by Rory Black
For more than forty years the huge outlaw had roamed steadily south from the Canadian logging camps high in the tree-covered mountains that had spawned him, until he had discovered the lands once partitioned off as the Indian territories.
But the various tribes that had been forced off their own land and brought hundreds of miles to this inhospitable terrain soon evaporated when men like Big Jack muscled their way in. The tribes that remained in the designated territory were the more hardy people such as the Apache and Comanche who were used to living on even the most arid of lands. Yet even they kept their distance from the growing outlaw population.
At first the Indians had welcomed the outlaws, but soon they discovered that their guests had only one intention, and that was to take complete control of the entire territory.
Situated on the western side of Devil’s Pass, the territory soon became known simply as the Badlands. It proved to be a safe haven for the outlaws who, like Big Jack Brady, roamed the West robbing and killing. For the law never entered the Badlands. It was still officially regarded as Indian land on the maps and documents back East and therefore not subject to the laws that ruled the rest of the states. As long as the Indians remained within its boundaries and behaved themselves, the government wanted nothing to do with the place. Anyone who ventured across its borders did so at their own risk.
Money still flowed in regularly from the Federal Reserve to the half-dozen Indian agents who had remained long after their charges had left. For the unscrupulous agents were paid in gold to buy food for the thousands of Indians in their care. Having never informed the powers back East that things had changed and that they had few if any Indians to look after, the agents had grown wealthy.
A town had sprung up in the very center of the Badlands and although it did not appear on any official maps, it was quite prosperous and popular with the outlaws who found sanctuary there.
Calico had everything that other similar-sized towns outside the notorious Badlands had, but it had more. More of everything. More saloons. More brothels. More gambling-houses. The only thing that it had less of than the towns outside the Badlands, was law.
Even though a crude form of self-government existed in Calico to keep the thieves from stealing the gold fillings out of each other’s mouths, it was not based on any known legal system. It was the law of the gun that ruled.
It was lynch law.
The strongest became even stronger.
Big Jack Brady had managed to carve himself out a tidy slice of Calico since his arrival with his henchmen. Few dared to argue with the burly man. Those who had been in Calico since it had first grown out of the dry sand resented him, but as long as he did not try to take what was theirs they tolerated his presence.
Another reason why few law-abiding people had ever heard of Calico was simple. There were only two ways into the wild town.
One route came down from the north across almost uninhabited land, long vacated by half a dozen tribes, and the only other way to reach it was via a trail deep within the fearsome Devil’s Pass.
To the thousands of outlaws and people who had made Calico their home it seemed that they had found paradise.
But they had no idea that one man in their midst had a plan that would soon put every one of them in jeopardy.
Big Jack Brady had a plan that was daring and almost as big as he was himself. If it worked he would become the most powerful individual in Calico, if it went wrong, it could bring the wrath of an entire nation down on them.
Yet men like Brady cared little for the worries of others; he thought of only himself. If Calico was destroyed by his actions, he would simply continue riding south, taking his followers, in search of another place to plunder.
Big Jack Brady had played seven hands of five-card-stud and not seen enough picture cards to make three of a kind. Yet he had won all seven hands due to the fact that his opponents knew better than to try and bluff such a huge awesome figure. Of all the saloons in Calico, the Wayward Gun was one that suited Brady and his henchmen, for it served good liquor and was filled with spineless customers. For men used to pushing their considerable weight around, it was perfect. They had taken rooms above the large sawdust-covered drinking and gambling area. The Wayward Gun was a place where a man could indulge in every known vice and that also suited Big Jack and his followers.
His hooded eyes glanced up from the card-table at the dust-caked man entering through the swing-doors. No amount of trail grime could disguise the figure of Harve Calhoon to those who knew him though.
‘Harve Calhoon!’ Big Jack smiled, tossed his cards on to the pile of gaming-chips and rose from his chair. ‘So you finally managed to get here.’
Calhoon dusted off his Stetson against his leg and grinned at the towering figure who walked towards him, his entire entourage behind him. He knew that Big Jack was a man that you could never afford to trust, but he also paid well. The giant gunman was also someone who had a flair for devising the most outrageous robberies and bringing in experts to help him execute them. Only one thing had brought Calhoon to the Badlands and that was curiosity.
‘Your plan sounded too interesting to ignore, Big Jack,’ he said, rubbing the dust from his features. ‘I just had to ride here to find out more.’
Brady banged the bar counter with a fist that was twice the size of any other within the building, or the town for that matter.
‘A bottle of rye and two clean glasses, barkeep,’ Big Jack demanded loudly.
The bottle came quickly, as did the two thimble glasses.
Big Jack scooped them up and then led Calhoon to a quiet corner in the saloon. They sat down whilst all of Brady’s men stood guard around the table.
‘So ya interested, huh?’ the giant man asked as he tossed the cork away and poured two full measures of the whiskey into the pair of glasses.
‘Sure am. Sounds a mighty fine deal.’ Calhoon nodded before tossing the drink down his parched throat. ‘I figure that it must be an awful long way off, though, to pay the kinda money that you mentioned in your wire.’
‘Nearer than you think, Harve.’ Big Jack chuckled.
Harve Calhoon knew better than to put anything beyond this large man’s capabilities. Even robbing the very town that he was holed up in.
‘You ain’t thinking of robbing someone in Calico, are you?’
‘Nope.’ Brady grinned. ‘But close, Harve. Damn close.’
Now Calhoon’s curiosity was truly fired up.
‘What is this job?’
‘Ya understand the reason that I singled you out from the rest of your gang?’ Big Jack Brady downed his drink and then poured two more.
‘I reckon so, Big Jack.’ Calhoon was an expert with dynamite and any other known explosive. He knew that whatever this job was it involved blowing something up. But what?
‘Where are the rest of your gang?’ Brady looked up at the swing-doors of the Wayward Gun as if expecting to see Calhoon’s brother and men walking in after him.
‘They rode on to Waco and I cut through Devil’s Pass.’
The large man poured even more whiskey. ‘Good. I only needed you anyway, Harve.’
Calhoon lifted the glass and studied it for a few seconds before gazing into the eyes of the man before him. They were cold, calculating eyes.
‘I’m here and waiting to be told some details, Big Jack. I had me a damn tough ride just getting here.’
Big Jack nodded. ‘You must be eager, Harve. You see, I needed an expert and you’re it. The rest of your boys would be useless on this job.’
Calhoon downed the drink and felt the warmth starting to burn through the dust that had been choking him for his entire ride to this remote place. But he was still none the wiser as to what the large man wanted of him.
‘I’m curious. What do you need a dynamite man for?’
Big Jack toyed with the glass in his hand. ‘To blow something up, Harve. What else?’
‘But what?’
Brady grinn
ed broadly.
‘That’s something that I’ll tell you tomorrow when I get the rest of the boys together.’
Harve Calhoon accepted another glass of whiskey and raised it to his dry, cracked lips. He could not imagine what use his expertise with dynamite could possibly be to the gigantic man before him. But he had known Brady too many years to underestimate the man’s prowess at planning and executing the most daring of robberies.
Whatever Big Jack Brady had in mind, it must be like the outlaw himself. Big!
CHAPTER NINE
The sun was still blazing down over the sand-colored canyon walls and filling the deep trails that wound their way tortuously through it. It was like standing inside an oven with no protection. Even the shadows seemed little cooler than the direct sunlight. The platoon were suffering and their superior officer knew it.
This was a place where things died.
He would not take risks with the lives of his men.
The troopers were gathered around the chuck wagon, drinking and eating the hastily prepared meal. Captain Wallis had decided that his men and their mounts required constant stops to fill themselves with water if they were ever to make it through Devil’s Pass.
The seasoned officer leaned his rigid back against the sand-colored rock face and stared up at the cloudless blue sky above the canyon walls and at the black-winged birds that flew in circles, watching everything in the canyon.
Wallis had never liked vultures.
Of all the deadly creatures which he had encountered upon coming westward after leaving West Point, it was the vulture that chilled him the most.
Venomous snakes and scorpions had never troubled him even though they could kill even men of Sergeant Hanks’ build. There had always been something grim about the ugly birds, which were capable of tearing the flesh from anything already killed by another.
They were so lazy, and yet so majestic once airborne.
He sipped at his canteen and continued watching them floating around over the tops of the cliffs.
They were waiting.
Waiting for death to grant them another free meal.
Hanks walked up to his superior and offered one of the tin plates of stew to him.
‘Don’t pay them birds no heed, sir.’
Captain Wallis accepted the plate and stared at the food upon it.
Td ask what this is but I think it might be wise to wait until I’ve eaten it, Hanks.’
Hanks lifted a spoonful of the stew up to his mouth and began chewing it. His eyebrows rose in surprise.
‘It’s good.’
The captain tried some, then nodded in agreement.
‘I wonder what the meat in this stew is?’
‘Best not be too nosy, sir. Cookie can get a tad ornery when it comes to discussing his recipes.’
Wallis continued eating.
‘Do you like vultures, Hanks?’
Hanks paused his chewing.
‘Ain’t never tasted one, sir. Reckon this is chicken or beef, though.’
Wallis glanced at the grinning man and then back up at the circling birds.
‘Don’t they make you feel like they’re just waiting for you to drop dead?’
‘Had me a wife once who did that.’ Hanks continued eating. ‘That’s why I enlisted. To get away from that bitch. Compared to her, them vultures are damn attractive, sir.’
Wallis looked across at his men who were watering their horses and eating. He then looked around the canyon. This was a place that he would never come within a hundred miles of if it were not for the orders in his breast pocket.
‘Do you think that it’s getting hotter, Hanks?’ the officer scooping up another spoonful of the stew.
‘Yep. Hotter than hell.’
Wallis loosened the collar stud under his sweating chin and gave a long sigh.
‘I’ve never seen horses lather up like this when they’re only walking. This place is deadly.’
‘This is a dangerous place OK, sir.’ Hanks finished his meal and licked the plate clean. ‘Them papers must be mighty important for you to be ordered to bring us into here. I wonder why you’ve had to bring us here?’
‘They are very important, Hanks.’
Hanks smiled and accepted the plate from the officer. ‘You still ain’t gonna tell me what them orders say, are you?’
‘Not yet.’
‘I reckon I’ll have to just fret about it, then.’
Captain Wallis looked back up at the vultures.
‘Tell Cookie that I enjoyed the stew and inform the men that we’ll be heading on in exactly five minutes.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Hanks shrugged and began walking back to the chuck wagon.
CHAPTER TEN
Now the true magnitude of the canyon walls became clear to the bounty hunter. He had never ridden this way before and knew that if it were not for the tracks of Calhoon’s horse in the sand before him, and the rider with the deadly buffalo gun somewhere behind him, he would not be here now. His eyes strained to see in the shimmering heat haze as he urged the terrified pony on. He could just about see what remained of the outlaw’s tracks leading into the pass before him but it was the thought of becoming a target to such an ugly weapon that kept him moving forward.
Iron Eyes thundered across the hot white sand, knowing that he had to get as much distance between himself and his pursuer as possible. He had not looked behind him for more than ten minutes knowing that to even attempt to do so would slow the pace of the Indian pony beneath him.
He would find out soon enough when the hunter with the buffalo gun had reached the sandy dune. He just hoped that he would be able to outride the deadly cartridge that would seek his back.
The pony headed straight between the high canyon walls and into the wide valley. Iron Eyes whipped the shoulders of his mount with the long loose ends of his reins.
Then he heard the sound that he had dreaded.
It sounded like a thunderclap.
The echo of the shot bounced off the sand-colored walls as he rode between them.
The buffalo gun had been fired far behind the unshod hoofs of the pony. The sound of the bullet passing within inches of him made the bounty hunter’s blood boil with anger.
Who dared shoot at Iron Eyes?
As he forced his mount on to find even greater speed, he saw a huge chunk of the wall towering in front of him shatter under the impact of the large-caliber bullet.
Debris exploded into the air.
Iron Eyes hauled his reins to the side, leaned over the neck of the startled creature and spurred again. Now he turned his head and stared back at the mounted man far behind him, with the buffalo gun in his hands.
He could see the man aiming once more.
Another deafening shot cut through the hot air and hit the opposite canyon wall, showering the rider with more small fragments of rock and dust.
He galloped on with even more determination to get out of range of the gruesome weapon.
Iron Eyes knew that he was still within range of his attacker and yet luck was still on his side. So far he had managed to avoid the lethal lead twice.
The bounty hunter began to force his pony to zigzag across the hot sand. He knew that it was far harder to hit a skilled horseman than a stationary buffalo.
Harder and harder Iron Eyes urged the pony on into the hot sun-baked pass. He knew that he had to try to cover another fifty or so yards to ensure that he was well beyond the range of the mighty gun.
But it was not so easy.
The sand beneath the Apache pony’s hoofs was soft and yielding. It was not the best ground over which to maintain any speed and Iron Eyes knew that the lathered-up pony was flagging beneath him.
Then the bounty hunter felt the sheer power of another shot tearing through the flapping tails of his long trail coat. A split second later the noise of the rifle shot erupted all around him. The force of the bullet as it hit the coattail was powerful enough to cause the pony to stumble and make its master
fight just to remain atop its back.
The pony went down on its knees.
Iron Eyes felt himself falling but grabbed at the pony’s neck as the bullet struck rock a few yards ahead of him. More debris showered over him as his long legs hit the ground.
A cloud of dust rose into the air from the pony’s hoofs.
For a few moments, Iron Eyes could see nothing as he clung desperately to the pony’s rearing neck. For a few precious moments the bounty hunter had cover from the deadly rifle that he knew was still seeking his destruction.
As the swirling dust cleared his keen eyes spotted the distant rider once more galloping after him. Iron Eyes knew that the rifleman must have thought that he had finally hit his target.
The horseman behind him did not wish for his prey to get out of the range of his lethal weapon. He was coming in for the kill.
Whoever he was, the rider was determined to finish off Iron Eyes once and for all.
Iron Eyes knew that he only had a few seconds before his opponent realized his mistake. After steadying the frightened animal, the bounty hunter swiftly checked himself and the pony. Blood trailed down the outside of his left leg from where the bullet had torn across his thigh. The bony fingertips touched the graze.
He winced.
But it was not as bad as some of his untended wounds.
To his relief, the pony at least was unscathed.
Iron Eyes lifted the left-hand tail of his long coat. It was virtually blown away. What was left of it was little more than smoldering threads.
‘Whoever you are, stranger,’ Iron Eyes growled as he gathered up his reins, ‘I’m gonna kill you real slow.’
He caught his breath and stepped back into his stirrup again. He mounted the pony and spurred once more. The animal thundered deeper into Devil’s Pass.
He was now more than angry.
He was furious.
Even Iron Eyes did not try to shoot folks in the back, not even if they had a price on their head.