by Rory Black
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.
Chapter Eleven
The beautiful hacienda was vast, with a wide, over-hanging roof of red tiles. It stood away from the surrounding prairie yet seemed to match the area. It had that Latin look which made it appear to have always been there amongst the trees and cactus.
As the wagon rolled through the archway into the elegant courtyard a distant rumble of thunder seemed to echo a warning to the dark rider Iron Eyes. He kept looking at Jane as she effortlessly guided her team of proud oxen toward the walled stables.
The expression on the cigar-smoking Jane suddenly altered as her eyes saw the beautiful surroundings and absorbed every single feature of this place. It was a typical Mexican set-up. It was as if they had stumbled into a complete township in miniature, and Jane’s eyes bulged trying to take everything in. She had never before seen flowers like the ones that grew on climbing vines around the courtyard.
The smell of cultured roses filled the air, and almost blocked out the aroma of horses and cattle.
This was indeed an oasis in an otherwise desolate place. They had been led ten miles from the rolling river to this place, and both Iron Eyes and his female companion were anxious. Neither were used to meeting people with good intentions and felt they had entered a possible trap.
The weathered bounty-hunter was quick to toss his long right leg over the saddle-horn before sliding down the saddle on to the dusty ground. His eyes were narrow and flashed around the many riders who surrounded him.
These were vaqueros. He had never before met any of them, and felt uneasy at their ability to talk without his ability to understand.
It was as if they all were dressed for church to the man who had seldom bothered to wash himself or his clothing. These men were, on the whole, immaculate. That worried him.
There were women around the hacienda courtyard, although they stayed mainly in the shadows, as if they required permission to step into the sun.
As Iron Eyes paced toward the wagon he could not believe the sight of so many silver objects attached to so many saddles. It was like looking into a treasure chest. Why on earth would these folks waste silver simply to decorate saddles?
They were a rum bunch and he did not like rum bunches.
Jane sat on her wooden plank, still gripping the Winchester rifle on her lap. Still keeping her finger upon the trigger as she too studied the scene.
Then they heard the music.
Both Jane and Iron Eyes were shocked that guitars could be played outside a music hall. Yet they were. The small group of men were strumming their various sized guitars and singing up on an elevated porch.
‘What the hell have we ridden into, Iron Eyes?’
Jane spat at the ground as she watched the men dismounting.
‘Beats me,’ he shrugged.
‘I heard of circuses but never thought I’d see one.’ She gave a subtle laugh at their hosts’ expense.
Iron Eyes continued to look about the courtyard and still could not feel easy with their situation. ‘What you reckon is going on?’
‘I figure we are in trouble, big trouble.’ She sniffed at the men who made her feel rather less than feminine.
Iron Eyes reached up a long, thin arm and took her hand as she climbed slowly down with her trusty rifle in her hand. As she reached the ground she resumed her grip upon the weapon.
Dwan José Valdez dismounted and made his way toward the pair of curious Americans.
‘You are still not trusting me?’ he asked, taking off his wide sombrero and giving it to a servant.
‘This don’t make no sense, Valdez.’ Jane chewed on her words as he came to a stop before them.
Her eyes took him in. From his polished boots to his oiled hair. ‘This is some kinda trick.’
Valdez gave a sigh. ‘This is no trick, dear lady.’
‘What do you want to invite us here for?’ Iron Eyes’ voice was low, and almost inaudible.
‘You were on my land. You are my guests,’ the Mexican smiled.
‘It don’t figure,’ she told the man.
Valdez gave a respectful look at her rifle. ‘My men used to shoot anyone who strayed on to my rancho, but I tell them it is not civilized.’
‘True.’ Iron Eyes watched as the majority of the vaqueros disappeared into various buildings around the courtyard. Soon there were only a handful left. All elegant. All standing behind Valdez.
The fingers of Dwan José clicked, and from nowhere a female servant appeared at his side.
The man spoke to the girl, and then turned to Jane and translated.
‘I tell her to take you to my best guest room where you can bathe and refresh yourself before our evening meal.’
Jane glanced at Iron Eyes, who was still watching the vaqueros over the Mexican’s shoulder. He cast his eyes down upon her for an instant, before returning his attention to the men before him.
‘What you reckon, Iron Eyes?’ You could cut Jane’s suspicions with a knife.
‘Go get yourself pampered,’ he advised, as he saw an entire steer being prepared for placing upon a giant roasting spit near a large wall.
Without hesitation she followed the servant along to the tiled steps that led to the elevation and arched porch. With every step Jane took she looked at a different face, as if searching for the one who was going to kill her.
‘Your woman will feel wonderful after Bonita fixes her a bath,’ Valdez said with a cheery smile.
‘She ain’t my woman,’ Iron Eyes said, almost regretfully.
‘No?’ The older man tilted his head. ‘I think that you are mistaken, my tall amigo.’
‘What ya mean?’ Iron Eyes concentrated upon the man before him.
‘l see the way she looks at you and the way you look at her.’
‘So?’
‘I forget you are not Mexican,’ Valdez shrugged. ‘We see things that you gringos seem to miss.’
Iron Eyes bit his lip. ‘How long are we your guests?’
‘Why are you so concerned, my tall friend?’
‘It comes natural.’
Iron Eyes allowed himself to be led in the same direction that Jane had taken a few minutes earlier. He knew that every eye was upon him, and wondered how many rifle sights had him dead to rights as he ascended the tiled steps.
He found himself in a large, cool, rooftop ro
om with a massive bed and a simple crucifix upon a bare white wall. The shorter Mexican clapped his hands, and two servants brought in a large tin bath whilst others followed with jugs of steaming water and towels.’
Iron Eyes stood speechless as he watched the men quickly preparing his bath. The trouble was, he did not like baths or bathing or water for that matter.
The perfume that they added seemed to lather up as they continued to arrive with more and yet more jugs of steaming hot water.
Valdez pointed to the bed, where a black suit of clothes were laid complete with frilly white shirt and red scarf. ‘For you to wear whilst your clothes are washed and dried by my servants,’ Valdez beamed.
Iron Eyes gritted his teeth. ‘I don’t like baths.’
‘But think about the lady.’ Valdez gestured with his arms.
‘What?’ Iron Eyes was confused.
‘She bathes for you.’
‘So?’ Iron Eyes tried to seem uninterested in what Jane was doing, but failed to convince his host.
‘Then would not a gentleman do likewise?’
Iron Eyes rubbed his neck and became suddenly aware of the filth on it. ‘I ain’t exactly what you could call a gentleman, Valdez.’
‘But you must not disappoint her.’
‘Guess not,’ Iron Eyes found himself muttering.
The tall man, who was thinner than most of his deceased victims, started to disrobe slowly Very slowly. The servants vanished, leaving only the bounty-hunter and his host in the room. The long coat was dropped to the floor, sending a cloud of trail-dust rising. Then he took his Navy Colts out of his belt and placed them beside the clothes.
Dwan José grinned at the pain his guest was suffering just removing the garments which were almost like a second skin to him.
‘That water better not be hot,’ Iron Eyes growled. ‘I ain’t partial to hot water.’
‘After you bathe, it will be you who will be hot,’ Valdez said as he left the veranda door. ‘Hot for the lady.’
Iron Eyes felt very uneasy Yet the Latin might just be right about the effect a good wash might have on Jane. Cautiously, he dipped his toe into the tub. It was a sensation that was truly alien to the tall man. But hell, he had started, so he figured he might as well continue.
Chapter Twelve
The Rio Grande was no longer swollen as the two riders reached its bank. Tom Hardy dropped from his horse and held on to the reins as he tried to make out the tracks. The sun had set thirty minutes earlier, and it was getting darker with every passing second.
‘We better camp here for the night, Whit,’ the elder Hardy brother shouted at his sibling, over the noise of the river as it continued its never-ending flow.
Whit crawled down from his saddle and flopped on to the sandy ground.
‘Get some kindling for a fire,’ Tom ranted, as he tied up his horse to a tree-branch.
‘What for?’ Whit drawled.
‘For a fire so we don’t freeze to death,’ Tom said, as he then tied up his brother’s horse. He started to untie the horse’s belly-straps before dragging off the saddle.
‘I hurt.’ Whit rubbed his inner thighs with his rough hands.
‘So do I,’ Tom shouted, as he started upon the second saddle with tired hands.
‘Not as bad as me.’
Tom Hardy took great delight in kicking his brother until the man got back on to his feet and started to gather firewood from the sand around them.
Soon they had enough, and the fire was set.
Soon they had a roaring blaze to sit before, with their stinking horse blankets wrapped around their shoulders.
The two men watched the bacon frying in their pan. The smell was good.
A coffee-pot was hung over the flames that surrounded the cast-iron pan.
Neither man had eaten all day Now they were tired from riding and drinking. The stars above their heads were brighter than usual, and they could feel the frost gripping the edge of their blankets as they waited for their food to cook.
‘Reckon that varmint crossed here, Tom?’ drawled Whit, as his mouth drooled.
‘Couldn’t make out his tracks.’ Tom rattled the pan and added more wood. ‘Too damn dark when we got here. But I got a feeling in my guts that he wouldn’t have managed to cross that river.’
‘Why not?’
‘Well, if he had tried to cross that I figure he done got himself drowned.’ Tom hoped that was the case.
‘I ain’t gonna cross this river here, Tom,’ Whit shrugged as the sound of the rolling waves filled his ears.
‘Why not, boy?’
Whit rubbed his nose upon his sleeve. ‘You know I can’t swim.’
‘All you gotta do is hang on to the saddle-horn, Whit.’
‘What if the horse drowns?’
‘Good point,’ Tom Hardy grinned. ‘That tequila must be doing your brain good.’
‘Reckon?’
‘Yep. You are usually a lot dumber than this.’
Whit Hardy swigged at his bottle and accepted a large slice of red-hot bacon on his tin plate. Both men ate and drank their fill.
Tom Hardy drank coffee whilst his young brother finished off his third bottle. Now Tom knew he would have to hand over his three tequila bottles to the youth. It always worked that way.
As the snoring filled his ears, Tom Hardy lay on the soft ground thinking about Iron Eyes. The thoughts kept him awake for a long time.
Chapter Thirteen
The hacienda was illuminated by a vast array of bright lanterns that seemed to fill every possible corner and cranny The music was now even more emotive, and filled the perfumed air of the courtyard.
Dancing seemed to be what these Mexicans enjoyed best, and it was all totally different to anything that the pair of gringos had ever experienced before.
The meal had been little less than a feast, and the wine had flowed like water. It was as if there was an endless supply of everything on this ranch.
The roasted steer was still being turned by the small group of cooks over the fire. A quarter had already been eaten by the people of the hacienda.
It had even tempted the bounty-hunter with its aroma and taste.
The laughter and joy that this place seemed to represent was strange compared to the simple, hard lives both Iron Eyes and Jane had previously experienced.
She had been washed and dressed by the female servants in a beautiful dress of thin, frilly layers. She had had her long hair washed and dressed until she looked almost to have Mexican blood herself Even the red flower behind her ear seemed to be totally suitable for her.
All Jane lacked was the smile that seemed to ooze from every other female face on the rancho.
Jane looked the part though. She looked like a woman for the first time in a very long time.
Although she would never admit it to either herself or anyone else, it made her feel good. Yet even as she walked in her flowing, light dress across the cool, tiled floor in her bare feet, she felt uneasy and still wondered why they had been brought here.
What could their motives be, to grab a pair of dusty strangers off a riverbank and bring them to your home? To treat them as if they were honoured guests? Charity was something neither she nor the tall, grim bounty-hunter knew anything about, so this was the one factor that eluded their suspicious minds.
The sight of Iron Eyes with his black suit and white shirt made her gasp when she first saw him entering the dining-room. Now, as they walked along in the moonlight in the sheltered courtyard of the beautiful hacienda, she was almost used to the strange sight.
His hair was clean and combed back off his face, showing the scars that smallpox had made during his tormented childhood. Yet he was clean and that seemed odd. Not only to Jane but to himself. The smell of stale sweat tends to become part of one’s persona when it remains long enough, now the smell had been replaced by the aroma of perfumed water. Iron Eyes was understandably very nervous. His nostrils did not recognize his own body.
; It was as if he were naked. He had washed away his identity Now he tried to remain above what was happening in this place. It had to be some sort of trap. Nobody could convince the tall, gaunt man to alter his mind. The only thing that he was grateful to Valdez about was the beef meal. It lay on his stomach better than all the chilli and hard tack he had consumed over the past weeks of trailing Dan Hardy.
She had left her Winchester in the room whilst Iron Eyes had stuffed his Navy Colts into his belt sash. He trusted nobody in this strange place, and felt like shooting someone to see what might happen.
How he had managed to resist shooting anyone was a mystery to himself The water of the bath must have softened his brains as well as his skin, he assumed.
Iron Eyes leaned on the whitewashed wall that looked over the landscaped gardens and courtyard. He knew that this was a trap in his guts. Even filled with well-cooked beef and delicious wine, his natural instincts would not allow him to drop his guard for even a second.
Jane seemed to be enjoying being pampered, but the bounty-hunter knew that you got nothing for nothing in this life. At least, he had never experienced anything to make him alter his mind.
The scene was tranquil and peaceful, but this did not sit easily in Iron Eyes’ mind. His hands were never far from his guns as he tried to appear relaxed.
In truth he was ready to draw and start shooting if anything provoked him. Anything at all.
Pausing to witness the festivities, the two studied each other in the light of the countless lanterns.
‘You ain’t bad-looking,’ Jane said.
‘Thanks,’ Iron Eyes nodded.
Jane waited for a long time for him to return the compliment, but that was something that did not enter his head.
‘Do I look OK?’ she hinted.
His grey eyes briefly glanced at her before returning to the scene around and below them.
‘You smell good.’
She decided that was as good as it would get.
Compliments were not his strength. He kept touching the handles of his guns with his thumbs as the music filled their ears.