The Curse of Iron Eyes

Iron Eyes is not
your usual western hero. "The man had a haunting face that hid
beneath long, limp, black hair. He wore a battered, weather-proof
coat favoured by long riders and road agents which almost reached
his spurs. With each stride the sound of bullets clinking together
in his deep pockets filled the room. This was no normal man. This
was an evil spirit who had yet to die and seek refuge in Hell."
This is the legendary bounty hunter known simply as Iron Eyes.
Prepare for a high body-count!
Iron Eyes, the
infamous bounty hunter, had taken on his greatest challenge. He
rode into Waco to try to collect the bounty, not on one outlaw, but
on an entire gang. The Calhoon owl hoots were ten strong and as
mean as they came, but Iron Eyes did not easily
frighten.

THE CURSE OF IRON
EYES

Within minutes of
arriving, Iron Eyes had killed them all -except for Harve Calhoon,
their leader. He had somehow managed to slip away from his
gang.

Like a
man possessed, Iron Eyes set out on Calhoon’s trail. It was a
blood-soaked journey and the worst the bounty hunter had ever
undertaken. Even for such a man of steel the odds he faced were
fearsome indeed. Now death stared him in the face.

THE CURSE OF IRON
EYES

IRON EYES 6

By Rory Black

First published by
Robert Hale Limited in 2004

Copyright
©
2004, 2014 by Rory Black

Published by Piccadilly
Publishing at Smashwords: July 2014

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.

This ebook is licensed
for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or
given away to other people. If you would like to share this book
with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each
reader.

Cover image © 2014 by
Carl Yonder. Visit Carl
here

This is a Piccadilly
Publishing Book

Series Editor: Ben
Bridges

Text © Piccadilly
Publishing

Published by
Arrangement with the Author.

Blood ran down off the
lush red velvet-covered walls, but was hardly noticeable until it
reached the highly polished floorboards. Then it blended into the
rest of the horrific pool of quickly drying crimson gore spread
evenly between the six dead bodies which were scattered all around
the bounty hunter.

The tall thin emaciated
figure moved slowly through the gunsmoke like a phantom seeing a
new place to haunt. His eyes darted all around him as he moved
determinedly on. There was no time to waste thinking about what he
had just done. He had to concentrate on what had yet to be
achieved.

For it was far from
over.

He had only been in
this place for a mere three minutes according to the wall clock
that continued to tick on the far wall. But in those three short
minutes the bounty hunter had already killed all who had tried to
stop his progress towards his ultimate goal.

Killing the leaders of
the Calhoon gang.

The
photographic likenesses of each of them were on the crumpled Wanted
posters pushed down into the deep pockets of the long trail coat.
Frank and Harve Calhoon were worth six thousand dollars between
them and their cousin Dale Smith another two. Rob John Floyd was
reputed to be the actual brains of the gang and yet his value was
only a thousand bucks.

None of this mattered
to the bounty hunter though. He had chosen to claim the bounty on
all their heads and that was what he intended to do.

Smoke traced from the
pair of Navy Colts as the long thin legs of their owner stepped
over one body after another on his way towards the high
staircase.

He knew that the four
of them were up there somewhere, hiding in any of the dozen or more
rooms that served to make this place the most profitable building
of its kind anywhere west of Dodge.

The walls still
resounded to the echoes of the bullets that had blasted through the
cigar-smoke-filled rooms as the awesome figure strode on.

There was no
escape.

He had
their scent in his nostrils and was closing in on them for the
ultimate kill. His calculating mind had already worked out that he
had earned nearly a thousand dollars by destroying the outlaws
lying at his feet.

But the biggest prize
of all was still to be had.

The Calhoons were up
there behind the solid oak doors.

His long skeletal
fingers quickly reloaded the pair of guns before his mule-ear boots
stepped on to the luxurious carpet at the foot of the flight of
stairs.

Without pausing for
even a single moment, Iron Eyes continued up towards the
well-illuminated landing. With each step, the sound of his
razor-sharp spurs rang out around the wooden building.

Their ominous jangling
was like the warning bells of death tolling for those who knew that
the Grim Reaper was headed straight for them.

Most of the females who
worked in this place had fled in terror as the lead had started to
fly. But Iron Eyes knew that there had to be more of them upstairs
and that the men he sought would more than likely try to use them
as human shields to avoid the lethal lead of his Navy Colts.

Iron Eyes would not be
so easily dissuaded from using his lethal guns though.

He would not
deliberately kill any female but if they got in his way, he would
shoot through them. For he wanted the bounty money on the heads of
his prey.

For that was what the
Calhoons were to the bounty hunter.

They were his prey and
they were wanted.

Dead or Alive. To Iron
Eyes, that meant dead. He had no time for prisoners.

When
he reached the landing, he paused. Iron Eyes lowered his head and
stared through the long black strands of hair that hung before his
eyes. He knew that behind one or more of these closed doors, men
waited for him with their guns cocked and ready.

Just like his own Navy
Colts were.

He listened and
waited.

It seemed that the only
sound he could hear was his own heart beating hard inside his thin
chest. The stench of gunsmoke had risen to where he stood. It
reminded him of the job that was still unfinished.

Iron Eyes did not move
a muscle. Only his eyes moved as he studied the layout before him.
There were an equal number of doors on either side of the corridor
which faced the barrels of his still-smoking guns. It was not the
way he liked to hunt, but there had been far worse places that he
had found himself drawn into when he was closing in on the faces
that appeared on the crumpled Wanted posters in his deep jacket
pockets.

He inhaled deeply.

A noise along the
corridor caught his attention. It was the muffled sobbing of a
female. He began to stride silently like a panther along the
carpeted floor towards the sound.

This was going to be
bloody. He knew that. The men who had tried to stop him below had
only been the hired help of those who were up here with the soiled
doves.

The
men he was after were far better with their weaponry and yet he was
unafraid.

For fear to Iron Eyes
was something that he had never experienced in his entire life.
Only men with something to live for fear dying. And Iron Eyes had
never had anything to live for.

He simply existed.

Further and further he
ventured along the corridor towards the room where his keen hearing
told him that a woman had a hand across her mouth. Glass oil-lamps
decorated the length of the long corridor. They were suspended on
brass hoops that were screwed to the walls.

Then it happened.

Three of the doors
swung open.

Swiftly, Iron Eyes raised both his pistols to
shoulder-height.

There were two to his
left and one to his right. One behind him, one level with him and
the third, slightly ahead of him. Each of the outlaws held their
partially clothed female hostages tightly with their left arms
whilst their right hands gripped their primed guns. The barrels of
their pistols came jutting out of the dark interiors of the rooms
allowing the lamplight to dance off them.

Faster
than seemed possible, Iron Eyes turned with his guns at arm’s
length. In the time it takes for a heart to beat just once, the
bounty hunter had spotted that all three outlaws had done exactly
as he had expected.

Each of the vermin was
using the near-naked females as human shields.

The
cold steel-colored eyes of the bounty hunter narrowed as they
sought their targets. He only required a glimpse of the wanted men,
to be able to hit his targets with his deadly bullets.

All three outlaw guns
exploded into action. It was like a fireworks display on the Fourth
of July. The lethal red-hot tapers sped at Iron Eyes from three
different directions. Bullets rained in at him.

The acrid stench of the
choking gunsmoke soon filled the length of the corridor.

As the wall around him
was torn into shreds by the deadly lead, Iron Eyes dropped on to
one knee and felt the plaster showering over his head and broad
shoulders.

The oil-lamps that were
attached to the corridor walls began to explode as stray bullets
shattered their glass globes. With each shot that was fired, it was
getting darker. Iron Eyes had very little target to aim at and yet
his deadly accuracy once again did not fail him.

He sent a bullet over
the shoulder of one of the females and saw the head of Frank
Calhoon virtually explode. The girl dropped to her knees as gore
ran down her back. Her screams were almost as deafening as the
sound of the pistols that were being fired in the narrow confines
of the corridor.

Without even a second’s hesitation, the bounty hunter threw
himself across the floor. He landed on his back and fired both his
Navy Colts above his head at the furthest open doorway. This time
his shot went beneath the near-naked red-haired girl and smashed
into the startled outlaw’s ribs.

The
wounded outlaw released his grip on her and staggered into the
frame of the door. Iron Eyes blasted two more bullets into the
center of his already helpless target.

He did not wait to
watch Rob John Floyd falling. He knew that the outlaw was dead.

Iron Eyes had seen the
red-haired girl running away from the carnage before he leapt back
to his feet.

The last of the wanted
men could see that having a human shield was no protection against
such a marksman. He pushed the female toward Iron Eyes. The bounty
hunter was knocked off balance and felt the Colt in his left hand
fire. The bullet went straight up and hit one of the few remaining
oil-lamps. The glass bowl exploded.