The Spurs of Iron Eyes (Iron Eyes Western #3)

by Rory Black

  The clerk nodded as he watched the man amble towards the staircase.

  ‘Any particular color, Mr. Iron Eyes?’

  Iron Eyes cast a cold look over his shoulder and smiled at the little figure who trembled.

  ‘A red shirt might be kinda practical.’

  ‘Why red, Mr. Iron Eyes?’ The question had been asked with an innocence the tall bounty hunter found amusing.

  Pulling back the tail of his long coat, Iron Eyes allowed the ugly wound to be seen by the small meek-mannered man behind the desk.

  ‘Reckon there’s a chance red will not show the bloodstains next time somebody shoots me.’

  ‘Quite,’ the clerk nodded nervously, as the bounty hunter returned to his lonely room. Once again, the eerie ghostlike figure had chilled his bones and created fear where none had existed previously. The Rio Vista Hotel had paid host to thousands of visitors over the years but none like Iron Eyes.

  Chapter Seven

  It was a timeworn man wearing an old battered sombrero who whipped the mule feverishly as it crossed the wide shallow river heading in the direction of the lights of Rio Vista. Illuminated by moonlight, the small town of whitewashed buildings was unmistakable as it rested on the small mesa above the glistening fast-flowing waterway which separated Texas from Mexico. The elderly man had ridden here many times during his long life but never before with so much urgency.

  Even in the dead of night Rio Vista still echoed with the sounds of its citizens and visitors refusing to accept sleep as an alternative to having fun wherever they could find it. The saloons never seemed to close their doors whilst there was money to be taken from willing victims. The sounds rang out all over the river as the mule splashed through its cool pure water.

  The old mule might have been as stubborn as the man himself, given its reluctance to gallop the last quarter of a mile and forcing its weary rider to dismount and wade to dry land, but it had been galloping for hours without a break. Even a mule knew when to quit. The cool clear water on its bleeding hooves was something the animal would not leave willingly.

  Staggering through the knee-high water, the old man aimed himself at the proud chapel’s whitewashed tower which gleamed in the moonlight above the river.

  This was no normal rider who fought with every ounce of his remaining strength to stay upright, this was a man with a mission. He had been chosen by the people of his village to seek out Father Jose. To fail was to condemn his people to a fate far worse than death, and although he now sailed ever closer to his own demise, he was resolute to completing his task. The man finally managed to walk onto dry ground as pain ripped through his thin body. Falling on one knee, he felt as if death was clawing at his eternal soul trying to claim him before he had completed his mission. From the depths of a place he had never before known existed, he managed to find his feet once more, and continue.

  Somehow he managed to climb the dry sandy slope away from the scented waters of the river and reach the flat plain which led to the town of Rio Vista and the chapel where he knew the priest lived in solitude. Father Jose had been his friend for nearly half his long life, a man who it was said, could work miracles.

  That was what the people required.

  A miracle.

  Gasping with exhaustion, the elderly man began the last part of his incredible trek. It took him another ten minutes to reach the proud building and make his way around to its frontage where the torches burned defiantly.

  Stumbling with every other step, he climbed up the tiled stairway towards the large wooden doors of the chapel. The old man removed his sombrero and gripped the large door handle and beat it noisily. The sound seemed to echo from within the holy structure. Then his strength finally seemed to leave him and he slumped to the ground. The colorful tiles felt cool against his burned face. Even as the pain tore through his fatigued body yet again, the coolness against his skin made him thankful he had reached his chosen destiny at last.

  As he lay upon the ground, he raised a hand and tried to knock on the doors once more, as if attempting to summon a greater Being to assist him.

  Then the doors parted and his bleary vision saw the priest’s sandals.

  ‘Help me, Father Jose,’ the weak voice begged the robed man as he knelt down.

  ‘Madre de Dios,’ Father Jose gasped in horror when he saw his friend at his feet.

  ‘Thank God I have made it,’ the old man sobbed.

  ‘What has happened to you, Pablo?’ Father Jose asked, as he lifted the frail figure off the ground.

  ‘My village ...’ the old man gasped.

  ‘What about your village, Pablo?’ Father Jose put his arm around the back of the frail soul and began to lead him into the heavily scented chapel. The wall of burning candles caused the tired eyes of the old man to brighten as they approached it. Suddenly he had renewed strength flowing through his veins.

  ‘You must help my people, Father Jose.’

  The priest led the man into his private living-quarters and sat him down in a soft chair whilst he poured him a glass of wine.

  ‘Drink this, Pablo. It is the blood of Christ. It will refresh you and allow you to tell me everything I need to know.’

  Pablo accepted the glass and drank. Thank you, Father.’

  Father Jose sat next to his friend and waited anxiously.

  Chapter Eight

  The two men who had caught the attention of Iron Eyes in the saloon and whose images he now had on the wanted posters within his deep coat pockets had left town as quietly as they had entered it. They had not arrived in Rio Vista by chance but through a carefully structured plan which now seemed to be in doubt. The two outlaws were unlike most of the scum Iron Eyes usually encountered; they prided themselves on their intelligence and their ability to plan a crime down to its last, minute, detail.

  Yet, when they had seen Iron Eyes sitting in the same saloon as themselves the previous afternoon, they had made a quick exit. Luckily for them, the infamous bounty hunter seemed unable to place them.

  Frank Lewis and his partner in more than a score of crimes, Ben Tyler, waited just outside Rio Vista reluctantly. It was night and cold compared to the heat of the day, but both men seemed unaware of anything except Iron Eyes. They had seen the face of the one man who could and would destroy not only their plans but their very lives.

  ‘What was Iron Eyes doing in town, Ben?’ Lewis growled as he tossed another handful of dry kindling onto the flames of their camp-fire.

  Picking up the coffee pot in a gloved hand, and pouring the black beverage into his tin cup, Tyler shook his head.

  ‘Are you sure it was Iron Eyes, Frank?’

  ‘It had to be.’ Lewis held out his own empty cup and accepted the strong refill. Then his partner rested the blackened pot back into the heart of the flames. ‘Nobody else could look the way he looks.’

  ‘I thought he was the kind who shot first and then checked the wanted posters.’ Tyler blew at the steam which billowed from his mug.

  Iron Eyes is said to be deadly but even he’s gotta obey the law’ Lewis rested his butt on the saddle and stared at their horses tied a mere ten feet away.

  ‘He’s gummed up our plans though,’ Tyler ranted, with more anger than he had ever previously experienced.

  ‘Maybe.’ Frank Lewis sipped at the brew and nodded to himself as his brain raced.

  Tyler kept poking the fire with a long dry branch, watching the red sparks drift heavenward. He was restless and it showed in every sinew of his lean body.

  ‘We can’t do this job with that vulture lurking in the shadows, can we?’

  Lewis cast a glance at his partner and grinned.

  ‘I figure we could easily pull the job off if old Mr. Iron Eyes had an accident, Ben.’

  ‘You gonna go up against Iron Eyes? Are you crazy?’ Tyler pulled up and dropped the stick into the flames of the fire as he consumed the thought his partner had planted into his mind.

  ‘I ain’t crazy,’ Lewis snarled.

>   You mean we are gonna try and bushwhack the hombre? Ben Tyler began to understand.

  Frank Lewis sipped more of his brew,

  ‘Now you’re starting to think, Ben.’

  Ben Tyler rose to his feet and strolled around the flames thinking long and hard about the suggestion. Even merely contemplating trying to ambush someone like Iron Eyes was more than he cared for. Yet it was compelling and he knew if they were going to be able to execute the plan which had brought them to Rio Vista they had to get the tall bounty hunter out of the way. The only certain way was to kill him. People like Iron Eyes took a lot of killing though, Tyler mused.

  ‘Iron Eyes is darn tricky, Frank.’

  ‘So are we.’ Lewis watched his friend slowly coming around to his way of thinking.

  Tyler downed the rest of his coffee and bent to lift the pot off the fire once more.

  ‘I reckon we fold our hand and ride out to find something safer, partner.’

  ‘You scared?’ Frank Lewis taunted his comrade quietly.

  ‘Yep,’ Tyler replied honestly. ‘I’m damn scared whenever I think of that man, Frank. He ain’t human. He’s a damn ghost or something.’

  ‘Hogwash,’ Lewis laughed.

  ‘I tell you he ain’t a living man like us. He’s some kind of monster. I heard tell how folks have emptied an entire six-shooter into him and he’s still kept coming with them Navy Colts in his hands blasting. You can’t kill Iron Eyes.’

  ‘You know, if we don’t fix him, we’ll have to scrap our plans and that’ll cost us plenty.’ Lewis stared up at his partner as the troubled man moved around the fire. We can’t afford to ride away from this job, Ben. We are strapped.’

  ‘Look at us, Frank. We was supposed to be staying in the hotel tonight but he showed up and we ran. Now we are hiding out here risking our necks with rattlers. The whole plan has gone sour already. We can’t fix it. It’s too damn late to fix it.’

  Lewis stood and moved closer to his companion and rested a hand upon the broad shoulder.

  ‘Think about the prize, Ben.’

  Tyler glanced into the eyes of his partner and swallowed deeply. He knew they could not afford to ride away from this job and try to find something else as profitable before their money ran dry. Tyler felt as if he had suddenly signed his own death warrant by going along with Lewis, but they had come too far to quit now.

  ‘We drygulch the bastard?’

  ‘It’ll be easy.’

  ‘Keep talking. I ain’t convinced, Frank.’ Tyler rubbed the sweat from his face and tried to listen to the words from his partner.

  ‘I’ve been sitting here thinking. Planning. I got it all figured out, Ben.’ Frank Lewis ran a hand around the shoulder of his friend and led him back to the heat of their fire.

  ‘You’ve got it all figured?’

  ‘Every little detail.’

  ‘How we gonna do this without getting our heads blown off?’

  ‘It’ll be easy’ Frank smiled. ‘I’ll take all the risks and all you gotta do is be waiting with your guns. You gotta aim straight and true and then....’

  ‘OK, Frank. Guess you’re right.’

  ‘Want a little rye in that brew, Ben?’ Frank pulled out his silver hip flask from his back pocket.

  ‘Sure. It’ll warm me up a tad, I guess.’ Tyler shrugged as he watched his partner pouring a few fingers of the liquor into his tin mug.

  ‘One night under the stars ain’t gonna hurt us,’ Lewis grinned, as he made his way towards his bedroll leaving the brooding Ben Tyler to fret as he sipped the now flavored Java. ‘I figure it’s almost daybreak anyway.’

  Tyler thought to himself, all that stood between them and their goal was a bounty hunter named Iron Eyes.

  Chapter Nine

  Sheriff Bass walked along the boardwalk towards the hotel as the morning sunshine burned into the back of his well-worn vest. He had been awoken, stiff and angry, in his office chair twenty minutes earlier when the town’s roosters began greeting the rising sun. It was a new day but tarnished with all the same problems as the previous one. Bass had felt as if he were walking on egg shells just trying to keep the oddly quiet Iron Eyes from exploding into his renowned habits. In all the years he had been its sheriff, Bass had never seen anyone killed within the town limits of Rio Vista. He intended keeping it that way.

  As he entered the strangely quiet hotel, the aroma of cooking breakfasts filled his nostrils and led him into the large square dining area.

  The hotel clerk looked up nervously as the lawman paused for a moment to study the two very different souls seated within the cool room. If ever there were total opposites, it was these two. Near the window, a small, attractive female ate her breakfast delicately, watching the scenery through the lace curtains apparently oblivious to her fellow guest. In a corner with his spine pushed up against a wall, the drawn-featured Iron Eyes ate like a man who knew he might not get another chance for quite a while. Iron Eyes looked up through the hair which shielded his face from onlookers at the sheriff who walked directly towards him through the half-dozen empty tables.

  Bass pulled out a chair and sat down beside the gaunt man who continued eating his meal hurriedly.

  ‘You find the posters you were looking for?’ Bass growled stiffly.

  ‘Yep. I found them,’ Iron Eyes responded, tearing a chunk of fresh bread off the long loaf and running it around the centre of his plate.

  ‘So, they are wanted, just like you figured?’ Bass rubbed his whiskers as he pondered the thought of this deadly man running amok in his peaceful town. It was a thought which terrified the old sheriff. He had heard tell of how this eerie man would leave a trail of bodies in his wake when he had the scent of his prey in his nostrils and the shape of the outlaw in his sights. Nothing stopped Iron Eyes; no living man had ever managed to do so.

  ‘Dead or alive, Bass, just the way I like them.’ Iron Eyes smiled as he chewed the moist bread.

  Bass reached across the round table and rested a hand on Iron Eyes’ arm.

  ‘You don’t have to go hunting them in my town, do you?’

  ‘Nope.’ The simple reply came fast from the thin lips as Iron Eyes watched the neatly dressed female enjoying her meal across the room.

  ‘I’d be grateful if you don’t start nothing in Rio Vista, Iron Eyes.’ The tone in which this was said warranted respect.

  The bounty hunter swallowed his food and reached for his cup where a strong black brew of coffee waited. Lifting it to his lips he sipped at it, studying the older man.

  ‘I ain’t promising nothing.’

  Bass nodded.

  ‘I understand that, son.’

  ‘Good.’ Iron Eyes snapped his fingers at the waitress who was hiding behind a partition watching with fear written across her young face. The girl moved to the table and stood, with a notebook in her hands, waiting silently.

  ‘Bring my friend a big breakfast and another cup so he can help me drink this coffee,’ Iron Eyes commanded.

  The girl said nothing. Her feet took her into the kitchen faster than the blink of an eye.

  ‘Seriously, are you intending to do anything about these two outlaws, Iron Eyes?’ Sheriff Bass removed his hat and placed it upon the chair next to him before resting his elbows on the table.

  Iron Eyes stared at the female opposite his table. She was bathed in sunlight and seemed so different from the women he usually encountered.

  ‘I ain’t figuring on killing anyone ever again, Bass.’

  The words shocked the lawman.

  ‘Did I hear right?’

  Iron Eyes glanced at the man briefly before looking back at the far more pleasing sight near the window.

  ‘I’ve got me a fortune in golden eagles and silver dollars up in my room, Bass. Why the hell would I wanna go risking my neck for a few dollars’ reward money?’

  Bass took the cup and saucer from the girl who rushed away as quickly as she had appeared. Placing it down before him, he poured coffee and added
three spoonfuls of sugar.

  ‘You mean it, don’t you?’

  ‘Yep,’ Iron Eyes nodded, as he leaned back in his chair and sipped his drink slowly.

  The money in your saddlebags is enough for you to quit being a bounty hunter?’ The sheriff stirred a spoon around his cup slowly.

  Iron Eyes grunted. ‘Stop fretting, Bass. I’m too damn rich to be tempted by anyone or anything. My interest in those two outlaws is just professional, I guess. I like to know who might get nervous when I’m around.’

  Bass was about to speak when he saw his breakfast being carried towards him by the frightened girl. He thanked her and watched as she scurried away before looking directly at the younger man.

  ‘I’m surprised by your attitude but grateful.’

  Iron Eyes leaned forward watching the attractive woman dabbing her lips on a napkin before rising from her table and walking out of the dining-room. At no time did she cast a look in his direction. It was as if he did not exist in her world where only creatures of beauty and perfection lived. It was a world where there was no place for Iron Eyes, however much money he had.

  ‘You okay, Iron Eyes?’ Bass asked, slicing off his ham and dipping it into his fried eggs.

  There was a long silence before the thin pitifully scarred man sighed.

  ‘Yep. I was just thinking.’ His long, thin fingers produced a cigar and a match from one of his pockets.

  ‘About her?’ Bass said pointing over his shoulder with his fork.

  ‘Not just her. I was thinking about all the folks I’ve met like her, Bass. Folks who just seem to be different to the likes of us.’ Iron Eyes struck his match and put its flame to the end of his cigar and puffed angrily.

  Bass took a mouthful of his sweet coffee.

  ‘You got a lot of money, son. You can go East, or maybe even West to San Francisco and set yourself up. Money can open a lot o’ doors for folks like us.’

  Iron Eyes stared hard into the face of the sheriff and smiled the smile of a man who knew his sort would never have enough money to fit into such places. No amount of fancy clothes, or any number of large mansions would change what he was in the eyes of people like that woman. People of a certain kind can never change what they truly are.