by Rory Black
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 h
unter 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.
Chapter Eighteen
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.
Chapter Nineteen
Dwan José Valdez was sitting alone beside the large fountain that drew fresh spring-water from deep below the hacienda and allowed it to cascade into the ornate raised trough. He ran his hand through the cool, crystal-clear water as the tall, strangely attractive Jane walked toward him. Looking up from his thoughts the mature man nodded at her as she approached.
‘I must have overslept.’ She said as if she had provided an excuse for her waking up so late in the day.
Valdez knew the truth. He had drugged her wine as he had done with Iron Eyes. He did not want her rising before the lean bounty-hunter, and possibly preventing the man from going after the bandits who had captured his darling Maria.
He knew that it was a terrible thing to do to a fellow human being, but his moral ethics could never compete with his duty as a parent. Iron Eyes was Valdez’s only hope.
‘You drank much wine last night, my dear.’ He grinned.
‘I did?’ Jane sat next to him and rubbed the tight muscles in her neck. ‘I can’t recall.’
‘It was a party’ Valdez shrugged. ‘You had travelled far and were entitled to enjoy yourself?
She agreed. ‘It was enjoyable.’
Valdez felt guilty but decided not to enlighten her too soon about what was occurring. Iron Eyes had been gone for several hours now, and with every second that passed drew closer to his destination.
‘Is Iron Eyes still asleep in his room?’ she enquired innocently.
Valdez took hold of her hand and looked at the hard skin upon its palm. This was a woman who worked. Worked hard.
‘Iron Eyes is not here,’ he said softly. As he had finished his short sentence he could feel the reaction in her hand. Suddenly it was tense. He held on to it and smoothed it tenderly, until he could see she had relaxed from the shock that her strange companion had left the hacienda.
‘Where has he gone, Dwan José?’ She stared hard at him.
‘To the mountains,’ he reluctantly replied, trying not to look her straight in the eyes.
She looked puzzled. ‘Why would he go there?’
‘For me,’ Valdez
sighed. ‘He went there for me.’
‘But why?’ Jane could not get the fog out of her brain as she tried to concentrate.
‘Iron Eyes is a very brave man who has agreed to do a very important job for me, my dealt.’ The elderly man stood and focused on the trickling water that spurted from the top of his fine fountain.
‘You say he is brave?’ Jane looked up at the man with eyes that begged answers.
‘I am not man enough to do what has to be done,’ Valdez said quietly ‘Iron Eyes is. He has the heart of a lion.’
‘What sort of danger is he riding into?’ She grabbed at his sleeve, causing him to turn and look at her. ‘And why is he risking himself for you?’
‘He is trying to save my daughter’s life. She was kidnapped by bandits ten days ago.’ Valdez found his voice drying up, and was forced to cup his hands under the flowing water and drink.
‘Iron Eyes is going up against a gang of bandits?’ She felt a pain in her stomach. It was a pain caused by sudden anxiety.
‘Exactly. As I said, he is a very brave man.’
‘You have so many men here, why ask him?’
Jane stood next to the man, who was visibly shaking.
‘I have many vaqueros here, Jane.’ Valdez bowed his head before looking through his eyebrows at her. ‘Iron Eyes is not a mere vaquero, he is a hunter of men.’
She looked puzzled once more.
Valdez continued. ‘He is my daughter’s only hope.’
Jane suddenly looked very, very angry. ‘You used Iron Eyes to save your daughter? He’s going up against a gang of bandits who will probably cut him down before he gets close to them.’
‘Have faith, my dear,’ Valdez pleaded softly ‘Faith? In what?’ She was glowing red with fury as she clenched her fists and struck Valdez upon his shoulder.
‘Faith in the man you love,’ Dwan José replied.
‘How dare you say that?’
‘Look at yourself; my dear,’ Valdez sighed. ‘Iron Eyes is a hunter. He has captured your heart, has he not?’