The Wrath of Iron Eyes (An Iron Eyes Western #5)

by Rory Black

  ‘Why are you here, Tom?’ Smith asked, resting his elbows on the green-leather desk top.

  Sheriff Hardin rubbed the side of his hand.

  ‘I just thought that it was a while since you offered me any of that fine French brandy you hide in that bureau.’

  Smith lowered his head until his brow rested on the knuckles of his hands. He remained seated.

  ‘Help yourself, Tom. You know where it is.’

  The lawman quietly got up from the chair, walked to the mahogany bureau and opened the large lower-left door. He bent down and lifted the silver-plated tray and carried the crystal-cut decanter with four matching glasses across to Smith’s desk.

  Tom Hardin said nothing as he removed the stopper from the neck of the decanter and poured two large measures of the aromatic brandy into the crystal-cut glasses.

  Smith accepted his drink with a hand that could not stop trembling. Somehow he managed to put the glass to his dry lips and swallow a mouthful of the fiery liquid. For a moment it seemed that the fumes of the alcohol had lifted the man’s spirits as he leaned back against the padded leather of his chair.

  The sheriff took a sip of the brandy and then proceeded to top up both their glasses before resting his hip on the edge of the large desk.

  He watched the banker the way that an eagle watches its chosen prey whilst floating on a high warm thermal. He too was waiting for an opportunity when he might find his friend composed enough to tell him what was wrong and why his face was stained with the unmistakable marks of tears.

  ‘Sorry about your window, Jed,’ Hardin said as warm brandy trickled down his throat.

  ‘Window?’ Smith had another sip of his drink.

  ‘The one that Iron Eyes shot out this morning,’ the sheriff reminded the confused banker.

  Smith shrugged. ‘I’d forgotten all about that. It seems like a million years ago.’

  Hardin had noticed the scrap of paper tucked under the blotter near the banker’s elbow. He rested his hand on the desk and tried to divert the attention of the man who seemed to be guarding it from prying eyes.

  ‘You ought to have that old bureau checked out, Jed. Looks like there’s woodworm in it.’

  Smith turned his head and stared blankly at the tall bureau. He was about to speak when the lawman’s hand grabbed at the note and pulled it from its hiding-place. Tom Hardin unfolded it, then read it as he moved away from the desk. Before Smith had reached his friend to retrieve the paper, Hardin had already taken in its words.

  ‘So that’s why you’re spooked,’ the sheriff said as Smith’s shaking hands grabbed the paper from him.

  Both men stood face to face in the centre of the office. For what seemed an eternity nothing was said. Then the banker’s shoulders began to shake as emotion overwhelmed him once more.

  Hardin grabbed his friend’s shoulders and pulled him to him.

  ‘Don’t you worry, Jed. You ain’t alone in this. Whoever has Rosie ain’t gonna know what hit them.’

  Smith walked away from the law officer, picked up his glass and downed the remainder of its contents. He shuddered, then turned his head and stared at Hardin.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Iron Eyes!’The sheriff said the name and smiled.

  ‘That filthy bounty hunter? What about him?’ the banker poured himself another glass of the costly spirit. ‘Do you think that he’s behind this? Has Iron Eyes taken my daughter?’

  Tom Hardin swallowed his brandy and placed his glass on the silver tray. He toyed with the crystal decanter.

  ‘Iron Eyes has nothing to do with kidnapping Rosie, Jed. I’d bet my pension on that. But I got me an inkling that he could track down the bastards who did, wherever they’re hiding.’

  For the first time since he had read the note, Smith actually felt hope creeping back into his life again.

  ‘Would he?’

  ‘I reckon so, Jed.’

  ‘But why would this Iron Eyes even want to help?’ Jed Smith’s face suddenly began to show signs that he felt there just might be a chance of his seeing his beautiful daughter again.

  ‘Because Iron Eyes told me that Rosie was the first gal to look at him without showing her disgust.’ Hardin poured himself another brandy and swirled the liquid around in the glass thoughtfully.

  Smith looked hard at the lawman. ‘Doesn’t he know?’

  Hardin looked up into Smith’s face. Their eyes met.

  ‘Nope. He had no idea that she’s blind, Jed. What stranger would? I didn’t have the heart to tell him. When you look like Iron Eyes does, I reckon no female looks at you for very long. Rosie did because she could not see his scarred face.’

  Smith lowered his head.

  ‘Where is he?’

  ‘He told me that he was headed for Sanora.’ Hardin finished his brandy and headed for the office door. With his hand on its handle, he paused and turned.

  ‘Where you going, Tom?’

  ‘Sanora!’

  Chapter Fourteen

  The hideout of the ruthless Malverez and his men was a mere two miles downstream of the border-crossing along the river. A series of caves lined the tree-covered banks of the river until the fast-flowing water fell from a high cliff a hundred feet into a deep lake. The trail stopped at the top of the waterfall and only a narrow path led down to the place where the bandits hid.

  The four-horse team had been left at the top of the waterfall, together with their half-dozen mounts, whilst the bandits carried their latest prize down through the undergrowth to the place that resounded with the sound of crashing water.

  This was a place that had remained hidden from the eyes of most men since time had begun. Only nomadic Indians had ever set eyes upon its grandeur until the ruthless bandits had accidentally discovered it when looking for a place that offered them a safe haven from all those who hunted them.

  For three years it had served its purpose well.

  At the foot of the high waterfall, hidden behind the never-ending flow of cascading water, the largest of the caves lay totally obscured. This was where the bandits had stockpiled their fortune for the day when they would divide it up and finally ride off to their separate futures.

  It was a day that would never come. For men such as these had long since sacrificed their futures for the gold and silver coins their past had accumulated.

  There was always just one more job.

  Rosie Smith was still alive when they dragged the velvet drapes from her sweat-soaked body. She lay helpless, tied like a spring calf waiting to be branded on the floor of the cave.

  She would have already suffered the same fate as so many of their other victims, would have been killed by now, if not for the fact that she had golden hair. To the hot-blooded Mexicans who were starved of female company in their remote hideout, this rare quality was the one thing that had kept Rosie Smith alive long enough to reach this unholy place.

  The bandits had already mentally raped their beautiful hostage countless times before they reached the cave. Each would have done so by now if it had not been for their fear of the man who had long ago proved his ability to control them.

  Malverez wanted her more than any of them.

  Each of the bandits knew that he, as always, would get the first taste of this tender girl. He would be the first to take his pleasure and they would have to be satisfied with whatever scraps were left.

  Malverez produced a long stiletto and cut the now-dried rawhide bonds from her wrists and ankles. Blood trickled from where the rawhide had tightened around her soft pale flesh. She could hardly move after being hogtied for so long. Gradually she managed to straighten out on the ground as every sinew in her body screamed in pain.

  ‘We should draw lots to see who gets her first, amigo, one of the bandits suggested.

  ‘I think not, Carlos.’ The bandit leader untied the blindfold and removed it from Rosie’s eyes, then he pulled the gag from her mouth.

  Their female hostage panted heavily as the fresh air
rushed into her lungs. She remained on the ground at Malverez’s feet, listening to the men walking around her. For the first time since she had been abducted, she was terrified.

  ‘Where am I?’ she gasped innocently. ‘What’s happening?’

  ‘What a sweet voice,’ said the bandit who answered to the name of Jose.

  ‘Like an angel,’ another added.

  ‘It is a pity that she has to die, Malverez,’ observed the bandit with the festering bullet-hole in his hand.

  Malverez lifted her blonde hair and felt its softness between his fingertips. It was like the finest of silks.

  They had never had such a trophy before and he knew it.

  ‘You are right, amigos,’ Malverez said. ‘This one is very special.’

  One of the other bandits moved closer to their thoughtful leader. He had never seen him so preoccupied before.

  ‘What are you thinking?’

  Malverez looked at the man and touched his cheek with the razor-sharp knife-blade.

  ‘I am thinking that this is one female I do not want to share, amigo.’ Malverez narrowed his eyes and stared at the five brooding men. ‘I am thinking that she would make a good slave for me.’

  The sound of the other men filled the cave. They all wanted her but were now being told that she was his alone. Only killing Malverez would allow them to share this female, they all thought.

  ‘I want her,’ one of them shouted.

  ‘We all want her,’ another agreed.

  Malverez listened to their voices and sat down on a wooden box filled with gold coins from previous ransoms. He lifted the knife and pointed it at his men with one hand as he stroked her hair with the other.

  ‘Until I grow bored with her, she is mine alone, amigos’

  The men all ranted and raved at the seated bandit. They were angry.

  ‘Silence, amigos,’ Malverez ordered loudly.

  For the first time since the gang of bandits had first ridden together, the other men did not listen to Malverez.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Train-robber Black Ben Tucker had seen many things in his long eventful life but nothing that could have prepared him for the sight of the hideous Iron Eyes. Even unconscious the infamous bounty hunter looked far more terrifying than most men when they were wide awake. Yet even though Tucker had never set eyes upon the strange scarred face of Iron Eyes before, he somehow had a feeling that he ought to recognize him.

  After Iron Eyes had collapsed at the feet of the outlaw, Tucker had carried him through the cantina and into the room he had paid handsomely to rent. For such a tall man, Iron Eyes seemed to weigh very little.

  Exactly why the train-robber had shown so much compassion to the man who was known throughout the West as a living ghost and a deadly killer, even Tucker could not understand. Maybe it was because Black Ben did not know who the emaciated creature he was helping was. Yet those who knew the outlaw well would have bet their last dollar against Tucker’s helping anyone who required his assistance.

  That was the way he was.

  A man who dared to face his demons whenever they raised their heads. He assessed everyone by his own values; this had backfired several times in the past.

  Iron Eyes required help, it was as simple as that. Tucker had pulled the blood-filled boot from the bounty hunter’s left leg, then sent for the nearest thing that Sanora had to a real doctor.

  The lay doctor had cut deeply into the gruesome wound and drained the poisonous pus from the infected area. Then the old man used everything he had inside his battered medical bag in order to save the life of Iron Eyes. For more than five hours he and Tucker battled with the delirious bounty hunter who thrashed out at the monsters who invaded his feverish mind. Five solid hours that took them into the middle of the night and beyond.

  The sweat-soaked Iron Eyes screamed as the deadly venom flowed through his veins and blurred his usually keen mind. He had never ridden this trail before and there was a terror within the soul of the hunter of outlaws that chilled the two men who had willingly chosen to remain at his bedside.

  These were not the screams of a normal man but the ravings of a tortured being. Neither the elderly doctor or the fugitive had ever heard anything like it.

  They had held Iron Eyes down when he valiantly fought against the monsters who rose from deep down inside the depths of his soul, trying to destroy what remained of his emaciated being.

  Iron Eyes had been wounded many times and lost more than his fair share of blood over the countless years since he had become a bounty hunter, but he had never before had the venom of the serpent inside him.

  The elderly doctor had forced various medicinal powders down Iron Eyes’ throat in an attempt to break the fever and stop the poison from destroying what was left of the incoherent man.

  It was nearly midnight when the eyes of the hunter opened and he could at last see clearly again.

  Iron Eyes gripped with his long thin bony fingers at the arms of the two men who were seated on either side of the cot. His chest heaved as he began to focus on the ceiling above him.

  ‘What the hell is going on?’ Iron Eyes screamed at the candlelit air and sat bolt upright.

  ‘You OK, mister?’ Black Ben Tucker asked the soaked bounty hunter.

  Iron Eyes stared around the room in terror. He could not recall even reaching this place, let alone know who these two men were.

  ‘What’s happening, dammit? And who in tarnation are you varmints?’

  Tucker rested a hand on the shoulder of Iron Eyes and tried to calm him down. The fever had broken but the man himself was now terrified and dangerous. The bounty hunter searched vainly for his Navy Colts and seemed terrified that his hands could not locate them.

  ‘My guns! Where are my guns?’

  ‘Easy, mister.’ Black Ben Tucker handed the man a glass of water and watched as it was drained. He then mopped the man’s wet brow as he fought to rise to his feet. ‘You’ve been hurt real bad.’

  ‘What?’ Iron Eyes looked into the train robber’s face and then at the concerned Mexican medical man. ‘Hurt? I don’t understand. I can’t remember being hurt.’

  Tucker felt as if he had a puma by the tail as he fought with the confused Iron Eyes. Finally he had to let go of the thin shoulders and watch as the weakened man rose to his feet and staggered across the small room. The exhausted bounty hunter rested his elbows on the sill of the small window and stared out at the darkness.

  ‘It’s night! How long have I been here?’

  ‘You had a poisoned leg wound, mister,’ Tucker informed Iron Eyes. ‘The doc here cut out the poison and cleaned up the wound. He saved your life.’

  ‘My work here is done, senor.’ The doctor gathered all his instruments together and dropped them into his bag and then accepted the handful of silver coins that the train-robber forced upon him. Tucker watched as the old man left the room, then turned his attention back to the tall man who was now swaying and looking down at his leg.

  ‘I remember now,’ Iron Eyes muttered quietly. ‘Damn Apache scouting party. They attacked me and I got hit by a poison arrow!’

  ‘That explains a lot.’ Tucker lit a cigar and walked to the side of the bounty hunter. He inhaled deeply and then gave the cigar to the weary man. Iron Eyes accepted it and placed it in his own mouth. He drew in as much smoke as he could and then waited for it to ease his nerves.

  ‘I thought that I’d managed to burn the poison out,’ Iron Eyes mumbled.

  ‘Luckily you did burn some of it out,’ Tucker said. ‘Look what effect the remaining poison had on you. A full dose would have killed a fully grown buffalo.’

  Iron Eyes savored the smoke. ‘I was in a bad way?’

  ‘Your leg was real bad,’ Tucker assured him.

  ‘Must have been.’ Iron Eyes felt the calming effect of the strong smoke and felt himself relaxing. ‘Reckon I owe you, stranger. You must have saved my life.’

  ‘Anything for a fellow gringo.’ Tucker smiled broa
dly. ‘There ain’t many of us down here in ol’ Mexico.’

  Iron Eyes nodded and returned the cigar to Tucker.

  ‘I can’t remember much. I keep seeing a girl with long yellow hair but I’m damned if I know why. Must have been a dream.’

  ‘Must have been the poison.’ Tucker inhaled on the cigar again and then leaned his back against the wall and looked at the cold eyes of the shaking man. ‘I thought you was a goner. I’ve never seen anyone that far gone who managed to live.’

  ‘I recall that there are folks who say that I’m too evil to die.’ Iron Eyes pushed himself away from the window and limped back to the cot. He sat down and ran his fingers through his long wet hair. ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘They call me Black Ben Tucker.’

  Iron Eyes shrugged. The name meant nothing to him. ‘Guess I owe you my life, Black Ben Tucker.’

  Black Ben smiled through the smoke that drifted from his teeth. ‘You’d have done the same for me, I reckon. What’s your name, mister?’

  ‘Iron Eyes,’ came the reply.

  Tucker’s expression altered. He had heard of this man and knew that he was reputed to kill without pity. This was the bounty hunter who was feared throughout the West. A man whom no outlaw wanted to be within a hundred miles of.

  ‘How come you’re down here in Mexico?’

  Iron Eyes exhaled heavily. ‘I was hunting something or someone, mister.’

  ‘Who?’ Tucker sucked on the tip of the cigar and watched the face of the seated bounty hunter.

  The fog that filled his mind suddenly cleared and Iron Eyes looked up at the outlaw above him.

  ‘You!’ he replied quietly. ‘It was you!’

  ‘If I had my guns, you’d be dead by now, Black Ben.’ Iron Eyes growled at the train-robber who stood over him.

  Tucker lowered his chin until it rested on his shirt. ‘Do you always kill men who save your life, Iron Eyes?’