by Rory Black
‘They seem so happy, Iron Eyes,’ Jane sighed. ‘I guess I am feeling a lot better than I did when I shot that hole out of your ear.’
Iron Eyes touched the scab thoughtfully ‘If you had been a man you’d be dead now, Jane.’
She gave him a smile that seemed almost feminine. ‘This seems a real happy place.’
Ain’t natural,’ he snapped.
‘Not at all natural,’ she agreed.
‘You trust this Dwan José Valdez varmint?’ he eventually asked.
‘Guess so,’ Jane answered, after giving the situation a lot of thought. She had never been treated like this. She felt almost regal with her full stomach.
‘Wish I could.’ Iron Eyes shook his head slowly as he absorbed anything and everything. ‘But I just can’t.’
Chapter Fourteen
Dawn crept across the now calm Rio Grande river, sending the sunlight flashing around the two brothers who were huddled together. No longer raging in fury the water was now little more than three feet deep. The bright rays woke Tom Hardy first, and he scrambled to his feet to stretch the cramp out of his aching joints. It had been cold during his sleep, and he felt older than his years as he paced around, trying to get his legs to loosen up before waking his drunken brother.
Then he saw them across the water.
It had been the glinting of sunlight upon their lances that first caught his eye. He tried to make out what he had not previously noticed — the band of Apache sitting astride their painted ponies — and his brain desperately attempted to figure out what he should do next.
His mouth was dry from the crippling sleep, but now it was getting worse as fear raced through his body He kneeled down next to the snoring Whit and shook his brother feverishly. It was never easy waking Whit at the best of times, but somehow the urgency in Tom Hardy’s hands penetrated Whit’s blurred mind, managing to get him out of his drunken dreams. The whites of the younger Hardy’s eyes were raked with red veins as he gazed up in befuddled apathy.
‘Apache’ Tom whispered. His voice was shaking so much that he had barely been able to say that one simple word.
His younger brother got on to his elbows and gave Tom a confused stare.
‘What about them“?’ Whit asked, rubbing the sleep and sand from the corners of his sore eyes.
Tom indicated with his head at the group of men across the river.
Whit focused on the Indians and then looked up into Tom’s face for answers.
‘What we gonna do?’ he asked in a lowered tone, as if the braves might be able to overhear their conversation across the breaking waves of the wide river.
‘I don’t know,’ Tom croaked.
‘I wish Dan was here,’ Whit said, as he slowly turned over on his side and searched for his gun.
‘So do I.’ Tom kept his back to the river and the band of curious braves. ‘He was a better shot than either of us.’
‘Reckon they are friendly?’ Whit checked his pistol to see if he had remembered to load it. To his surprise, he had. Although he had no memory of when and where he had done so.
Tom Hardy rose to his feet, still clutching on to his blanket as he moved toward their horses. He studied the Indians more closely from the cover of the bushes and tree.
There were only five men, dressed in a combination of styles that ranged from Mexican farmer to native tribesman. Their hats gave their identities away though. Only Apache wore feathers in their ten-gallon hats. Only Apache had long black hair that always seemed to have been sheered in a straight line at shoulder-length. The lances too bore eagle feathers tied with dyed grass from just below the sharpened steel points.
Unlike the tribes to the north, who frequented the vast, endless plains, the Apache never seemed very intimidating by the way they dressed, but these were probably the most dangerous of Indians that any white men could encounter. They were not easily fooled by trinkets, and would fight to the death. These were the men who sat watching the two Hardy brothers from their small ponies.
Tom indicated to his brother to join him behind the cover of the tree, which Whit duly did.
‘I can’t see any rifles,’ Tom said, pointing at the quintet of Apache braves.
‘That don’t mean they ain’t got any’ Whit sniffed as he too watched the silent observers.
Tom raised his eyebrows as he rested his arms on the back of his brother’s horse. His belly was grumbling for breakfast and coffee but this was not the time or place to consider getting domestic.
‘But it might.’ Tom rubbed his rough hairy chin as he tried to get his brain around their problem.
‘Apache without rifles?’ Whit shook his head. ‘I think you’re crazy. Dang crazy.’
‘Start to saddle up,’ Tom said, as he grabbed his younger sibling by the ear. ‘Try not to let them see you doing it.’
‘What you going to do, Tom?’ Whit enquired, as the older man stepped toward the two saddles upon the ground by the bushes.
Tom slid his Winchester out of its sheath and pulled out a box of cartridges from his saddle-bag.
He started forcing the shells into the rifle, cranking its lever with every insertion.
‘I’m going to sit by this tree and give us some cover whilst you get them saddles on to them horses, boy,’ Tom replied. ‘So get them saddles on to them horses fast.’
‘How come you get to cover me and I gotta do all the work?’
‘Maybe because I can shoot straighter than you, Whit.’
‘Only a tad straighter,’ Whit grumbled as he folded the blankets and tossed them over the backs of their horses.
Tom Hardy knelt down by the tree and leaned into its trunk as he held the fully loaded repeating rifle in his sweating hands.
The Apache looked like statues as they sat upon their ponies watching the two men. Only their long black hair moved as the breeze off the fast-flowing river blew it around their shoulders.
Chapter Fifteen
Twenty miles away in the warmth of the room within Dwan José Valdez’s hacienda, Iron Eyes awoke in terror. He lay for an instant upon his back on the soft, clean bed, staring at the white ceiling above his head. His steel-grey pupils studied the cracks in the plaster as his mind raced.
His head felt foggy as he lay upon the bed, then he recalled the wine. The ever-flowing wine of the previous evening.
Then his highly tuned senses became aware of the reason he had woken so suddenly from a deep slumber.
The aroma of a cigar had drifted across him, filling his nostrils.
Iron Eyes knew that he was not alone.
Turning his head slightly, he focused upon the seated figure of Valdez. He had two vaqueros standing behind him, holding their .45s across their hearts. They were emotionless as they stood guard over their master. Only their blinking black eyes moved as they watched the prostrate man.
They were ready for action even if he was not.
Iron Eyes moved his hands toward the handles of his Navy Colts, but they were no longer tucked into the sash around his slim waist. Sitting upright in one quick movement, his eyes searched around the bed for the missing guns.
For the first time in a long while, panic raced through Iron Eyes. Without his guns he was just another tall, thin human being with a pitted face.
Valdez raised his hands from his lap and waved the two Navy Colts in the air.
‘Looking for these, my very tall friend?’ the elegant man asked as his white teeth gripped the long cigar.
‘How did you get my irons, Valdez?’ Iron Eyes growled. ‘No living creature can touch my guns without me knowing.’
‘You did drink the wine that was left by your bed, did you not?’ Dwan José pointed at the empty bottle on a stand next to the bed. The bottle was almost empty.’
‘Sure, but I wasn’t drunk enough for you to get my guns off me.’ Iron Eyes swung his long legs over the edge of the bed and planted his bare feet upon the cold, tiled floor. Apart from his socks and boots, the bounty-hunter was still fully
dressed.
‘That was no normal bottle of wine, Mister Iron Eyes.’ The smart man smiled at the confused bounty-hunter.
‘It was drugged?’ Iron Eyes ran his hands through his long hair as he stared at the trio before him. ‘You drugged my booze and I was dumb enough to drink it. Great.’
‘Just a little sleeping potion, my tall friend,’ Dwan José shrugged.
‘I knew it.’ Iron Eyes shook his head angrily ‘I knew that it was some sort of trick. I ain’t no outlaw so you’ve caught yourself someone with no price on his head, Valdez.’
‘What?’ Valdez seemed offended. ‘What do you mean?’
‘The kindness. I knew it was a trick.’ Iron Eyes cupped his head in his wide, bony hands as he tried to console himself at being captured, not the hunter, for once in his life.
‘My generosity is not a trick,’ Valdez stood in fury ‘I did not trick you. I am the most generous man in all Mexico.’
Iron Eyes also stood up, but was too wise to make a move on the three men who had not only their own guns but his too. ‘Then how come you got my shooting irons?’
Valdez seemed suddenly sad as he tossed the Navy Colts on to the bed beside the tall man. Iron Eyes looked at his guns which were now within his reach with a confused expression upon his face.
‘You steal my guns then give them back?’ Iron Eyes narrowed his eyes as he stood watching the man. ‘I don’t get it.’
‘Do not worry my friend. They are not loaded. I am not a fool,’ Valdez said as he puffed on his cigar. ‘I have a favour to ask of you.’
‘Favour?’ The word did not rest easy in Iron Eyes’ guts. He had a code that required payment for everything he did.
‘You are well known to my people.’ Valdez seated himself back down and watched as the bounty-hunter followed suit. ‘You are the famous hunter of men. You are the man who can kill without any fear or regret. We have no such person here.’
‘I’m Iron Eyes, if that’s what you mean.’
‘Exactly You are Iron Eyes.’ Valdez flicked ash on to the floor, and then stared hard into the eyes of the stranger before him. ‘I require your services. I shall pay you much gold coin for you to do a job for me.’
Iron Eyes found himself grinning in expectation. ‘You want someone killed?’
‘Not exactly Although I think that your skill in that area might be called upon.’ Valdez ran his fingers nervously over the long moustache as if trying to find the words he required.
‘I ain’t no gunslinger. I ain’t no hired gun,’ Iron Eyes informed the man. ‘I hunt bounty on varmints. Dead or alive.’
Valdez leaned forward. ‘You are a man who can face other men and overcome all odds, my tall friend. You are a man like no other. This is what I require.’
‘I’m good at what I do.’
‘I knew you were heading for the Rio Grande before you left Texas,’ Valdez said bluntly. ‘I have my spies. I have something for you to consider.’
‘Spit it out.’ Iron Eyes rubbed his chin as he concentrated on the neat Mexican.
‘My daughter was taken by bandits over ten days ago.’ The man was unashamed of the tears which swelled up in his mature eyes and started to roll down his face as he spoke.
‘Taken?’ Iron Eyes sat upright. ‘You mean that bandits kidnapped your daughter?’
‘Yes, my tall friend.’ Valdez pulled in on his cigar and then blew the grey smoke at the floor. ‘My only daughter Maria was taken from my personal coach. My vaqueros were outnumbered, and all but two lost their lives trying to protect her. My men are as brave as lions but they are not killers.’
‘How many vaqueros were guarding your daughter?’ Iron Eyes was becoming more and more curious.
‘Ten.’ Valdez shook his head at the floor, sending a shower of tears descending to his feet.
‘The bandits killed eight of your men just to get your daughter? Iron Eyes spoke in a tone that spelled his disgust for the bandits.
‘Yes.’
Iron Eyes rubbed his neck. ‘You know who these men are?’
The older man nodded. ‘I have received a ransom letter with a lock of Maria’s hair. They want gold.’
‘Why not pay them instead of hiring me?’ Iron Eyes asked.
‘Because they will simply do it again and again.’ Valdez seemed to know something about these bandits that he had not yet conveyed to the bounty-hunter. ‘You will stop them ever doing it again.’
‘Then I’ll get your daughter from them.’ Iron Eyes stood as if suddenly charged with energy He picked up his saddle-bags and emptied their contents upon the bed. The boxes of bullets were quickly swooped up by his long fingers. He started to insert them one by one into his Navy Colts. ‘How much money do you want, my tall one?’
‘Half of whatever those varmints demanded in the ransom note,’ Iron Eyes grunted.
‘Only half?’ Valdez stood and offered the man a cigar, which was accepted.
‘Half will be fine.’ Iron Eyes bit off the end of his cigar and rammed it into his mouth as he accepted a light from the smaller man.
Dwan José stood and bowed his head. ‘I am sorry about drugging your wine, my tall friend, but I had to ensure that you would still be here this morning. I required time for us to talk.’
‘That wine tasted pretty good,’ Iron Eyes almost smiled as he took in a lungful of the strong smoke.
Chapter Sixteen
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 th
e 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.
Chapter Seventeen
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.