by Rory Black
‘The Devil protects his own, Jose,’ Iron Eyes grunted.
‘You look all fired up, boy,’ Bass said coldly, as he witnessed the hunter suddenly coming to life as he sensed there was a bloody job ahead of him.
‘I figure we ought to reach the village shortly after sunset, Pablo. Is that right?’ Iron Eyes turned his horse and moved along the pack animals studying the large bundles strapped across their spines.
‘Si, Iron Eyes. It will be dark when we reach the valley of my village,’ the old man replied.
‘Good. I don’t cotton to riding across that damn valley in daylight.’ Iron Eyes spat at the ground as he leaned from his saddle and checked the last mule.
‘What are you looking for, my son?’ Father Jose asked innocently.
The bounty hunter straightened up and looked directly at the sheriff.
‘Which one of these damn mules is carrying the explosives, Bass?’
‘The one with the white star on his nose.’ Bass pointed at the largest of the mules.
‘That’s fine. He looked a peaceable sort.’
The priest moved to the sheriff.
‘Explosives?’
Bass shrugged. ‘Yep. There’s gonna be one mighty big fireworks display, Father.’
‘Reckon sometimes you have to make a real loud noise if’n you want folks to take you seriously, Jose,’ Iron Eyes smiled as smoke drifted from his mouth.
‘You’ve got enough dynamite and black powder there to wake the Devil himself, Iron Eyes,’ Sheriff Bass sighed nervously, as he studied the emotionless figure riding his horse back to the small group of animals.
‘As long as I send him a few new guests to stoke up them eternal fires, old man.’ The smile was as hollow as the cold steel-colored eyes.
There was a ringing sound as the bounty hunter jabbed his spurs into his horse’s flesh and steered it forward, holding onto the long running ropes leading the mules.
‘Come on, Pablo. I ain’t gonna find your damn village unless you show me where it is,’ Iron Eyes called over his shoulder to the old man who drew his mount level and they headed towards the wide river below Rio Vista.
The priest watched the two men leading the four pack animals down the dusty trail until they reached the glistening, flowing waters before turning to the sheriff.
Iron Eyes is a good man, don’t you think?’
Bass rubbed his neck.
‘I still ain’t got him figured out yet, Father. Some men are easy to read like a dime novel, but not Iron Eyes. He’s a man with a lotta pages missing from his book.’
‘The pages are there, my son. It might be we have not yet managed to translate them.’
‘He sure is a strange critter,’ Bass sighed heavily.
‘What was on the other two mules, Sheriff?’ Father Jose asked quietly.
‘Mostly food and canned milk for the folks and children of that village, I guess,’ Bass responded, as he thought about the eerily strange bounty hunter who never seemed to do anything which made any sense to straight-thinking men.
Father Jose crossed himself as he watched the two riders crossing the shallow river below their vantage point.
‘Now only God can protect him.’
‘I got me a feeling Iron Eyes don’t need anyone’s help.’
‘Even so, I shall pray for him,’ the priest announced.
Bass walked away from the chapel towards his office and wondered why Iron Eyes was risking his neck. It made no sense to the lawman, but the more he thought about it, the more it seemed as if a man could not alter his destiny.
Even a man like Iron Eyes.
Chapter Thirteen
There was a haunting silence ahead of Iron Eyes and Pablo as they steered their mounts down into the seemingly endless fields of ripe crops. It had been dark for several hours when the two riders crossed the fertile valley towards the small group of whitewashed adobes at its centre. The moonlight seemed to pick out each and every one of the structures like jewels in a far off crown. Iron Eyes had now taken the lead and given the tethers of the four pack animals to the frail Pablo whilst he concentrated on the vast panorama around them.
If trouble was lurking out there amid the thousands of shadows, Iron Eyes would sense it long before it raised its ugly head. His sharp vision searched the unfamiliar landscape with an accuracy far beyond any ordinary human’s ability.
As the hooves of their tired mounts drew closer to their goal the nostrils of the long-haired figure began to catch a hint of something on the night air.
Iron Eyes could smell the aroma of burning kindling beneath a skillet of bacon fat somewhere off in the distance. Jabbing in his spurs, Iron Eyes forced the horse on through the endless pasture. Instinctively he knew the smell did not originate in the village ahead, but came from further south near a mesa bathed in the blanket of night.
Pablo drew his mount level with Iron Eyes as gradually they quickened their pace.
‘You see anything, senor?'
‘Nope, but my nose can smell something, Pablo,’ Iron Eyes replied.
‘Maybe the evil ones are in my village?’ The old voice ached as it spoke. He was tired and had gone far beyond his own endurance, but still he refused to quit.
The suggestion was greeted with another grunting response.
‘If the bandits were holed up in your village they would be making some sorta noise. There ain’t no noise. They are off to the south burning their supper, Pablo.’
‘I too can smell something, Iron Eyes,’ Pablo said as he sniffed the air.
‘Burning grub has a familiar scent to it, huh, amigo?’
‘When you are old and long since buried your wife, all your meals smell like that,’ Pablo admitted. ‘Is it not so, Iron Eyes?’
‘Yep.’ Iron Eyes spat at the ground, yearning for a cigar to take the taste of the trail out of his dry mouth. This was not a place to go striking matches though. A single match flame could be seen and used to bring a rider down off his horse by an expert with a long rifle. So the grim rider just spat.
The old man was weary, but, like his younger companion, unable to do anything but resist his fatigue and continue ever closer to the small gathering of whitewashed buildings ahead of them. They had been riding for hours and had not taken a single break. The horses were lathered up and in need of water, but Iron Eyes cared little for his animals. He had the same attitude to horseflesh as the Apache he often encountered. To him, horses were his slaves, something he used until they dropped and then he would simply find a replacement. Unlike the Apache though, he had never chosen to eat any of his fallen mounts.
‘What is your plan, Iron Eyes?’ Pablo asked the tall quiet man who watched everything with the alertness of an eagle.
‘To kill all the bandits and not get wounded,’ Iron Eyes gruffed, as he jabbed his spurs into his horse once again.
‘Is that it?’ The elderly Mexican could hardly believe his ears at the words which met him.
‘Yep.’ Iron Eyes pulled his reins to his chest as his acute hearing caught something on the cool breeze, something which alarmed him.
‘What is wrong, senor?’ Pablo asked as he stopped his horse alongside his companion’s mount.
Iron Eyes stood in his stirrups and listened.
‘Quiet, old man.’
Pablo sat motionless holding onto his reins and the tethers to their pack mules. Every pore of his body ached as he watched the keen instincts of the bounty hunter searching the very air itself for clues. For a moment, as he studied the features of his travelling companion, he felt frightened. There was a look in the thin face which he had never seen in another living man. It was the look of death.
‘I figure the bandits must be camped about south of here, Pablo.’ Iron Eyes pointed with a long finger across the flat crop-filled plains in the direction of the small mesa. At first he had only suspected they were holed up there but now every fiber of his being knew it was a fact.
‘Are you sure?’ There was a look of uneas
e etched upon the face of the old Mexican as he tried in vain to sense what the strange bounty hunter instinctively knew.
‘I’m dead sure,’ Iron Eyes held onto his gun grips as he watched the moonlit horizon. ‘I can smell the bastards, Pablo. Come on,’ Iron Eyes snarled, sinking his vicious spurs into the flesh of his horse and charging off towards the small village. Even in the light of the moon, the figure made a terrifying image as his long hair and coat tails flapped about at the back of the galloping horse.
The old man led the mules steadily after his enraged companion watching the dust which led into the heart of the small group of white houses. When Pablo reached his village, the brooding Iron Eyes was sitting on the low wall of the communal well, drinking from a ladle.
Dismounting slowly, Pablo felt as if every bone in his ancient body had been dislodged.
‘May I have some water, senor?’
Iron Eyes handed over the ladle and stood to stare out across the blue and black scenery which was bathed in moonlight. He seemed uneasy for the first time since they had set out from Rio Vista. He appeared troubled by something the old man could not understand.
‘What is it, Iron Eyes?’ Pablo asked, as he swallowed the sweet water.
‘I never figured it would be so flat around here, Pablo.’ Iron Eyes spat at the ground and pulled out a cigar and bit off its end.
The valley is very flat. Why does this trouble you?’ Pablo poured some water over the crown of his head and relished the coolness it delivered to his overheated neck.
‘I figured there would be more trees.’ Iron Eyes paced as he soaked up the lay of the land around them.
‘I am not sure what you mean.’ Pablo tried to understand but he was no killer like his tall lethal friend. His was a life of innocence and hard work.
Iron Eyes struck a match and dragged in the smoke hard, as he thought.
‘This place will take a lotta protecting without trees,’ Iron Eyes said through gritted teeth.
‘But at least we can see them coming from many miles off, Iron Eyes.’ Pablo waved his hand around at the area before them.
‘You’re dead right, Pablo.’ Iron Eyes sucked in his smoke and held it as he nodded. ‘Them bandits ain’t gonna be crawling when they ride back here. They are gonna be kicking up dust and I like dust.’
‘You like dust?’
‘Yep. Gives me something to aim at.’
‘Will we be able to protect ourselves now you are here?’
‘I have to plan to make sure I nail these bandits fast, Pablo.’ Iron Eyes walked back to the elderly man and stared hard into his face. If I get it wrong, even I ain’t sure if I can stop them.’
‘You can stop them,’ the old voice encouraged.
‘Maybe.’ Iron Eyes inhaled again and allowed the smoke to kill the pain within his thin body which had been there since he had been wounded by the Harper boy. ‘I just had it figured in my head for there to be a lotta trees around here.’
‘Why do you like trees, senor?’
‘Trees are real handy. You can rope them off and lure your prey into a trap they can’t ride out of easily, Pablo.’ Iron Eyes exhaled a long line of smoke which seemed to hang in the still night air.
‘You are very smart, my friend,’ Pablo said, as he felt the younger man’s energy filling his own soul.
‘How come you reckon so?’ The bounty hunter gazed at the old Mexican long and hard with uncharacteristic kindness.
‘Because you are Iron Eyes, senor.’
The thin bounty hunter shrugged, wondering whether he was half as good as this man thought he was. Or maybe he had bitten off more than he could chew this time.
‘Tell me, old man: this gang of bandits must have a leader and he’s gotta have a name. What is it?’
They call him Manillo.’ Pablo shook as he said the name.
‘Manillo.’ Iron Eyes stared at the glowing tip of his cigar and blew off the ash. ‘I heard of him. He’s worth a few bucks if my memory serves me right.’
‘Beware of this bandit, senor. He is evil.’
‘That’ll make us pretty well matched, Pablo.’ Iron Eyes was grinning as he turned to face his comrade.
‘When do we begin to execute your plan, Iron Eyes?’ Pablo seemed to have found his second wind when he spoke.
‘Not on our own, we ain’t. You had better wake up the village people to help us unpack these mules, Pablo. I’ve gotta get all the explosives set before sun up.’ Iron Eyes dragged his feet across the soil. He had made a line which he was determined would not be crossed by any of these wretched bandits ever again.
The old man placed a hand upon the face of the tall man before him and smiled.
‘Remember, senor. You are Iron Eyes.’
‘For what that’s worth, Pablo.’ Iron Eyes forced a narrow smile from the corner of his mouth.
‘It is priceless, my young friend.’
Iron Eyes felt something he had never experienced before as he watched the elderly man of immeasurable spirit walking to the first of the small whitewashed houses.
For the first time in his entire life, Iron Eyes felt as if he had a true value. Not a value like the faces upon the Wanted posters he had hunted all these years, but something far more important.
Iron Eyes felt he might just be worth something to these poor people.
Chapter Fourteen
As the first rays of the morning sun raced across the flat landscape of green crops which encircled the group of white adobes, Iron Eyes sat down and rested his spine against the corner of the wall of the well.
This was a time to reflect upon the hours of preparation and wonder if he had done enough. Iron Eyes had strung saddle ropes around the outlying ground in a strange web which only he knew how to activate. Bean canes were the only indication of where these ropes led to and from. Small barrels filled with black gunpowder were hidden amongst the green crops in strategic places plus dozens of dynamite sticks with various lengths of fuse wire attached lay amid the foliage.
Once stripped of their precious cargo, the bounty hunter had forced the women and children to mount the mules and the two horses and ride away into the distant hills with enough provisions to last them at least three days. Now he had to wait with only a handful of men behind him.
Unlike himself, these men knew nothing of fighting let alone killing. They were farmers and that troubled the narrowed-eyed bounty hunter.
Would they have the desire to fight?
As he sat beside the well, Iron Eyes watched the distant mesa for any signs of dust rising. Behind him he had Pablo and a mere five men. All of them injured by Manilla’s brutality. There were other men but they lay within their homes unable to help.
‘Is it ready, Iron Eyes?’ Pablo asked, as he stared down at the quiet man.
‘Reckon so.’
‘Tell me one thing: why did you allow the women to take all the animals, even your own horse?’ The question was something even the bounty hunter had been asking himself as he rested, trying to fend off exhaustion.
‘We don’t need the animals, do we?’ Iron Eyes looked up at the old man he was growing to admire.
‘But to allow your own horse to be taken away? How will you be able to leave this place when all the fighting has ended?’
‘Maybe I won’t be needing a horse when this is all over, Pablo.’
‘What do you mean, senor?’
‘I ain’t never tried to tag so many gunmen all in one go. I might just get myself killed.’ Iron Eyes pulled yet another cigar from his pocket and wearily bit off its tip. ‘I figure it’ll be touch and go for a while.’
A match was struck and placed to the cigar. Pablo’s wrinkled eyes watched as the bounty hunter sucked in the smoke wearily.
We will be victorious, my friend,’ he said.
Puffing on the acrid smoke slowly, Iron Eyes nodded his appreciation.
‘You are surely a plucky old rooster, Pablo.’
‘We will win this fight.’ There was a conf
idence in Pablo which seemed to be absorbed by the younger man who stared through the haze of blue smoke.
Getting back to his feet, Iron Eyes raised a hand to shield his eyes and stared out at the distant mesa.
‘Damn.’
‘What is wrong?’ Pablo asked.
‘Dust.’ Iron Eyes pointed his thin index finger out at the distant horizon.
‘They come?’
‘Yep. They’re coming.’ Iron Eyes swallowed hard as his icy glare flashed around their crude defenses trying to see if he had managed to get it all right. It was hard to see anything out of place and that suited the tall thin man. If he could not detect his own handiwork, the bandits had no chance of spotting the traps.
For the first time since he had last tracked down and trapped wild animals out in the wilderness, he felt as if he was doing what he did best.
Pablo turned to the five other men of his village and spoke quickly to them in Mexican. The villagers rushed to the side of the figure who stood motionless, watching the rising dust signaling the bandits were heading toward their small settlement.
‘How long before they arrive here, Iron Eyes?’ Pablo asked with a dryness in his voice.
‘Not long,’ came the hollow reply.
Chapter Fifteen
Luis Manillo was everything a leader of men should be: he was brave, greedy, arrogant and ruthless. Over the past few lucrative years each of his front teeth had been replaced by golden replicas and he smiled at his followers at every opportunity to let them see his golden dental work. The bandits had ridden south to San Rialto and robbed a small bank before returning here to a place they knew was safe. This small village had something he knew his men liked, it had victims to use.
Manillo led the troop of sixteen ragged riders like a military general. He looked every inch the part with his lavish golden saddle decorations and clothing. His sombrero was unlike any adorning the heads of his followers. His was black and had golden thread covering it. As he rode through the morning sunshine, he gleamed like a knight from long ago. Manillo was their supreme leader and it showed.