Iron Eyes, no. 1 (8 page)

The saddles
were on and Whit Hardy leaned over his horse at his brother, who
sat watching the Apache who watched them.

‘
Ready, Tom,’ he reluctantly said. He might have a hangover
straight from hell itself but he was sober enough to be very
worried at what might happen in the next few minutes of their
futile lives. He knew that his sibling was correct — he could not
hit the side of a barn with his gun, and had only ever been useful
to Dan at firing in the air outside banks they were robbing, in an
action known as ‘clearing the streets’. If Whit had to shoot at
Indians charging at them, it was likely that Tom was going to get
hit before the warriors.

Tom Hardy
slowly rose to his feet, keeping the rifle close to his chest, as
he moved backward toward the saddled mounts.

Whit mounted,
staying behind the bushes to conceal his actions as his elder
brother cautiously took hold of the reins in his free hand. It was
just as he lifted his leg and slid his pointed boot into the
stirrup that the Indians suddenly became animated and very, very
loud.

The small band
of Apache were charging through the river toward them, screaming at
the top of their high-pitched voices. It was a sound that could
freeze the blood of any normal man, and both the Hardy brothers
were very normal.

Somehow, Tom
managed to get his leg over the horse and get into the saddle.

He pulled the
horse’s neck around as far as it would go and started, before
aiming at the long trail that edged the river down toward
Mexico.

Sinking their
spurs into their horses’ flesh, they rode away from their camp.

The two riders
thundered along the sandy embankment as the Apache finally got
across the wide river, and began giving chase to them.

A shot passed
over Tom Hardy’s Stetson as he kept pace with his younger brother
in their desperate gallop along the trail.

‘
They got rifles, Tom!’ Whit yelled, as another shot whistled
past them. ‘I told you they had rifles!’

‘
Guess so,’ Tom Hardy agreed as he tried to give his horse its
head as well as slide his Winchester back into its
sheath.

The warriors
were chasing the pair at top speed along the rough terrain and
letting rip with their rifles. For them to ride and shoot was
something they learned as children, whereas the Hardy brothers had
difficulty in doing one thing at a time, let alone two.

For them, to
ride and stay in the saddle was an achievement to brag about. They
had been chased by the odd posse before, but never by Indians.

Forging their
way through a wall of tall bushes that strayed in front of them,
the two brothers managed to stay in their saddles. More shots
filled the air, and were closer than either man liked.

It seemed that
they would have to ride to the far-off ocean before these Indians
would quit.

Blood filled
the air as they continued to spur their galloping mounts into
finding speed that neither animal knew it possessed.

The chase went
on for over two miles along the river’s edge, before the young
Apache braves pulled their ponies to a halt and then started
laughing at the fleeing pair of white men. They had had their fun,
and returned to the campsite to see what the men had discarded in
their hasty departure.

For Whit and
Tom Hardy it would be another few miles before they figured that
their pursuers were no longer behind them. Then another mile or so
before they felt confident enough to slow up and eventually
stop.

Then another
hour or so before they realized that they were looking at the
tracks of Iron Eyes’ unshod pony, plus a wagon.

The two men
drank their fill of the river before setting off after the man who
had killed their brother Dan. The wagon tracks were a confusion to
the two men, but neither bothered themselves about it.

They were just
thankful that they had saved their scalps and one full bottle of
tequila.

Dwan José Valdez looked at his prized watch, which bore a
small photograph of his beloved daughter Maria inside its golden
case-lid. It was almost eight, and the morning sunshine was
beginning to find its way into the
hacienda
courtyard.

Iron Eyes had exchanged his small pony for one of the
rancho
thoroughbreds. It
was a large, black animal with a strong back and even stronger
legs.

The
bounty-hunter stood in his freshly washed and dried clothes. The
long coat had defied all attempts to clean off the years of dried
bloodstains.

The master of the
hacienda
watched as the man with the limp, shoulder-length
hair filled his deep pockets with cartridges for his Navy Colts and
his Winchester.

Iron Eyes
tucked his pistols into his belt with the handles facing
outward.

Valdez moved
toward the man who had been given the job of hunting down the
bandits who had kidnapped his daughter.

‘
You are a very brave man, my tall friend,’ Valdez said in a
humble voice.

‘
I ain’t brave, Dwan José,’ Iron Eyes said. ‘I’m
edgy’

‘
What is this edgy?’ The mature man looked
surprised.

‘
I ain’t killed anyone in a few days.’ Iron Eyes tried to force
a grin but failed. ‘l get edgy when I ain’t killed anyone for a few
days.’

Valdez watched
as the tall, painfully thin man stepped into his stirrup and
hoisted himself on to the large, black stallion.

‘
You have my prayers travelling with you.’

‘
Hell, don’t tell God what I’m up to, he might not like it.’
Iron Eyes gathered up the long, beaded reins, turned the animal
toward the archway of the
hacienda
, and for a moment
paused.

‘
What is wrong?’ Valdez asked with concern in his voice as he
walked to the rider.

Iron Eyes gave
the beautiful building a long look before gazing down at the
elderly man. He said nothing as he tapped his spurs into the horse
and rode out of the courtyard.

Dwan José watched with a few of his trusted
vaqueros
at his side as
the strange man disappeared down the long trail. He was headed
south, to the far-off mountains that were the boundary of his vast
ranch. The mountains where the bandits hid from the federal
soldiers. The mountains where until now, they had been
safe.

Iron Eyes felt
strange to be astride such a proud beast, and rode with more
consideration than he normally gave his usual horses.

The mountains
were getting ever closer as he increased the pace of the animal.
This was no ordinary horse between his thin legs. He could feel the
strength and power as the black creature thundered through the
prairie desolation.

Iron Eyes knew
that this was not like any job he had ever undertaken before. This
job required him to try and bring back a person alive.

Normally he
would just go in with his guns blazing, and to hell with any fool
that didn’t have the sense to duck. Maria Valdez might already be
lying somewhere, being ripped apart by the buzzards, but if she was
still alive he had to try and make sure she stayed that way.

He had seen the
wanted posters that told him little about his prey except that they
were scum.

Iron Eyes knew
that the leader was a strange creature, with a distinctive gold
tooth that dominated his face. He was nicknamed ‘The Snake’.

The image from
the wanted poster was imprinted upon the mind of the ruthless
bounty-hunter as he steered the impressive horse through the
chaparral toward the mountain range.

He had been
riding for several hours and had noted the sun was now at its
highest point. The trail that the Valdez family had carved out from
the desert floor was just slightly wider than the average
stagecoach. This, he had been advised by the elegant Dwan José, was
the route that his coach was on that fateful day. Iron Eyes rode at
an incredible pace upon the fine stallion that was so black that
the cactus that verged the trail were almost reflected in its coat.
Then he started to slow up as he saw what he had been searching
for.

The coach was
upon its side. It was twisted out of shape, and there were signs
that a fire had been started beneath it. The black scorch-marks
ended about a third of the way along the side of the once
expensively decorated vehicle.

Iron Eyes had
trouble controlling his mount as they approached the scene. The
acrid stench of rotting horse-flesh filled the air with millions of
huge flies.

Even the
hard-gutted bounty-hunter found the smell more than he could take,
and turned his head away in an attempt to get some clean air into
his lungs. It was a smell that would not go away, and Iron Eyes
tried three times to turn his horse toward the coach and its
decomposing team before he managed to get the huge creature to trot
past the scene.

The thin man,
who resembled a skeleton himself, kept digging his spurs into the
sides of the black horse until they had passed the destroyed
coach.

With every
stride his mount took, Iron Eyes studied the ground with an
intensity equalled only by an eagle on the wing seeking out
prey.

Then he saw the
remnants of tracks in the deep, sandy soil. To anyone with ordinary
vision, the few remaining marks would have been dismissed as just
weathering. To Iron Eyes though, these marks told a familiar
story.

As quickly as a
flash he had dismounted and was on his knees, touching the soil
with the long bony fingers of his left hand, as he gripped his
reins tightly with his right.

The stallion
was still spooked by the smell of the slaughtered beasts around the
wrecked coach as well as the swarming flies that made a deafening
noise above them.

Iron Eyes was
silent as he stood and gazed through the broken undergrowth. He
knew that this was the way that the bandits had left the scene with
their prized captive.

He had followed
men across much less hospitable terrain than this in order to claim
the bounty upon their heads. Iron Eyes grabbed on to the
saddle-horn and swung himself back up on to the high horse.

For another
hour as he headed relentlessly through the dark blue sage and
tumbleweed of the desert floor in the direction of the far-off
mountain range, Iron Eyes sensed his quarry was close at hand. The
soft sand drifted under the stallion’s hooves as the heavy creature
continued on.

The burning sun
was now getting lower in the midday sky, and the rider was casting
a giant shadow that stretched for hundreds of yards as he
encouraged his horse forward, toward the golden range of mountains
ahead.

Then suddenly
his keen vision spotted something ahead, catching the bright
sunlight. Iron Eyes stood in his stirrups until the stallion
finally trotted to a stop. Dismounting, the tall, lean man led the
horse toward the glinting object that was protruding from the
sand.

It was amazing
that he had spotted it, but his was no ordinary eyesight. Studying
the ground he knew that many horses had recently passed along this
trail.

Stooping down,
his thin hand plucked up the tiny silver trinket, and looked at it
hard and long.

Iron Eyes
considered the object for several moments. It was a simple locket
that had become separated from its chain. His long nails prized it
open and then he knew that he was on the right trail. Two tiny
trimmed photographs looked up at his narrow grey eyes. One was of a
beautiful lady and the other of a young man. It was obvious that
the image of the young man was Dwan José Valdez in his youth.

Iron Eyes
gripped the tiny silver locket in his fist and smiled to himself He
knew that this was definitely the route that the bandits had taken
when they had captured the young Maria. She had either lost this
prized jewel accidentally, or had deliberately dropped it in a vain
hope that it would help someone trying to help her escape from her
captors.

Slipping the
locket quickly into one of his deep pockets along with his bullets
before mounting the stallion, he once more felt the blood raging
into his fingers. He knew that he would soon get a chance to use
his guns. This time he would also be trying to rescue a female, and
that was something totally out of character. Now he was certain
where to go.

He sat in his
saddle, staring at the faraway mountains and their golden colour.
He had heard that this land was filled with gold just waiting to be
picked up off the ground. Iron Eyes adjusted the reins in his hands
before starting off once more.

The mountains
climbed up from the flat desert ahead of him as he spurred his
mount onward.

With every hoof
beat he felt his prey getting closer.

As he allowed
the stallion to find his own pace, the bounty-hunter drew out one
of his pistols and held it in his hand.

Soon he would
be entering the mountains.

There it would
take every ounce of his skill and accuracy with his weapons.

As he had
informed Dwan José Valdez earlier, he had not killed anyone for a
few days. Now every sinew of his being could sense the excitement
that the chase and the eventual kill brought.

Nothing could
replace the basic instinct of a hunter and, above all else, he was
a hunter. A hunter of men.

Iron Eyes had
death riding on his shoulder once more.

Death had been
with him for many years.

He was used to
its company.

The golden
mountain range was vast, like the country itself Box canyons and
endless trails that were natural mazes made this place safe for the
bandit gang that had occupied it for the past few years after being
driven north by the federal army of Cortez. Here they had built a
handful of wooden shacks and created a small haven for themselves
amid the arid mountainous boulders that made up the rocky
range.

The Snake, as
he was known, was their leader.

He had killed
all his opposition and the remaining dozen or so bandits that
remained were loyal to him until someone stronger and even more
unscrupulous came along.

He was a
well-built man who prided himself on his strength and sexual
prowess. The Snake had been given his name by his fellow bandits
for his ability to capture and bite the heads of any variety of
snakes they offered him.

He had been
bitten by many snakes and had never succumbed to their deadly
poison. It was as if he were immune. This was why he ruled his
mainly superstitious followers so easily. To them the Snake was no
mere man. He was touched by magic.

A magic that
protected him.

They had raided
as far away as Texas for what they required, and they required a
lot. Money was always useful but gold or silver was their first
true love. With gold and silver you could cross the border and
obtain things that were unavailable in Mexico. When they wanted
food they would seldom buy it, as they knew all the right places to
steal anything and everything they needed.

They had
brought many women to this secret place since they had established
it. Women to cook for them. Women to wash their dirty clothes and
keep the shacks clean. Women to lie down and lift their long skirts
whenever they wanted to prove themselves.

Any women who
found themselves pregnant were disposed of and quickly replaced.
The Snake did not like children, even if his actions had created
them. The foot-hills were littered with the skeletons of females
whose services were no longer required by the bandit’s leader.

The Snake had
bedded all the women in his camp, and treated them for what they
were. To him they were nothing he could not replace with a younger
and better one. Some of these women had chosen to enter the bandit
camp willingly; others had been taken from their loved ones and
were mere slaves.

To the Snake,
it was horses that were of true value, and he regretted that his
men had killed so many whilst capturing the young Maria. He always
treated his horse-flesh far better than he treated the camp
females.

A horse gave
you the means of escape whilst a woman, however good in bed, was
like a millstone around his neck. Steal a woman and nobody cared
too much, but steal a horse and the sentence was hanging. Even the
law agreed with the Snake, it seemed.

A woman was of
little value here, but horses were important.

It had been
over ten days since he had captured the young and beautiful Maria
Valdez, and she had been treated in the same way as he treated the
camp women. The only difference being that the Snake had kept this
prize for himself and had not shared her with the other
bandits.

Maria Valdez
was not like any woman he or his followers had ever seen before.
She was tall and slim, whereas the women around the camp were short
and plump.

She was of
noble blood and descended from the Spanish that had taken this land
from the Indians. Her blood had not been mixed with the natives, as
had so many. She still retained the looks of her forebears. This
was why the Snake did not want to share her with his men. She was
special, and very different from all the other women in camp.

She was
his.

The Snake stood
watching her from the doorway as she sobbed in the corner of his
shack. She had cried for ten solid days.

He was getting
used to it.

She still wore
the dress that she had been wearing upon the coach when he attacked
it. It had been elegant then, with its crushed red velvet and white
lace trimmings. Now it was soiled with all of life’s filth. It was
torn where his hands had been. It was now hanging limply from her
frame after he had torn away the thick petticoats and pantalets and
ravaged her once-virginal flesh.

Maria was
considering her life as being close to its end as she shook,
watching the man who stood in the doorway. Death was now all she
looked forward to. Only death could wash away the dirt that he had
forced into her.

The taste of
dirt in her mouth would haunt her forever.

She had seen
her hand-servant raped before her very eyes by the Snake and his
men. The young girl had been dead long before the last bandit had
used her. The girl’s clothes had been torn away by the camp women
as trophies as she was tied over a boulder and used.

Maria knew that
this image would also remain with her forever as she watched the
Snake drooling at her once more. He had drunk his bottle of wine
and was ready once more.

There had been
so many bottles of wine, she thought.

Sobbing had
become her only escape. The salt of her tears filled her mouth as
she cringed in the corner awaiting his next assault. Maria prayed
that the salt in her tears might take away the taste from her
palate. She knew it was coming again soon. He was like a rampant
breeding bull with little else on his mind. Tossing the empty
bottle into the dirt, the Snake started to untie the knotted rope
around his solid waist.

His laughter
became so loud that it drowned out her terrified pleas for
mercy.

This was not a
man, it was a creature.

He had no
emotions, only desires.

As she opened
her wet, burning eyes, she saw him moving toward her once more. The
gleaming gold tooth loomed over her once again as she watched him
reaching out for her.

Her sobs became
screams once again.

Yet once more
her screams went unanswered.