The Iron Eyes Collection

by Rory Black

  ‘My little sister is only six years of age, Señor Iron Eyes,’ Pablo said sadly. ‘She was taken by Running Wolf and his rebels.’

  Suddenly Iron Eyes looked interested. He leaned forward and stared at the elderly man. To the bounty hunter it seemed strange that anyone of Don Jose’s advancing years should have a daughter so young.

  ‘Running Wolf the Apache rebel?’ Iron Eyes repeated the warrior’s name as his mind began to recall that there was a bounty on the Indian’s head. A very big bounty as he recalled. ‘He’s worth more than both them outlaws combined.’

  Don Jose nodded as his hands automatically joined together as if in silent prayer.

  ‘Your government has been hunting Running Wolf for over a decade, señor,’ he said. ‘I believe that he has been raiding ranches across the border and making it very hard for settlers and your army.’

  The notion of a defenceless six-year-old being at the mercy of the infamous Running Wolf did not sit well with Iron Eyes. He stood and moved to the fire and rested a thoughtful hand upon its mantle.

  ‘Running Wolf is a mighty valuable catch,’ he muttered as his teeth gripped the cigar as smoke drifted into his scarred face. ‘The US Army will pay handsomely if I could bring that critter to them. They’ve bin chasing him longer than they’ve bin hunting Geronimo.’

  ‘He is wanted dead or alive, señor,’ Pablo said.

  Iron Eyes nodded. ‘That means dead in my book, sonny,’ he drawled through cigar smoke. ‘I don’t take prisoners. It don’t pay in my profession.’

  Don Jose stood and walked to the side of the tall ghostly figure. He rested a hand on the blood-stained trail coat and spoke quietly.

  ‘I will pay you to bring my daughter back, Iron Eyes,’ he said softly. ‘I know it is doubtful that she still lives but I will pay you anyway.’

  ‘She’s still alive, Fernandez,’ Iron Eyes said bluntly. ‘She’s young and a female. Running Wolf and his kind like them that way.’

  A horrified expression filled the face of the nobleman as he gasped. ‘Santa Maria. You mean. . . .’

  ‘Yep.’ Iron Eyes nodded.

  Pablo clenched both his fists. ‘We must get her away from them, Señor Iron Eyes. There is not a moment to lose.’

  ‘It might already be too late,’ the bounty hunter hissed as he chewed on the cigar between his teeth. ‘Mind you, she is real young. Maybe too young even for them but time moves fast and the longer she’s with them, the more likely it is that they’ll do their worst.’

  ‘You must help us rescue her,’ Fernandez pleaded.

  Iron Eyes glanced over his shoulder at the face of the well-groomed man. He had seen that desperate look before.

  ‘How much are you willing to pay for me to help rescue your little girl, Don Jose?’ he asked curiously.

  ‘One hundred golden eagles,’ Fernandez replied. ‘I have had them brought straight from the mint in San Francisco. They are yours, whatever your decision.’

  The face of the bounty hunter looked surprised.

  ‘You’re willing to give me a hundred gold eagles whatever I choose to do?’

  The older man looked at the flames as they leapt up the chimney. He was a broken soul who had resigned himself to the inevitable.

  ‘Sí, señor,’ Fernandez said. ‘You can have it and Squirrel Sally too. All I want is my daughter. I have lost ten vaqueros trying to rescue her and those who are left are as broken as I am.’

  Iron Eyes sucked in more smoke as he thought about the offer. He began to nod and then swung on his heels and paced back to where he left his drink. He bent down and scooped up the decanter. Both the Fernandezes watched as the haunting figure finished off the contents of the glass vessel. Neither dared utter a word as the bounty hunter checked his firearms and placed them in his deep trail coat pockets.

  Iron Eyes looked at both men in turn.

  ‘You got any images of the little girl?’ he asked.

  A smile etched the face of Don Jose. He rushed to a circular table set near a bookcase and picked up a silver frame. For a moment he hesitated as his elderly eyes looked at the photographic likeness protected by glass. Then he inhaled deeply and walked to where the painfully lean bounty hunter stood.

  His shaking hand gave the framed picture to the grim-faced Iron Eyes. Don Jose watched as the bounty hunter removed the picture from its frame and stared at it under the light of a chandelier suspended from the ceiling. There was no visible expression on the face of the bounty hunter as his eyes studied the image in his hands.

  ‘That is my Maria,’ Fernandez said proudly. ‘She is the image of her late mother. I do not have any more images of Maria. Please take care of it.’

  Iron Eyes responded to the sadness in Fernandez’s faltering voice. His bullet coloured eyes darted at the face of the elderly man for a moment and then returned to the picture in his bony hands.

  ‘I don’t need it, Fernandez,’ he said coldly. ‘I got her looks branded into my mind. I’ll recognize her if our paths cross.’

  ‘Thank you, señor,’ Don Jose gushed as he held the photograph to his chest.

  ‘You do understand that your Maria might have bin taken as a bride, don’t you, Don Jose?’ Iron Eyes whispered. ‘Apaches don’t have rules on such things like most folks.’

  Don Jose sighed heavily.

  ‘I just want her back,’ he said. ‘I just want her back.’

  Iron Eyes looked at Pablo. He raised a finger and pointed at the younger man.

  ‘Can you take me to where the coach was attacked, sonny?’ he asked as he watched Don Jose carefully putting the picture back into its frame. ‘I need to start my hunt from the exact spot the coach came to a rest.’

  Pablo stepped toward the heavily scarred figure that was standing in the centre of the room. He tilted his head and stared at Iron Eyes.

  ‘But it has been too long since Maria was taken for there to be any tracks remaining, señor,’ he said. ‘There is no way that you could track Running Wolf from there.’

  Iron Eyes gave a twisted grin.

  ‘I know that, boy,’ he muttered. ‘But I’ll get me a sense of where his camp is. A cougar never travels far from his lair and Running Wolf is just a two-legged big cat. I’ll figure out where he’s holed up when I see the place he attacked the caravan.’

  ‘You make it sound simple, señor,’ Don Jose said as he placed the silver framed picture back on the table and turned to look at the formidable bounty hunter.

  ‘It is simple, Don Jose.’ Iron Eyes placed the cigar back between his teeth and gripped it. ‘Even the most ruthless of killers return to their lair. That’s how a hunter can get them in his gun sights and kill them. You just gotta be able to figure out where they rest their bones at night.’

  Pablo edged closer to the bounty hunter. ‘But Running Wolf and his followers are nomads, Señor Iron Eyes. They are continually moving their camp. By now they could be hundreds of miles from here.’

  Iron Eyes looked through the smoke which drifted up from his cigar. His twisted smile grew even wider.

  ‘I hope he has moved camp, sonny,’ he drawled. ‘That’ll leave a fresh trail to follow.’

  ‘I have a room ready for you, señor,’ Don Jose announced as he moved between the two younger men. ‘It is the same room that your woman occupies. You can rest until the sun rises once more.’

  Iron Eyes pulled the cigar from his lips and shook his head until his mane of long black hair covered his mutilated features.

  ‘I don’t need no room to rest, Fernandez,’ he growled. ‘I’m heading out now to the spot where your coach was attacked and little Maria was taken from. There ain’t no time to go visiting Squirrel.’

  Don Jose looked stunned. ‘You do not wish to see if we have treated your woman kindly, señor?’

  Iron Eyes paced around the room. The spurs on his boots rang out as he thoughtfully circled the two men.

  ‘Squirrel can look after herself,’ he muttered. ‘Besides, she ain’t my woman. She�
��s just a burr under my saddle. That gal troubles me something awful.’

  ‘I shall get fresh horses ready, Señor Iron Eyes,’ Pablo said, before marching across the tiled floor and walking out into the courtyard.

  Don Jose moved in front of the tall shadowy figure and looked up at the well-hidden face. The glowing tip of the cigar grew brighter with every breath the bounty hunter took.

  ‘You are an honourable man, señor,’ he said. ‘You had the choice of taking the money without doing anything but you have chosen to risk your life and try to rescue my daughter. I shall get the one hundred golden eagles for you now.’

  As the Mexican went to move away from Iron Eyes, a thin hand gripped Don Jose’s shoulder and stopped him. The older man glanced back at the unlikely hero.

  ‘What, my boy?’ he enquired. ‘Why do you stop me getting your money?’

  Iron Eyes shook his hair off his face and straightened up to his full height. He stared at the arched ceiling without looking into the eyes of the noble Don Jose.

  ‘One hundred gold coins are too heavy for me to go hunting with, old man,’ he said as he swung on his heels and started to follow the path Pablo had taken out into the moonlight. ‘They’d slow me down. You keep them until I get back.’

  ‘But what if fate is against you, señor?’ Fernandez asked. ‘What if you suffer the same fate which befell my vaqueros and do not return?’

  ‘Then give the money to Squirrel,’ Iron Eyes muttered.

  Don Jose Fernandez watched as the dishevelled man approached the wide open doors. He could not understand the man who no longer resembled other men but something deep inside him felt confident that he had made the right choice in sending for the legendary Iron Eyes.

  The bounty hunter paused.

  ‘What is wrong, señor?’ Don Jose asked.

  Iron Eyes looked around the magnificent interior of the hacienda and then looked at the elegant Fernandez. He did not speak as his teeth gripped the smouldering cigar. He touched his brow and then walked out into the courtyard. Even though he now knew that probably the most valuable creature he had ever tracked was out there somewhere amid the arid terrain and inhospitable mesas, there was another reason for the ravaged bounty hunter to set out on this suicidal mission.

  Her name was Maria Fernandez. She was six years old and her image was branded into his memory where it would remain until he found her.

  Few things ever put a flame to his fuse but the monochrome face on the small picture in its silver frame had done so. She was the helpless victim who probably had no notion of what was happening to her.

  Iron Eyes stepped down on to the sand and watched as Pablo emerged from the stable with two long-legged horses in tow. The bounty hunter watched silently as the handsome young man walked ahead of the thoroughbreds toward him. His narrowed eyes noted that one of the animals was wearing his palomino stallion’s livery.

  ‘How far is it to where Running Wolf attacked the coach, Pablo?’ Iron Eyes asked as he fumbled in his bullet filled pockets for a fresh cigar.

  The young Mexican paused beside the unholy killer of wanted men and rubbed the back of his neck thoughtfully. He raised a finger and pointed west.

  ‘It is about ten miles in that direction, señor,’ he replied. ‘Running Wolf killed all but one of the escorts and burned the coach. We buried the vaqueros close to where they fell. It was a sickening sight.’

  Iron Eyes cupped a match to the tip of his cigar and sucked in smoke as he inspected the tall horse. He stopped and looked over the saddle at the young man.

  ‘You’re certain that little Maria was taken alive by the Apaches, boy?’ he rasped as he tossed the spent match over his shoulder and rested a bony hand on the saddle horn.

  Pablo inhaled deeply. ‘Sí, señor. The surviving vaquero told us that he saw Running Wolf hoist her up on to his horse just before he lost consciousness.’

  Iron Eyes lifted his thin left leg and poked his boot into the stirrup. In one swift action he had mounted the tall shouldered horse and was gathering in his reins. The bounty hunter did not utter a word as his companion also threw himself up on to his fresh mount.

  Pablo adjusted the drawstring of his sombrero and stared at the ghostly rider beside him. He cleared his throat.

  ‘You are very brave, señor,’ he uttered.

  ‘I ain’t brave, sonny,’ Iron Eyes argued. ‘Running Wolf is a mighty valuable outlaw. I’d be a damn fool not to go hunting his tail.’

  Pablo doubted that hunting down Running Wolf for the bounty on his head was the true reason Iron Eyes had accepted this dangerous mission.

  ‘Do you really think my sister is still alive, Señor Iron Eyes?’ he asked quietly.

  Iron Eyes pulled the cigar from his mouth and blew a line of smoke at the ground between them. His icy stare belied his true emotions as he nodded.

  ‘She’s still alive, boy,’ he said calmly before turning the horse beneath him to face the gates. ‘I feel it in my bones and my bones ain’t ever wrong.’

  The sentries silently watched as the pair of horsemen thundered out into the moonlit desert. The well-armed onlookers crossed themselves in prayer.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Iron Eyes and Pablo had been gone less than ten minutes when Squirrel suddenly awoke from dreams and glanced around the unfamiliar room. For a moment, every sinew of her young body was on edge as she dropped her bare feet off the soft mattress on to the tiled floor of the room. A solitary lantern dimly illuminated the room as she rose and adjusted the new clothing she had been given in exchange for her tattered trail gear. Her small hands flattened the creases out of the itchy material and then moved to the door.

  Like all hunters, she moved silently. She pressed her ear at the wooden surface of the door and strained to hear the guard which had prevented her from leaving the room since her arrival.

  Sally could not detect any sounds. Not even snoring.

  She bit her lip and carefully turned the cast-iron handle before pulling the door toward her. The six-inch gap between the door and the frame was enough for her to poke her head out of to vainly search for the heavily armed vaquero.

  To her surprise, the corridor was empty.

  ‘That don’t figure,’ she muttered as she silently made her way out into the candle-lit corridor and on to the top of the stairs. As she tiptoed down its steps, she saw the seated figure of Don Jose sobbing into the palms of his hands.

  Squirrel Sally had never seen a grown man weep before.

  She stopped and stared at him. She was no longer angry.

  The sun had risen as the two riders reached the isolated trail road where the coach had been attacked. Iron Eyes had not spoken since they had departed the hacienda. He had just gripped his reins and chewed on what remained of his spent cigar. As Pablo hauled his reins back to stop his mount, the bounty hunter stared out at the bright surroundings. What remained of the coach was now just a blackened shell of its once highly decorated former self.

  There were few clues remaining but the bounty hunter could still read this place like no other.

  Iron Eyes dragged back on his long leathers and halted his mount. A cloud of dust spread out from the horse’s hoofs as the gaunt figure stared through narrowed eyes at the pitiful sight. A handful of crude markers were dotted around the loose sand where the vaqueros had been laid to rest. The dishevelled figure could tell exactly how the escort had been attacked and killed but it was nothing to do with overwhelming numbers. A mere handful of Apaches had achieved this and then taken the young girl with them. Whatever provisions and weaponry the caravan had been carrying had also been taken. The attack had been swift and without mercy.

  The Apache were renowned for this. In the mind of Iron Eyes, they had no equal among the various tribes he had had the misfortune of running into over the years.

  Running Wolf was said to be the most dangerous of them all. That solitary fact troubled Iron Eyes. He knew that the courageous rebel leader was always two steps ahead of any
one who tried to capture him.

  This was not going to be easy, he thought.

  Even though he had ridden beside the legendary bounty hunter for hours, Pablo could not understand his ghostly companion. The skeletal figure had said nothing, as though words no longer mattered in his bloody world. Something else was driving him and yet Pablo could not understand what.

  Why had Iron Eyes not simply taken the one hundred golden eagles his father had promised him? He could have taken Squirrel Sally and pocketed the cash and returned north. Why had he chosen the far more dangerous option of hunting down Running Wolf?

  There was more to the emaciated bounty hunter than met the eye, he thought. Iron Eyes was a mystery which, like his legend, could not be fully understood. Pablo held on to his long leathers and watched the deathly man with a mixture of trepidation and awe. Although he admired Iron Eyes, he could not find it in his heart to fully trust him. Every time the bullet coloured eyes looked in his direction, Pablo felt that Iron Eyes might draw his Navy Colts and kill him.

  ‘There is nothing left to give you any clues to where they went, señor,’ Pablo said. ‘The wind has taken everything away. The tracks have gone.’

  ‘I ain’t looking for tracks, boy.’ The words came as a shock to the youngster. ‘I’m figuring out which way they came and went. Apaches don’t ride over a rise when they have a valley to ride along.’

  Pablo adjusted his sombrero and mopped his brow along his sleeve. He did not know what his comrade meant but would not admit it.

  Iron Eyes swung his right leg over the neck of his horse and slid to the ground. He handed his long leathers to Pablo and walked to where the remains of the coach lay strewn across the arid ground.

  The bounty hunter studied the blackened timber for a few moments and then turned. His squinting eyes stared out at the hostile terrain as though he could see things that no one else could see. He ran a thumb along his scarred jawline as he stood silently staring out into the heat haze.

  ‘What do you see, Señor Iron Eyes?’ Pablo asked from his perch atop his tall mount.