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

by Rory Black

  There was no doubting he ruled this miniature army and there were no pretenders to his throne.

  As Luis led the riders towards the small unnamed village he knew would satisfy even the most disgruntled of his followers, Manillo sat atop his prized black stallion proudly.

  In his own ruthless mind, he was no mere bandit as others were bandits. He was Manillo. He was the best. He was unique. In his own world he was indeed the monarch.

  As the riders got within a half-mile of the small settlement, Manillo began to sense something was out of place and drew in his reins until his mount stopped. The sixteen riders behind him halted their horses while their leader sat glinting in the sunlight.

  ‘What is wrong, Manillo?’ one of the men asked, rubbing his nose along his sleeve.

  Manillo looked in disgust at his follower.

  ‘The village is very quiet, you filthy swine.’

  ‘It is very early, Manillo,’ another of the disheveled riders said, as the horses stood amid the swirling dust which rose from their hooves.

  ‘For us it is early, you fool. But for farmers?’ Manillo snapped his fingers and one of his men produced a golden cigar box and offered it to the immaculate man. Manillo withdrew a long fine cigar and sniffed it before biting off the end and placing it into his mouth between the golden teeth.

  ‘You think they should be awake by now?’ the rider asked as he struck a match and guarded the flame for his leader to suck into the long Havana.

  ‘They should be in the fields doing whatever farmers do in the fields, you idiot.’ Manillo blew the smoke over his head and chewed upon the end of the cigar thoughtfully.

  ‘You are right,’ another of the riders agreed.

  ‘Thank you, Pedro.’ Manillo rolled his eyes as he watched the village carefully trying to see any sign of life.

  ‘Maybe we hurt them so badly last time we visited, they have all died?’ a voice piped up from the rear of the riders.

  Manillo turned and stared at the hapless rider.

  ‘Shut up, fool.’

  The riders all began to draw level with the man whose clothing and saddle gear gleamed brightly in the blazing sun.

  ‘I have a bad feeling about this, my soiled ones,’ Manillo said as he savored his smoke and glared across at the village. ‘I have not felt this feeling in my stomach for many a long time. I see this as a problem.’

  The bandit named Pedro leaned over towards Manillo.

  ‘We could go somewhere else, I think.’

  ‘Silence, fool.’ Manillo considered his options. His canteen was empty and so were those of his followers. He knew the village offered fresh well water and a plentiful supply of food. Yet if his suspicions were correct, riding into the village would be costly. Even to a mind as calculating as that of Manillo’s, it seemed inconceivable a mere handful of farmers could have either the wits or the courage to attempt anything remotely courageous, but he had not lived so long without being shrewd.

  ‘What shall we do, Manillo? Sit here all morning in the blazing sun until we end up mere raisins?’ the bandit with the golden cigar box asked bluntly.

  Manillo smiled through the smoke.

  ‘Of course not, my brave one.’

  The rider suddenly regretted opening up his mouth.

  ‘I did not mean to sound critical, Manillo....’

  ‘No matter. I have decided what the best course of action is to resolve my silly worries,’ Manillo grinned, as ferocious sun bouncing off his golden teeth.

  ‘What have you decided, Manillo?’ the rider asked fearfully.

  ‘You are brave and bold and can never be called a coward in my presence, my loud one. I have decided to allow you to ride into the village alone to see if anything is wrong.’ The bandit leader cast a look at his other men who were now utterly silent.

  ‘I am to ride in alone?’

  ‘Si, my bravest and most loyal one.’ Manillo could not resist turning the screw on the mental torture he was inflicting. ‘I think you are not like the rest of my men. You alone should not be forced to turn into a raisin. You alone should be granted the honor of riding down into the village and seeing if all is well so we can follow you.’

  ‘But if all is not well, Manillo?’

  The smiling bandit leader patted his hand upon the frightened man’s shoulder.

  ‘I shall mourn for your immortal soul, my gallant one.’

  The rider gritted what was left of his brown teeth and gathered up the reins in his sweating palms as he jabbed spurs into the sides of his horse. The creature moved forward cautiously as if aware of its master’s trepidation.

  Manillo sat smiling in his saddle as he chewed upon his Havana cigar.

  ‘Do not fear. We are here behind you.’ The bandit looked over his shoulder while he steered his horse slowly through the fields of crops. He knew whatever was ahead of him could not be worse than what was behind him. He had witnessed Manillo’s vengeance on his own men when his orders were disobeyed

  What he did not know was that with every stride of his horse’s hooves, he drew closer to Iron Eyes.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Iron Eyes was not the sort of creature to hide from anyone or anything, but on this bright sunny morning as he waited beside one of the small adobes, he chose to keep his presence a secret. Each of the village farmers hid as he had instructed them to do and was armed with the spare handguns he had brought with him from the town of Rio Vista. On his right, the anxious figure of Pablo awaited instructions as sweat soaked his clothing.

  ‘Just don’t shoot me with that hogleg, old man,’ Iron Eyes whispered as he studied the approaching rider with all the intensity any hunter applied to its prey.

  ‘I am scared, senor,’ the frail old man admitted as he leaned his back against the white wall.

  ‘I’m a tad angry myself,’ the bounty hunter said sucking on the cigar which had long ceased to burn.

  ‘Angry?’ Pablo scratched the top of his balding head as he studied the expressionless face above his own.

  ‘Old Manillo is one smart cookie. He’s sending in one of his men to check out if it’s safe.’ Iron Eyes pulled out one of his primed Navy Colts and rested its long blue barrel against his temple.

  ‘What will we do, senor?’ Pablo asked, fearing the tall man’s well-thought-out plan might come to nothing by Manillo’s shrewdness.

  ‘I’ve gotta do some fast thinking. If I shoot him off his horse, we’ll see them bandits hightail it out of here before I can finish them off Iron Eyes knelt down and studied the ends of the ropes he had placed around the small settlement, which he had instructed Pablo to get the younger farmers to pull when he signaled them.

  Iron Eyes knew he had to think fast if he was going to lure Manillo into the village. Only then could he free these people from the terror and horror the bandits were inflicting.

  ‘The bandits can see almost everything from where they are waiting, Iron Eyes,’ Pablo pointed out.

  The bounty hunter rubbed the dust off the dynamite fuses at his feet and mumbled to himself angrily as he slid the long-barreled Navy Colt back into his belt. Then he suddenly relaxed and gazed at Pablo.

  ‘I’ve got it!’ Iron Eyes exclaimed excitedly.

  ‘What, senor?’ Pablo asked quietly as the bounty hunter stood upright spitting out the spent cigar from his dry cracked lips.

  Iron Eyes turned and looked across at the other secreted farmers huddling in terror behind various houses before staring down into the face of the old man with an intensity he had thought he no longer possessed.

  ‘We gotta do this right. If it goes wrong, we ain’t gonna get a second bite at the cherry.’

  ‘You are making me very nervous, Iron Eyes,’ Pablo gulped.

  ‘It’s good to be nervous, old man. It’ll keep you sharp and ready for whatever Manillo throws at us.’

  The elderly farmer tried to appear unconcerned, but his eyes kept glancing at the approaching rider.

  Leaning down over the small farm
er, Iron Eyes began explaining what he was going to attempt and what he required Pablo to do in order for his plan to work. It was a simple idea. If it were executed with split-second timing it might even work, Iron Eyes thought. It was the sixteen riders who waited and watched four hundred yards away which troubled him though. If he mistimed his plan, would they scatter, or would they attack?

  Manillo was no mere bandit or outlaw. He was a proud, vain, ruthless leader of men who might not be willing to turn tail at the first hint of trouble, but be willing to fight to the death just to maintain his pride.

  Iron Eyes found himself concerned about the safety of those who trusted his judgment.

  Pablo cautiously moved away from the side of the tall hunter and carefully stood behind the adobe as the rider cantered up into the heart of the small village. The bandit paused beside the well and reached down to the water bucket placed upon the wall and lifted the ladle to his cracked lips.

  As he drank, his eyes flashed around the houses watching for any sign of life.

  Behind the nearest house, Iron Eyes slid out of his heavy coat and pulled the long lethal knife from out of his boot then pressed himself against the wall. Suddenly, there was death in his face once more, etched into every scar on its terrifying surface.

  Watching for a signal, Pablo felt his heart pounding inside his thin shirt as he stood trembling where he had been told to stand. Vulnerable out in the open, the old farmer began praying silently.

  Placing the blade of his knife into his teeth and biting on to its cold steel, the bounty hunter nodded to the old man. Pablo stepped slightly to his right and deliberately caught the eye of the mounted bandit. Pretending to run away, Pablo moved to Iron Eyes’ side.

  Dropping the ladle back into the bucket, the bandit spurred his horse into following the old man. As the horse came around the corner of the house, Iron Eyes leapt up behind the saddle and grabbed the man’s head with one hand, sliding the knife blade across his throat quickly with the other. There was a sound like escaping air from the rider as he sagged in Iron Eyes’ arms. It was all over in a few seconds. Iron Eyes reached below the limp rider’s arms and pulled the reins up so the horse would stop.

  Grabbing the man’s sombrero, the bounty hunter placed it upon his own head before pushing the lifeless body to the ground.

  Wrestling with the petrified horse, Iron Eyes managed to gain control of it before riding out from behind the white adobe and allowing Manillo and his men to observe him from their distant vantage point.

  Iron Eyes stared from under the wide brim of the stinking sombrero at the group of bandits. For a moment he wondered if he had managed to fool them. He did not have to worry for long though as within a few seconds of his dismounting, he noticed the dust rising from the bandits’ horses’ hooves as they began to head toward the village.

  It had worked, he sighed.

  Tying the reins of the horse to a porch pole, the bounty hunter walked slowly away from the front of the buildings and back to the shaking figure of Pablo within the shadows.

  ‘They are coming?’

  ‘Yep. Manillo is heading on in, old man,’ Iron Eyes answered as he tossed the large hat away. ‘Now I’m counting on you to keep these boys steady’

  ‘You can count on me, Iron Eyes.’

  The bounty hunter nodded. He knew the frail old-timer had what it took. He just hoped the younger farmers were cut from the same cloth.

  It was like witnessing the approach of a golden mirage as the sunlight danced off the confident bandit. Manillo had no reason to doubt the sight before him as he led the fifteen riders across the green crops towards the carefully laid trap. Iron Eyes had encouraged Pablo and the five remaining village men to walk around the middle of their small village as the ruthless riders approached. Each of the terrified farmers held onto the guns supplied by the bounty hunter waiting for him to signal them to take cover.

  They had placed their faith in God, but their lives were in the hands of Iron Eyes as they watched the horses thunder in towards them.

  Walking from behind his place of cover, Iron Eyes yelled out at the terrified farmers as the riders rode within two hundred yards of them.

  ‘Take cover, men!’ he screamed.

  None of the half-dozen souls required telling a second time and they fled to the relative safety of the adobes. The grim-faced bounty hunter stood defiantly, watching the approaching bandits silently.

  It was the keen-sighted Manillo who was first to spot the tall, thin figure hovering before a small house holding both his pistols at his sides. Dragging at his reins the vain bandit forced his large stallion to a halt with every muscle in his strong arms. Unable to work out why their leader had stopped so suddenly, his men rode into him sending half crashing into the fields.

  Manillo stood in his stirrups and tried to work out who the creature with the long black hair swaying in the gentle breeze could be. He knew for certain it was not the bandit he had sent into the village a few minutes earlier.

  ‘I think it is an Indian, Manillo,’ the feebleminded Pedro said from behind his leader.

  ‘He is no Indian, fool!’ Manillo yelled as his magnificent black stallion reared up and kicked out at the very air itself with its polished hooves.

  The grounded bandits tried desperately to catch and remount their horses as the wide-eyed Manillo glared across at the figure who sucked on a thin cigar.

  ‘What is wrong, Manillo?’ one of the other bandits, still in his saddle, asked as the horses reared up all around them, causing even more panic.

  Who is that?’ Manillo shouted out above the sounds of the mayhem which encircled his stallion.

  There was no reply from any of them. Manillo rode through his men who were still attempting to catch hold of their loose reins and regain control of their animals. As he cleared the last of them, Manillo’s eyes focused upon Iron Eyes.

  As his jaw dropped, the massive Havana cigar fell from his mouth of golden teeth into the soil.

  For the first time in his life, Manillo knew what it was like to feel fear coursing through his veins. At first he did not know why he was afraid, but he was.

  It was as if he had seen a monstrous vision created in the bowels of Hell.

  Somewhere within the depths of his memory, Manillo recalled the description of the man who stood clutching his Navy Colts at his sides. It was long ago, but the name came quickly to his lips as he stared in disbelief from his saddle.

  ‘Iron Eyes!’ Manillo said, as he remembered the name of the most feared of all bounty hunters.

  As his words echoed in the ears of his men, the true horror of their situation filled their heartless souls.

  Iron Eyes turned to Pablo and nodded. The old man called out to the other farmers who immediately began hauling at the array of ropes which the bounty hunter had laid.

  Without any warning, the saddle ropes seemed to leap up into the air from below the green crops and vibrate around the stunned bandits. It was as if they had been caught inside a massive spider’s web. They had. Unluckily for them, it was Iron Eyes who was the spider.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The bounty hunter fired the two Navy Colts in quick succession as if in reply to the lead which came seeking his life. Iron Eyes walked calmly across the face of the adobe as bullets rained down on him. Pulling his triggers with an almost mechanical precision and felling every bandit who came close enough to find his range, the lethal marksman moved like a puma. The wall of the house behind his narrow frame began to be ripped apart as the trapped bandits frantically tried to shoot their way to safety.

  Without even ducking, the tall bounty hunter strode to the corner of the house and knelt down whilst still firing with his left hand at the men who were desperately shooting at him. Resting his right-hand Navy Colt on the ground, Iron Eyes took the cigar from his mouth and blew at its glowing tip. Then he pressed it to each of the long fuse wires in turn and watched as they began to hiss and begin their journey.

  As the bu
llets tore away the corner of the white adobe, Iron Eyes retrieved his pistol from the ground and slipped into the safety of the shadows. Quickly expelling the spent shells, the bounty hunter picked his long coat up off the ground, pulled out a handful of bullets and slid them into the empty chambers of his Navy Colts. The wall was quickly being torn away as he stared at the farmers still holding onto the saddle ropes.

  ‘Keep pulling on them, amigos.’ Iron Eyes grinned, as if he were beginning to enjoy the deadly confrontation.

  Running around the back of the small house, the bounty hunter raced out toward the well, just as one of the bandits managed to jump his horse over the twisting entangled ropes. The rider rode with his reins in his mouth as he drew both his Colt Peacemakers and shot down at the longhaired Iron Eyes.

  As bullets tore through his flapping coat tails, Iron Eyes raised himself up and blasted two deadly shots into the skull of his attacker. He did not wait to see the body fall, but turned and ran for the cover of a low wall.

  Pausing only briefly to focus on the burning fuse wires as they smoked past him, Iron Eyes heard the snorting nostrils of another of the bandits’ mounts as it bore down on him.

  Spinning around quickly, Iron Eyes squeezed each of his triggers again and felt the blood splattering down over him as his deadly accuracy once more found its mark. A body crashed down beside him as, once again, he pulled back his gun hammers with his thumbs.

  Throwing himself across the yard, through the hail of bullets, Iron Eyes rolled over until he found himself lying directly opposite the remaining bandits. At their centre, the arrogant Manillo was now cocking his Winchester and shooting at anything and everything he could still see through the cloud of thick gunsmoke.

  Once more, Iron Eyes glanced over at the burning fuse wires as they separated and started to take their individual pathways to the hidden explosives.

  Iron Eyes began counting as he trained his pistols on the roped-in vermin. It had only been a matter of minutes since he had lit the fuses but Iron Eyes knew the first of his surprises would soon erupt into all its lethal glory.