Read The Fury of Iron Eyes (An Iron Eyes Western #4) Online
Authors: Rory Black
Tags: #bounty hunter, #pulp fiction, #wild west, #old west, #western fiction, #piccadilly publishing, #rory black, #iron eyes
Now Iron Eyes had to find
another face which matched one on the crumpled posters in his deep
pockets. Yet for all his riding, he was not chasing anyone at all.
There was something else forcing him furiously onward. Something he
neither knew or understood. He was like a moth being lured against
its will, into the light of a naked flame.
Heading towards the tall
trees, Iron Eyes knew he would at least be able to find game, and
hone some of his original hunting skills in the forests which rose
over the hills and into the mountains.
It had been a long time
since Iron Eyes had hunted simply for food rather than money: a
time when he had tracked and trapped animals for their meat and
their pelts to feed and clothe himself. The trees ahead of his
charging horse beckoned to him, like the call of old when he was
younger and less tarnished by the ways of civilization.
Iron Eyes drove his spurs
into the flesh of his new mount and raced across the
sagebrush-covered plain feverishly. It was as if he were being
dragged back to a place where he had left his innocence. A place so
far back in his bloody past that he could no longer remember when
or where it had been. All he knew for certain was that it had been
another Iron Eyes who had existed then. A man who had not yet
discovered how easy it was to kill humans for the price others
placed upon their heads.
These, however, were new
hills and mountains. Iron Eyes had never been here before and
wondered what lay within the dark forests that faced him across the
heat-haze of the dusty, dry range. Whatever lay within the depths
of the cool forest would be something he had not experienced since
embarking on his present occupation.
Iron Eyes felt the heat burning
the side of his scarred face as he dragged his reins up and brought
the exhausted
horse to a sudden halt. Pulling the fresh whiskey bottle
out of his saddlebags behind him, he sat staring at the mighty
unknown land before him.
Where was this
place?
Was it Texas or somewhere
else?
Did it even have a
name?
So many thoughts filled his
mind as the agonizing pain tore through his head like a lightning
bolt once more.
Iron Eyes felt strange as
he gulped at the neck of the whiskey bottle and then replaced its
cork. His head was filled with a throbbing pain which simply would
not quit. Iron Eyes had tried to outride the agony, but it was
impossible. It was like trying to run away from your own
soul.
The painful confusion which
had overwhelmed him after he had been wounded had returned with a
vengeance.
Sliding the bottle back into
his saddlebags and then lowering the leather flap back into place,
Iron Eyes
dug his spurs back into the horse and rode on.
The forest was drawing him
to its bosom like the mother he had never known. He felt that in
the cool shade of the tall pines he just might discover who or what
he really was. He knew that he could not be a ghost as many
claimed, because even he knew that ghosts felt no pain. The
blinding explosions which filled his skull proved one thing: he was
not yet dead.
Iron Eyes had to reach the
alluring forest and try and find a way to clear his mind of the
confusion and pain which tortured him. There had been so many
battles and so many injuries during his life, and yet none as bad
as this one. As the horse gathered speed and began tearing across
the dry dusty ground again, Iron Eyes gritted his teeth. He had to
try and reach this new place, and perhaps find a peace he had long
forgotten actually existed.
As he drove the pitiful horse
on, Iron Eyes
began to feel giddy again.
Gripping the reins tightly
with both his skeletal hands, he knew there was no reason to be
heading on his present course, yet he continued. Iron Eyes rode
on.
It was a grim-faced Bob
Creedy that walked towards his brothers from the telegraph office
flanked by the pair of more-than-helpful deputies. They had
escorted the oldest Creedy to the newspaper office and then on to
the telegraph office, searching for news of Dan. It was obvious by
Bob’s pained expression, which was carved into his rugged features,
that his worst fears had been confirmed.
Dan was dead.
Treat Creedy was leaning on
a wooden upright next to his younger brother who had perched his
butt on a rickety hitching pole.
‘
Something’s wrong by the
look on old Bob’s face,’ Treat said as he tapped his brother’s
shoulder and pointed at the three approaching men.
Frankie Creedy stood up from
off the
corner of the hitching pole and moved towards his eldest
brother, as Treat looked at the ground and shook his head
knowingly.
‘
Dan is dead,’ Bob
mumbled.
‘
Dead? How?’ Frankie licked
his cracked lips as he watched the faces of the smiling deputies to
either side of his mourning brother. ‘Explain.’
‘
Iron Eyes!’ Bob Creedy
spat out the name as if it were poison. ‘He gunned down Dan in a
small town called Bonny and claimed the reward. It’s all over the
wires.’
‘
What the hell was Dan
doing there?’ Frankie asked as he tried to take in the fact that
their most able sibling was now dead. It seemed impossible to
fathom how anyone could get the better of Dan.
‘I figure Iron Eyes chased him
there and then gunned him down,’ Bob said, trying to accept that
Dan could have been killed by the infamous bounty hunter. To him
and the rest of the Creedy
brothers, Dan had been invincible. Yet he was
dead. ‘Maybe he was back shot.’
Frankie nodded
violently.
‘
That must be it. Even Iron
Eyes could not have gotten the better of Dan in a fair
fight.’
‘
Who is this Iron Eyes
varmint, boys?’ one of the deputies asked.
‘
He’s a bounty hunter,’
Treat responded as he kicked at the dusty ground
angrily.
‘
Like you boys,’ the other
deputy said.
Bob Creedy glanced
up.
‘
Nope. Not like us, son.
Iron Eyes ain’t nothing like us.’
The faces of the law
officers went blank as the eldest Creedy walked away from the small
group and headed towards a saloon clenching his fists.
‘
What’s wrong with him?’ one
of them asked out loud.
Treat Creedy patted the two
men on the shoulders as he steered Frankie away from
them.
‘Bob
don’t like us losing bounty money to
someone like Iron Eyes, deputies.’
‘
Who is this Iron Eyes
critter?’ one of the lawmen asked again as the dust-caked men began
to trail their brother in the direction of the saloon.
‘
They say that he’s a dead
man,’ Treat Cassidy answered over his shoulder. ‘They also say he
can’t be killed because he ain’t alive like normal
folks.’
‘
That don’t make no sense,’
the deputy called out.
‘
How can a living man be
dead?’ the other chipped in.
‘
Iron Eyes ain’t like other
men,’ Treat Creedy sighed heavily as he mounted the boardwalk with
his brother in tow.
‘
He’ll be dead when I catch
up with the bastard,’ Frankie snarled as he was herded into the
saloon by the taller Treat.
‘
Them boys sure take their
job seriously,’ one of the deputies said to the other as they both
turned away.
The afternoon sun was
blistering in its intensity as it hovered overhead. The hundred
cavalry troopers had made camp and the miners’ wagons had been
circled under the instructions of the wary army officer.
It was quiet in the centre
of the lush valley, yet none of the men who went about their duties
seemed capable of relaxing. The miners were consoling themselves
with the barrels of liquor they had brought along on their journey,
but the soldiers knew this was no place to soak one’s brains in
whiskey. This place required each and every man to remain alert,
for somewhere out there beyond the edge of the valley, thousands of
Cheyenne were going about their daily business, unaware their land
had been invaded. Major Roberts knew that situation could change
with his next heartbeat.
At any moment a hunting party
might spot the ten white canvas-topped wagons and more than a
hundred souls camped
deep inside the Southern Cheyenne reservation
boundaries. It would not take long for a young warrior to ride his
pony back to the main Indian settlement and inform their elders and
chiefs.
Only the Lord above them
had any idea of what would then happen.
Major Thomas Roberts knew
they were all living on borrowed time, and yet still found himself
unable to think of a way out of this sordid situation without
disobeying orders and finding himself court-martialed.
What ought he do? The
question burned into his soul like a cowboy’s red-hot branding
iron. He had not eaten or taken anything to drink in the four or
five hours since he had halted the caravan of gold miners. His
innards were twisted with worry as he continually walked around the
makeshift parameter of the camp. He had fought the Southern
Cheyenne once before and knew they were a noble adversary, but he
did not wish to repeat the action.
His attention was
continually drawn to the faces of his young troopers who had no
idea of the danger that loomed over this perilous mission. On the
whole, they were innocent and untested in battle, and did not
deserve to be baptized by facing the wrath of the
Cheyenne.
Even if every one of his
troop had been a seasoned veteran, Roberts doubted if they would
last more than an hour against the thousands of Cheyenne braves
upon the reservation.
Unfortunately, his men were
not seasoned veterans.
Major Roberts entered the
encircled wagons and sought out the one man he knew was the
unofficial leader of the gold miners. As the cavalry officer
approached the large campfire where men were still eating and
drinking, Roberts spotted the unmistakable figure of Bull
Fergis.
Fergis was no more than five
feet in height but was almost as wide. He seemed to have never
shaved or had his
hair cut, and had an accent that defied anyone from knowing
where it had originated. As the major strode towards him, he
marched up to the elegant figure and began ranting.
‘
If n I didn’t know better,
I’d reckon you was scared of taking me and my men to the spot you
was told to, Major,’ Fergis shouted up at the officer. ‘I figure we
ought to be another five miles down this valley where the big
mountain lies.’
Roberts inhaled deeply
before speaking.
‘I’m
scared all right, Mr. Fergis. Scared
of us all being surrounded by thousands of irate Cheyenne. You are
totally correct about us being on the wrong site, but this is as
close as I want to go.’
Bull Fergis rubbed his
beard. He was taken aback by the man’s frank admission.
‘
What? You admit
it?’
‘Exactly. I’m scared. Scared of
taking all
our men to their deaths.’ Major Roberts began to walk
slowly towards the gap between two of the wagons with the muscular
miner at his side. Reaching the wagon traces, Roberts placed the
heel of one of his boots on the wooden pole that pointed down the
valley. ‘There has to be at least five thousand Cheyenne down there
somewhere, Mr. Fergis. Men, women and children. The trouble is, at
least a third of them are men. Young men.’ Bull Fergis seemed
shocked. ‘Thousands of them, you say?’ ‘Yes. Thousands of men of an
age when fighting comes as second nature.’ Roberts gave the shorter
man a glance before raising his hand and pointing at the high
tree-covered hills that flanked their small camp. ‘For all we know,
there could be a Cheyenne brave behind every tree.’ ‘Are they
armed?’ Roberts nodded. ‘Undoubtedly.’ ‘Hell. Me and the boys
weren’t told nothing about no damn Injuns.’ Bull Fergis swallowed
hard as a single bead of sweat trickled down from beneath his
hairline and ran over his wrinkled features.
‘
What?’ Thomas Roberts
stared hard at the miner. ‘The mining company did not tell you that
you were being escorted into an Indian Reservation?’
‘
Nope,’ Fergis snapped.
‘They kinda forgot that little gem when they told us about the job.
All we were told was that we had to find high-grade ore and then
ready the site for when the company send in the bigger team. I
think I’d remember ifn they’d mentioned Cheyenne. Are they
dangerous?’
Roberts rubbed his eyes.
‘Only to folks who break the treaty.’
‘
Like us,’ Bull Fergis
added.
Major Roberts felt the hair of
his neck rising as a cold shudder raced through him. These miners
had been duped into getting themselves slaughtered, in order that
some greater power might then send in a larger force to seek
revenge and proclaim the treaty null and void. These miners were
meant to
die, as was he and his troopers. Then the Cheyenne would be
destroyed and this land would become nothing more than a very
prosperous gold mine from one end to the other.
‘
What’ll we do, Major?’
Bull Fergis asked.
Major Thomas Roberts said
nothing. He was desperately trying to think of a solution to their
problem. The trouble was, he was no politician. He had always been
an honest man.