Iron Eyes, no. 1 (5 page)

The two
remaining Hardy brothers had ridden long and hard before they spied
the buzzards circling above the far-off mesa. It was the more
observant Tom who reined his mount to a halt first and stood high
in his stirrups.

The sight ahead
bothered him greatly, and, for the first time since setting out
from Rio Drago, he was concerned at what might lie ahead for
them.

The dark clouds
did little to help him as he pulled up the high collar of his
over-jacket to shield his ears from the chilling breeze.

Death lay over
the far off ridge, and his guts ached at the thought that revenge
might not be such an easy task. He and his drunken brother had to
try and catch the bounty-hunter named Iron Eyes before he crossed
the Rio Grande and headed into the far more populous Texas to get
his blood money It was a task that had soured in Tom’s mouth for
the past few hours as the constant riding had sobered him up.

The slower Whit
Hardy pulled up to a halt beside his brother, and sat spitting out
the flies from his teeth. Swaying in his saddle he could barely
focus on his horse’s mane, let alone the far-off mesa which seemed
to be occupying his brother’s attention. To Whit the only thought
had been to have another drink of his powerful Mexican brew.

It was nowhere
near as tasty as whiskey but it served its purpose and kept the
reality of their situation at a distance.

‘
You see that, Whit?’ Tom balanced himself by holding on to the
reins as he hovered in his stirrups.

Whit looked at
his brother and then at the distant birds that circled in the
far-away sky Removing his Stetson and scratching his lice-infested
head, he tried to work out what the fuss was all about.

‘
I see a bunch of crows or something. So what?’ he drawled in
his usual manner. The sight was hardly enough to get him worked up
into a lather.

Tom sat back
down in his saddle and glared at the man beside him. The expression
was one of total frustration.

‘
Them’s buzzards, Whit,’ he sighed.

‘
So?’ The younger man reached back into his saddle-bag and
withdrew a bottle. Finding it empty he tossed it away and fished
out another.

This one was
full to the cork, which he pulled with his teeth.

‘
Buzzards flying around in a circle?’ Tom tried to get a
response from his tequila-swigging sibling. ‘Think about it,
boy.’

Whit pulled the
bottle from his lips and gave a yell of sudden awareness.

‘
Something is dead over there,’ Whit ranted, with an excitement
in his voice that was as rare as finding him without glazed
eyes.

Tom blew long
and hard and prodded his horse with his sharp spurs. The mount
started to move ahead at a slow pace. He was headed for the mesa
and the buzzards.

The younger man
followed with reins in one hand and the bottle in the other. He had
long forgotten why they were on this journey, and the constant
consumption of homemade liquor seemed to keep his brain permanently
blurred.

Whit Hardy
followed his brother up over the sand dunes until they reached the
level top which rolled down on to the almost flat prairie.

Tom sat,
leaning on his saddle-horn, glaring at the sight before him. It was
totally horrific and at first very difficult to make out, but
gradually both riders knew what they had ridden in on.

This was a
sight seldom seen.

This was the
remnants of a one-sided battle that the shredded bodies before them
were testament to.

This was the
work of Iron Eyes.

The bodies of
the Apache warriors were scattered around, and had been plucked
almost free of flesh since they had been slaughtered. The buzzards
that circled were waiting their turn at the feast below, as other
birds ripped at the rotting flesh. A handful of ponies were away in
the distance, having remained close to their fallen masters.

Whit lowered
his bottle to his side and turned to throw up. He chucked his guts
up into the hot dry sand.

The smell was
like nothing either man had ever experienced in all their days.

Even the more
battle-scarred Tom felt the bitter taste of vomit in his mouth as
he inhaled the terrible stench.

‘
Indians,’ Tom managed to say ‘Them bodies used to be Indians,
boy.’

Whit continued
being sick as the mixture of acrid aroma and cheap liquor filled
him.

Soon the two
men had left the carnage behind them as they followed the trail
left by the unshod pony The bodies might have been getting more
distant behind their horses as they proceeded ahead, but the smell
lingered in the two riders’ noses. No matter how hard they rode,
they could not get the stink out of their heads.

With gritted
teeth, Tom Hardy leaned over his saddle-horn and rode toward the
far-off golden hills, leading his swaying brother behind him.

Whoever this
man named Iron Eyes was, he was sure good with his guns, the outlaw
thought.

The sweat ran
down his spine beneath his thick shirt.

It was not the
sweat of a man suffering from excess heat, but the sweat of a man
who was scared of what lay ahead. The trail was easy to follow. It
was like the bounty-hunter himself, straight to the point.

The ghosts of
his many victims seemed to be howling in the chilling wind. They
were being urged on by all the notches upon the guns of Iron
Eyes.

Tom Hardy was
no gunslinger, he was always the man who followed his daring
brother Dan into the banks. He was better than the dim-witted Whit,
yet that was nothing to write home about.

After his usual
intake of booze, Whit could be outdrawn by his horse.

Tom knew that
chasing the deadly Iron Eyes was foolhardy, but continued heading
after the bounty hunter anyway.

Who the hell
was this varmint called Iron Eyes? It was a question that would
ride inside Tom Hardy’s head for the rest of their journey. He had
little else to think about as the cold breeze blew at their spines
and chewed into their bones.

Who was this
Iron Eyes?

The thin,
ghostlike figure of Iron Eyes sat upon his pinto, holding the reins
tightly in his left hand, as he watched the three mounted riders
approaching from the south.

The mysterious
Jane had pulled her wagon to a standstill behind the bounty hunter,
and looped the reins around the long brake-pole at her side.

She had
automatically lifted her Winchester out of the box at her feet and
cranked it ready for action. She sat on the wooden plank with her
foot resting on the brake as she studied the riders over her oxen
and the statuesque Iron Eyes.

The large
sombreros gave the clue as to where these men were from, but not
who or what they were. It was known that bandits were commonplace
in the more remote regions of the prairie, but these might be
ranchers.

The river
flowed to their left-hand side as both Iron Eyes and Jane sat
watching the riders.

They had
travelled over ten miles along the edge of the wild river, trying
to find a suitable place to attempt a crossing.

Iron Eyes sat
watching the three men as they grew ever closer, without changing
his expression.

His grey pupils
were like two musket-balls as they focused upon the men. He had
heard the rifle being cocked for action behind him, and knew that
the strange female was ready to blow off a few more ears if not
worse.

His fingers
stroked the pistol tucked over his left hip as they started to pull
their horses up. All three men were skilled riders by the way they
stopped their headstrong stallions. These were not the sort of
horses that just anyone could ride.

These were
strong, rampant steeds that only masters of their trade could hope
to handle.

Each man sat
below his vast sombrero, watching the ghostlike figure and the
female on top of the wagon. They were dressed in a fashion that was
almost artistic in its detail. All were clad in black, with
white-and-silver patterns. Their frilly white shirts and red
scarves seemed to highlight their obvious vanity.

‘
Well?’ Iron Eyes growled in a slow manner that seemed to
question the riders’ right to be before him.

The one rider
who seemed to have an understanding of English removed his large
sombrero and made a flowing gesture with it as he smiled.

His hair
gleamed in the sunshine from expensive oils as he replaced it on to
his head.

‘
I am Dwan José Valdez, senor he informed in a tone that seemed
to warrant applause. ‘Welcome to my humble
rancho
.’

Iron Eyes gave
a backward glance at the female who sat with the Winchester across
her lap, before returning his attention to the trio of men.

‘
You own this strip of land?’ Iron Eyes asked.

The man who had
given his name raised both shoulders and made a curious expression
that was partly masked by his long, waxed moustache.

‘
Not this exact spot but everything else over here.’ He waved
his left arm and pointed away from the wide, rolling
river.

‘
What do you want of us?’ Iron Eyes continued to thumb the Navy
Colt as he spoke to the riders.

The man called
Valdez continued to smile at the dark, narrow-eyed bounty-hunter as
his two outriders sat nervously looking silently on. They too kept
their hands upon the hammers of their pistols.

‘
I am here to ask why you have entered our lands.’

‘
Just heading south,’ Iron Eyes muttered under his breath, as
he lowered his chin until it rested upon his chest. ‘Trying to find
a safe place to cross this angry river.’

‘
But south is no good.’ Valdez smiled in a manner that was
beginning to make the gaunt man angry.

‘
Why not?’

‘
l own all the land south from here,’ Valdez gestured. ‘I
cannot allow people to cross my land uninvited.’

‘
You own the river?’ Iron Eyes turned as he heard Jane ask her
simple, blunt question. He found yet another smile starting to
cross his lips.

Valdez gazed up
at the woman in surprise. ‘No, dear lady. I do not own the river
but — ’ he admitted.

‘
Quit holding us up and get your fancy backsides out of our
way,’ Jane shouted in a way that made all three Mexican riders
uneasy .

‘
You misunderstand me, dear lady.’ Valdez regained his
composure and his smile as he aimed his conversation at the woman
with the rifle.

‘
How so?’ she asked.

‘
I wish you to be my guests at my
rancho
.’

Valdez bowed as
he spoke to her. ‘It is our custom.’

Jane was very
unimpressed. ‘You often invite strangers to your home?’

‘
We seldom see strangers.’ Valdez was feeling uneasy at the way
the dark, long-haired Iron Eyes toyed with the handle of his
pistol. ‘We cannot allow you to continue your journey without
offering our simple home for you to rest and refresh
yourselves.’

‘
Why not?’ Iron Eyes grunted.

‘
You are not of these parts. It is our custom.’

Dwan José
Valdez had imparted a tone into his explanation that seemed to
suggest that he would never accept any refusals.

Iron Eyes
pulled hard on his reins and forced the pony to step backward until
it was level with the wagon. The thin man looked up at Jane. His
eyes were as glassy as ever, but he seemed to be urging her to
accept the invitation.

‘
We better take up the offer,’ he advised.

‘
Why?’ Jane seemed ready to blow holes in the bunch of smartly
dressed
vaqueros.
‘I ain’t afraid of no dandies.’

‘
I am,’ Iron Eyes found himself honestly admitting. ‘I learned
a long time ago never to underestimate your opponents. It can be
costly.’

‘
You scared?’ She seemed shocked that he was unwilling to
engage in a shoot-out.

‘
Nope. I just do not want to get ventilated before I get to El
Paso and collect my reward money’ He spat at the sand as he studied
the Mexicans.

‘
Are you sure?’

‘
I reckon they might not take kindly to our refusing.’ Iron
Eyes pulled a cigar from inside his coat and pushed it between his
uneven teeth.

‘
You sure you ain’t scared, Iron Eyes?’ Jane kept watching the
three men as she spoke to her companion.

Iron Eyes gave
a brief laugh before answering her. ‘I seen these sort of varmints
before. They get kinda upset if you refuse their hospitality.’

‘
How upset?’ She was curious.

‘
The Mexicans around here are part Indian. They got strange
ideas on manners.’ Iron Eyes struck a match and inhaled the welcome
smoke.

Jane was still
confused, but decided to go along with Iron Eyes’ advice.

‘
You better be right,’ she snarled, grabbing the cigar from out
of Iron Eyes’ mouth and ramming it into her own.

Iron Eyes sank
his spurs into the pinto’s flesh and rode forward to the three
strange men.

‘
Thanks,’ he said quietly. ‘We accept your most kind and
generous offer, Valdez.’

The smile that
crossed the face of Dwan José Valdez was soon copied by his two
outriders.

For some
strange reason these men wanted Iron Eyes and the woman as their
house guests.

As the
bounty-hunter followed the trio of brightly decorated riders, he in
turn being followed by the oxen pulling the wagon, he began to get
worried.

They were heading inland. Away from the Rio Grande. Away from
Texas. It was not where they wanted to go but for the time being
they had little choice but to follow. For some reason, Iron Eyes
felt that this might be his first big mistake, but knew killing
these men might bring more
vaqueros
down on them instantly.

The sun was
high overhead and burning down on all five members of the strange
procession.

Iron Eyes had been correct. As they made their way, more and
more
vaqueros
appeared from various points along their route. Soon more than
twenty men wearing large sombreros completely surrounded
them.