
A few deer or the scalp of a lone white man would gain them their
feathers. They would prove themselves to the tribe.

Iron Eyes drew
his Winchester up to his shoulder and focused down the long
barrel.

The Indians
still came. Now he could hear their war cries getting louder and
louder in his ears.

Any normal man
with blood flowing in his veins would have been frightened.

Very
frightened.

Yet this was no
normal man.

This was Iron
Eyes.

The brave young
bucks were so close when he started to fire his repeating rifle
they could smell his acrid aroma. One by one they were blown off
their ponies.

One by one they
died where they fell.

The sheer speed
of the wrist-action of Iron Eyes was beyond comprehension to these
young men.

As he killed
the last warrior, Iron Eyes dropped the rifle and raced forward,
grabbing at the pinto stallion as it stumbled in the soft sand.
With strength that came from hell itself the long thin man wrestled
the pony to a standstill.

The crude,
grass-rope bridle was screwed so tightly around the stallion’s
nose, the creature could do little but succumb to Iron Eyes.

Within ten
minutes, Iron Eyes had transferred his saddle and bags from the
broken shell of his grey on to the new, fresh, Indian pony, and was
continuing his journey.

Even before the
cold-blooded Iron Eyes had left the scene, the buzzards had
gathered over his head, encircling the seven blood-soaked bodies
below them.

This was an
unexpected feast for the black-feathered carrion, as they swooped
lower and lower, sending their chilling screeches echoing through
the bleak desert.

None of this
bothered the bounty-hunter as he continued his journey to El Paso.
He smelled the blood money in his wide nostrils as he drove the
pinto on at a speed the poor pony had never previously known.

Iron Eyes rode
all the remaining hours of that day and the next before he came
across life again.

The prairie was
still as empty as ever to the rider as he approached the river
ahead of him.

Then he saw the
swollen Rio Grande rolling before him in its never-ceasing
journey.

Even the
relentless bounty-hunter had to stop.

The pony almost
sounded human as Iron Eyes leapt from the saddle. The relief to the
poor sweat-lathered animal was evident, as it staggered to the
water’s edge and drank the cold liquid.

Iron Eyes stood
watching the huge breaking water before him with the look of a man
who has just discovered his wife in the bed of his best buddy.
Losing a buddy can be hard.

He knew that
the high water was not normal for this time of the year and that
meant that there were floods upstream.

He sat down on
a boulder before pulling out a twisted, thin cigar and raising it
to his mouth.

His teeth bit
off the end of the smoke before he put it into his mouth and
searched for his matches. He struck a long, thin, blue-tipped match
with his thumbnail, before sucking it into the brown-leafed
Havana.

‘
Damn,’ he muttered as he watched the millions of gallons of
water passing him every second.

Even he could
not overcome nature, although he thought about trying.

You cannot kill
a river with a .45 but for a long while as he sucked in the smoke
of his cigar he felt like shooting the liquid obstruction.

Shaking his
head, he decided to camp here for the night before making up his
mind on how to proceed.

The pinto was
grained and unsaddled before being tethered to a tree-trunk. Iron
Eyes wrapped a blanket around his shoulders and slept as he always
slept, with both the deadly grey eyes wide open and a Navy Colt
gripped firmly in one of his hands.

The morning sun
created long shadows from the opposite bank as it traced across the
high, orange-coloured hills. The light that glared off the water
soon flashed into Iron Eyes’ face and awoke him.

For a long
while, the bounty-hunter sat motionless watching the pony straining
vainly to reach the tempting river-water. Iron Eyes got up on his
long thin legs and moved to the horse, who nervously ceased his
actions when catching sight of his new master.

The day was
young, but the river was still too damn high to cross. The anger
that swelled up within the breast of the ghostlike figure was
evident in the way he turned and kicked out at the scared
stallion.

Iron Eyes hated
defeat, and this was defeat in its crudest form. Kicking the dust
away as he strolled around the horse, he knew that the river was
laughing at him. He could hear the laughter emanating from the
breaking water as it continuously flowed past him.

Iron Eyes
kneeled down and watched the rolling water as it headed for the
Gulf; knowing that he would have to head south along the river’s
edge until he could find a shallow enough spot to cross.

El Paso was
only hours away but he could not get there and get his bounty
money. His reward was sitting in a bank calling out to him as he
watched a lot of brown water mocking his every move.

By
mid-afternoon, Iron Eyes had ridden at least twenty miles south
along the rocky edge of the Rio Grande and knew that he was more
than likely in Mexico and not his desired Texas. Yet the river
continued to mock him.

The waves were
rolling as high as his pony’s shoulder as they made their lonesome
way along the bank of the big wet.

Every
curse-word he had ever learned crept past his dry thin lips as he
rode next to the dangerous breaking waves.

Iron Eyes was
becoming conditioned to the fact that he might never reach his
destination during this day either as he turned a tight, tree-lined
corner. There before him he saw something he had not expected to
see.

In all its
glory, a single wagon stood unhitched.

Four large oxen
were tied to a long running rope, and flames from a campfire rose
skyward, sending the smell of bacon into the bounty-hunter’s
nostrils.

He normally
would have avoided such an obstacle blocking his path, but there
was no other way to pass but by riding straight into this small
encampment.

Iron Eyes
paused for a moment as his eagle vision spied out the scene, trying
to detect life at the site. Whoever was cooking that side of
salt-bacon was nowhere to be seen.

Pulling out his
favoured Navy Colt and checking it was fully loaded, Iron Eyes
spurred the pony onward toward the fire, gripping the pistol in his
right hand which he kept hanging at his side.

The pinto trod
carefully over the sharp stones as all unshod horses do. The man
steered the mount closer and closer to the wagon, until he saw a
sight which he had not expected.

It was a
woman.

She was tall
and thin for a female in these parts.

The rifle she
aimed at him from the cover of the wagon was cocked and ready For
the first time in his life, Iron Eyes had ridden himself into a
situation that confused him.

He pulled the
reins gently and tried not to focus on the young figure, who was
dressed in jeans and shirt below him.

The sun glinted
off the long rifle barrel and danced over his cold, deathlike
features.

‘
Christ, you sure are ugly,’ the woman exclaimed
aloud.

‘
You ain’t no oil painting yourself.’

Iron Eyes
turned his head slowly and glared down at her with the grey pupils
burning in anger.

‘
Howdy, ma’am,’ he sneered through his discoloured teeth at
her. His tone was sharp, and oozing deadly intent.

‘
What d’you want?’ she snapped.

‘
A way to get across this river.’ He gestured at the furious
waves that thundered past the tailgate of her wagon.

Her shadow was
almost as long as his as she paced around the man who was like a
statue upon his horse. She noticed the pistol in his hand and
stopped. Raising the rifle level with his face she smiled.

It was a smile
that was as cold as his own.

‘
Drop the shooting-iron, mister,’ she demanded.

‘
Or I’ll part your hair for you.’

‘
What?’ he growled.

The rifle-shot
that nicked the edge of his left ear sent agonizing pain racing
through him. A pain that he had never experienced before. The blood
gushed from the small wound and dripped over his dark, dirty
coat-collar.

‘
Drop that gun, mister, or the next shot will part your hair
between your eyes.’ She had cranked the rifle swiftly and
expertly.

With
satisfaction, she watched the man allow his Navy Colt to drop into
the dust at her feet.

‘
You crazy?’ Iron Eyes screamed at her.

‘
Yep.’