by Rory Black
‘I kill men who are wanted dead or alive.’
‘You ain’t answered my question.’ Tucker paced slowly around the room with Iron Eyes’ gaze tracking his every step. ‘Is it your custom to kill men who’ve saved your life?’
The bounty hunter’s gaze flashed around the room as if he were trying to find an answer to the direct question: a question that he did not have an answer for. At least not one that satisfied himself.
‘You’re a mighty odd character, Iron Eyes.’ Tucker paused at the small dresser and opened the top drawer.
‘Because I hunt vermin?’
‘Nope. Because you can’t seem to recognize a friend when you meet one.’ Black Ben Tucker fumbled in the drawer and pulled out the pair of matched Navy Colts. He turned and faced the hunter and then tossed the guns on to the bed next to him. It was the biggest gamble Tucker had ever taken, and one he prayed he would not regret.
Iron Eyes stared at his weapons. He picked up one and checked it. It was loaded.
‘You loco or something, Black Ben?’
The train-robber exhaled a long line of smoke. ‘I must be, Iron Eyes. To give a pair of loaded .36s to a man who says that he’s here to kill me, sounds darn crazy.’
Iron Eyes cocked the hammer of the pistol and aimed it at the smiling man. The train-robber swallowed hard and walked slowly to the open doorway.
‘I’m gonna get some vittles. You want some, Iron Eyes?’
Iron Eyes lowered the lethal weapon and released its hammer before placing it back on the bed. For a reason that he could not fully comprehend, he had no desire to kill this man, however much bounty there was on his head.
‘I could eat a bowl of that chili that’s stinking up the place, right about now, Black Ben.’
‘Two bowls of chili coming up.’ Tucker walked out into the cantina and headed for the cooking range. He removed the cigar from his mouth and stared at his hand. It was shaking.
Chapter Sixteen
Tom Hardin drove his horse through the night at a speed he had never managed to achieve before. He had checked outside Jed Smith’s home before setting out for the border and the country that lay beyond. The sheriff had noticed the deep tracks of the wagon that had been used by the bandits. He had noted that the wagon tracks went south along the trail which led to Mexico. Only the coming of night had obscured the tracks as he had thundered across the wide shallow river.
Hardin had not come this way for more than five years but knew exactly the fastest route to the isolated town of Sanora. The lawman spurred his mount on and used the moon above him as his guide.
For a man who had become almost as broad in the beam as his horse over the years of sitting behind a desk shuffling papers, Hardin rode with a skill not found in many younger men.
Forcing the faithful sorrel onward with all his strength, he cleared a sandy rise and then hauled the reins to his chest. The whitewashed buildings stood out in the moonlight below him like the teeth of a giant.
He had made it.
He dismounted, filled his hat with water from his canteen, and allowed the horse to drink as he checked his old Colt .45. It was fully loaded and greased.
When the horse had finished the last drop of the precious liquid, Hardin scooped up the Stetson and placed it back on his head. The droplets of water on his balding scalp felt good as he stepped back into the stirrup and hauled his bulk back on to the saddle.
The sheriff of Cripple Creek urged the sorrel down the sand-covered incline and rode directly at the white buildings with renewed vigor.
With every stride that the robust horse took across the soft, sandy terrain, the law officer wondered whether the bounty hunter would still be in Sanora. He had a fear that, just as after his cold-blooded dispatch of outlaw Ben Drake back at Cripple Creek, Iron Eyes might have headed off in search of his next victim.
Then as the sorrel entered the maze of white buildings and the sound of the Mexican townspeople enjoying the slightly cooler temperature that darkness always brought filled the air, he spotted the dapple-gray horse tied up outside a cantina.
Tom Hardin slowed the horse to a walk as he approached the busy building.
Light cascaded out into the street as he slowly got off his mount and gathered up the long reins. He rubbed the dust from his face and tied the sorrel to the hitching pole next to Iron Eyes’ gray.
A hundred thoughts went through the mind of the sheriff as he pushed the beaded curtains apart and stared into the busy cantina.
Would Iron Eyes help him find Rosie Smith?
What if he had continued to drink whiskey at the same rate as he had done in Cripple Creek and was now lying in a drunken stupor?
A few steps inside the cantina answered most of the questions that had burned their way into the mind of the sheriff during the hours that he had spent in the saddle riding here.
The unmistakable figure of Iron Eyes was sitting next to Black Ben Tucker at a filthy table with a bowl of half-eaten chili before him.
Iron Eyes looked even paler than when Hardin had last seen him. There were corpses buried in Boot Hill that looked more alive than the bounty hunter.
Tom Hardin removed his hat and made his way through the cantina’s customers until he reached the table and then stared down at Iron Eyes. He spotted the left leg which was covered in iodine and crude catgut stitches.
‘What the hell happened to you, son?’ the sheriff asked in a tone that displayed his utter shock at the sight before him.
Tucker looked at the sheriff and focused on the star. He felt uneasy once more.
‘Iron Eyes got himself into a little trouble with a bunch of Apache’s, Sheriff.’
‘Black Ben Tucker?’ Hardin said the name he had read on the Wanted poster so many times.
‘Sit down, Sheriff,’ Iron eyes said bluntly. ‘Join me and my friend in a little supper.’
Hardin’s mouth fell open.
‘Your friend? I thought you was hunting this man’s bounty, Iron Eyes.’
Iron Eyes glanced at the train-robber and then back at the sheriff. A smile crawled over his thin cracked lips.
Chapter Seventeen
The sound of the water as it fell unceasingly into the deep lake outside the mouth of the large cave filled the ears of all the bandits. Normally it would have helped them fall asleep, but not on this night.
This night it was different.
Malverez had never been so close to what could only be described as a mutiny before. For a decade he had controlled his followers and they had obeyed his every order because they knew that his was a brain that calculated everything methodically and without any hint of emotion.
He had made them a fortune but this night there was something the bandits valued far more than the wooden chests filled with gold and silver coins.
The bandit leader had been lying beside the silent Rosie Smith for hours and yet he had done nothing. The eyes of the five other bandits had not closed since he had made his dramatic announcement. The lighted torches illuminated every one of the cold eyes that were trained on him.
The bandits were waiting. Waiting for their chance.
They wanted her and Malverez had not dared to take his own selfish pleasures for fear of turning his back on the men whom he knew were quite as ruthless as he was himself.
Malverez knew that a knife or bullet would find his back as soon as he showed it to them. The bandit leader was troubled. These were five angry men who faced him. He propped his head against the huge rolled up blankets and knew that any one of them was more than capable of killing him without a second thought.
Malverez lit yet another cigar and drew the putrid smoke into his lungs. For the last hour he had felt more and more uneasy as the bandits seemed to edge ever closer.
It was the middle of the night and yet none of them was willing to succumb to the tiredness that had threatened to overwhelm them hours earlier.
The leader of the bandits dragged his pistols from their holsters and sucked on th
e long cigar. He laid the guns on his chest and watched the eyes that flashed in the flickering torchlight before him.
Would they actually attack him?
Malverez knew that no amount of the free tequila he had plied them with could calm this storm. It had gone too far. There was only one way that he might stop them now, and that was to give them what they so desperately wanted.
He could give them the girl and it would be over.
There was one other choice open to him though. Malverez knew that he could still keep the beautiful prize for himself if he pretended that he was willing to let them have her.
But he would then have to kill them all when they started to take their pleasure.
It was a risky course of action to take and would probably end in disaster for all of them, he thought. Malverez wanted this female more than any other he had ever taken by force. She seemed different from all the rest who lay buried beneath the sands of Mexico.
He knew that he would have to fight for her.
The five men had ridden with him for ten long years and yet he knew that only fear had ever kept them in check. There was no loyalty in their ranks. Just the fear of the weak when faced with the mighty.
Now they loomed like vultures waiting for him to sleep. There was no way that he would ever awaken from that sleep if he did not do something to calm them down.
Malverez touched the hair of the female beside him and gritted what was left of his teeth. She did not move a muscle. The bandit did not know whether she was asleep or just frozen with fear. He glared at the men through the smoke of his cigar, then picked up the two matching pistols and rose to his feet.
The five other bandits all stood up with their hands on the grips of their own guns and faced him defiantly. Whatever he had decided to do, they could only guess at.
Malverez flicked the ash off his cigar with the barrel of one of his pistols and then began to laugh.
He had made up his mind.
He would try and bluff them into doing nothing with the promise of their getting what they wanted.
‘We have had a very eventful day, amigos,’ Malverez joked as he slipped one gun back into its holster and twirled the other on his index finger.
‘We want to share this female with you,’ Carlos grunted angrily.
‘And you shall.’
The five bandits’ faces went blank.
He had confused them, if only briefly. They stared at him as he removed his sombrero and spun it across the cave.
‘You have changed your mind about keeping her for yourself?’
Malverez rubbed the cold gun barrel over his unshaven cheek and smiled broadly.
‘I was lying when I said that I would keep this girl for my own satisfaction, Jose.’
The bandit stepped forward and tilted his head at the seemingly jovial Malverez.
‘It was a bad joke, amigo,’ one of the others commented.
‘Si, it was a very bad joke. But when you all lost your tempers, I got angry. I should have said something a long time ago but the tequila made me stupid.’
‘So we can have her?’ Jose asked, rubbing his groin with his pistol.
Malverez nodded.
‘You can all have your way with her until she dies of happiness or exhaustion, amigo. But after I have tasted her first.’
The eager bandits all nodded as one. ‘When?’
Malverez was trying to buy himself time.
‘Tomorrow. We are all too tired to fully enjoy ourselves tonight.’
Carlos holstered his gun first.
‘This is why Malverez is such a great leader, amigos’
The bandit leader nodded, holstered his pistol and watched the men moving to their bedrolls. He had bought himself a little time but how much and what it would cost, was yet to be resolved.
Malverez moved back to his own bedroll and stared down at the hair of Rosie Smith flowing from beneath the velvet drape she had used as a blanket.
He swallowed hard.
Chapter Eighteen
Iron Eyes sat on the cot and dragged the still blood-soaked mule-ear boot back on to his wounded leg. If he was in pain, he hid it well from his two companions.
‘This is plumb loco, Iron Eyes,’ Black Ben Tucker said loud enough for the entire town of Sanora to hear.
‘Reckon so,’ Iron Eyes agreed, picking up his pair of Navy Colts and tucking them into his belt. He ran the palms of his hands over the well-used grips and sighed heavily. ‘It’s time for me to do what I do best.’
‘You ain’t strong enough,’ Black Ben Tucker said, frowning.
Sheriff Hardin touched the sleeve of the train-robber and made a face that told the younger man to calm down.
‘Ease up, son. Iron Eyes knows what he’s doing.’
‘But this man has just recovered from having poison dug out of his leg, Sheriff,’ Tucker protested. ‘He ain’t in no fit state to do nothing, let alone ride.’
‘I’m OK!’ Iron Eyes insisted, reaching for a bottle of whiskey on the cot and taking a long swallow.
‘You’re as weak as a kitten, Iron Eyes,’ Tucker insisted.
Hardin nodded.
‘He knows that, Tucker.’
‘Then why ask him for help?’ Black Ben asked.
‘Because the life of a young girl is at stake. I know of only one man who can possibly track down the bastards who took her. One man who has the skill to kill anything that’s capable of raising guns in anger. That one man is Iron Eyes. Rosie Smith has just one chance in hell of being saved.’
Black Ben rubbed his face in frustration. ‘It’ll kill him, Sheriff. He’s spent most of the night racked with fever.’
Iron Eyes stood up and pressed his left leg down hard on to floor as if trying to gauge the pain level he would have to withstand.
‘I’ll find her, boys,’ he said, adjusting the grips of his guns, which jutted from his belt.
‘We ain’t got much time left,’ Hardin said anxiously. ‘I figure whoever abducted Rosie has no intention of keeping their side of the bargain and returning her after they get the ransom money from Smith.’
‘I want to ride with you, Iron Eyes,’ Black Ben said to the pale bounty hunter. ‘I want to help you find this girl.’
Iron Eyes nodded. ‘Fine.’
‘I’m pretty good with this old Colt, boys,’ Hardin said, slapping the holster on his hip.
Iron Eyes attached his spurs to his boots and then walked from the room, across the cantina and out into the street. Tucker and Hardin followed the tall limping bounty hunter like chicks trailing a mother hen. Iron Eyes stood and listened to the sounds of guitars and trumpets echoing all around him. Sanora was noisy with the Mexicans who had slept throughout the baking-hot afternoon.
‘If Smith pays them, they’ll not get a chance to spend that money, Sheriff.’
Sheriff Hardin and Black Ben Tucker squared up to the brooding man who was checking his saddle.
‘What do you mean, son?’ the sheriff asked.
‘’Cause they’ll all be dead as soon as I catch up with them,’ came the grim reply.
The three riders had made remarkable progress through what remained of the night to reach the banks of the river. Like a man wearing a death mask, Iron Eyes sat astride his dapple-gray staring at the moonlit ground as the water lashed at the hoofs of their horses.
He had somehow worked out exactly how many riders had crossed the border since he had ridden through the shallow water so many hours earlier.
Iron Eyes pulled his left boot from the stirrup and then raised his right leg over the neck of the drinking gray. He slid off his saddle, taking the full impact of the ground with his good leg.
The eyes of the bounty hunter seemed to notice things in the dark mud that neither of his companions could see. The honed skill of the hunter were now coming into play. He could track anything and it showed.
‘My tracks are over there.’ Iron Eyes pointed behind them. ‘I can see your horse’s hoof prints a few feet
nearer, Sheriff. Then we have the grooves of a wagon that turned and headed down river. Five other riders cut through here between your sorrel and the wagon. They headed on after the wagon.’
Tucker dismounted and held the reins to his magnificent black horse in his gloved hands. He walked to the side of the tall grim-faced man and rested a hand on the broad shoulder.
‘I’m impressed.’
Iron Eyes did not seem to care what either of the men thought about his skill as a tracker. All that filled his mind was the fact that the girl that he had met back in Cripple Creek was probably in more danger than even he could imagine. He had seen what men could do to innocent females many times and it turned his guts.
‘We have to head down there.’ The bounty hunter aimed his thin index finger in the direction in which the shallow river was flowing.
Black Ben Tucker pulled up the collar of his coat and tried to stop the cool breeze from chilling his neck.
‘Me and Hardin can take it from here, Iron Eyes,’ Tucker said softly. ‘They must be holed up darn close.’
Iron Eyes glared at the man’s face. Even in the light of the moon his anger could be easily seen. ‘I’m not quitting, Black Ben. Without me you two fools would never find the girl or the men who have her.’
Sheriff Hardin steered his mount alongside the two men and stared down at them.
‘How far do you reckon we have to go?’
‘Not far. A few miles at most.’ Iron Eyes grabbed the reins of his gray and pulled it around. He held on to the saddle horn and threw himself up on to the back of the nervous animal.
Tucker stepped into his stirrup and mounted the black horse.
‘How can you be so damn certain?’
Iron Eyes pulled his bottle of whiskey from one of the satchels behind his saddle cantle and removed its cork. He swallowed two massive shots of the fiery liquid, and then replaced the cork and dropped the bottle back into the bag behind him.
‘’Cause I can smell the vermin, Black Ben!’
Tucker stared in disbelief at the bounty hunter, who was urging his mount to start walking along the tracks of his prey.
‘You can smell them? Are you joshing me?’