by Rory Black
‘We found two empty bank bags in Kelly’s office but only a few coins,’ the marshal added, then looked across at the hotel manager again. This time with knowing eyes.
‘C’mon!’ Iron Eyes nodded. He stepped down into the street and began to walk towards the stagecoach and the man who had intended being its passenger.
Bale and Joshua trailed the tall bounty hunter to the tailgate of the stagecoach as its driver vainly tried to lift Carter’s hefty bag and stow it at the back of the vehicle. Iron Eyes raised a hand and silently stopped the driver.
‘Leave the bag, driver.’
The driver obeyed and backed away.
Rufe Carter stepped to the edge of the boardwalk. ‘What’s the meaning of this?’
The lawmen paused on either side of the bounty hunter.
‘Who is this, Marshal?’ Carter asked, looking at the tall man clad in Cyril Perkins’s best funeral clothing.
‘This is Iron Eyes, Rufe,’ Bale replied looking at the swollen bag before returning his attention to the small, neatly attired man. ‘You going someplace?’
Carter nodded. ‘To my sister for a little vacation.’
‘This your bag?’ Iron Eyes asked in a hushed tone.
‘It is.’ Carter looked afraid.
‘Mighty heavy by the looks of it,’ Joshua noted. ‘What you got in there?’
Carter knew the game was up. He sat down on the edge of the boardwalk, cradled his head in his hands and then began to sob like a child. ‘I knew I’d never get away with it. But I had to try. Damn it all, I had to try!’
Iron Eyes reached down to his boot and pulled out the long-bladed Bowie knife. The morning sun danced along its lethal length as the hotel manager briefly looked up. Carter screamed. The men watched as the hotel manager fell back in a faint.
‘Kinda emotional, ain’t he?’
The deputy shrugged. ‘Anybody would think that he thought Iron Eyes was gonna stab him or something!’
The bounty hunter sliced through the leather straps on the top of the bag and revealed the glittering fortune in golden coins inside it. He picked up one of the coins and bit it. He smiled, then slid the coin into his pocket. ‘You can have the rest of them.’
‘There might be a reward for finding this money, Iron Eyes,’ the marshal said. ‘Could be a tidy sum!’
‘I’ve got more than enough bounty coming.’ The bounty hunter sighed and rubbed his throat. ‘Damn, I’m thirsty.’
‘How’d old Rufe get his hands on all this money, Monte?’ the deputy asked as he stooped over and gazed into the bag.
‘Maybe Rufe stole it when Brewster left it in his hotel room,’ the marshal suggested. ‘He has a master key which’ll open every damn door in the hotel. Maybe the temptation was just too great for a man who never had nothing better than a nagging wife.’
‘Well, glory be!’ Joshua grinned. ‘Who’d have thought Rufe was that smart? You gotta hand it to him. They do say it’s always the quiet ones you have to watch out for. Cunning little devil, ain’t he?’
Iron Eyes dropped the knife back into the neck of his boot, turned and began to walk away.
Bale raised a hand to his mouth and called out, ‘Where you going, Iron Eyes? You ain’t bin paid the reward money yet and the bank won’t be open for another hour.’
The bounty hunter paused for a moment. Then, without looking back or answering, continued on walking towards the nearest of the street’s many saloons. It was also where he had earlier tethered his magnificent palomino stallion. The marshal and his deputy watched as the man dressed in the secondhand funeral clothes entered the Silver Bell.
‘You know something? Iron Eyes still makes me a tad nervous, Monte,’ Joshua admitted.
Bale clipped the back of Joshua’s head.
‘Ouch! What was that for, Monte?’
‘I’ll think of something,’ Bale replied.
About the Author
“My real name is Michael D. George. I write westerns. In my time I’ve done a lot of things. I’ve been a barber, a freelance commercial artist, a portrait painter, a grave stone designer (a dying trade), an animator and author. I did spend a few years in the Merchant Navy and was lucky to have traveled around the world four times before I was 23. I spent a lot of time in America during those days and cruised for two summers between California and Alaska. Now it is forty years later and these days I spend most of my time writing novels under my own name and no less than seven pseudonyms. I’ve been lucky to number a few of my old cowboy heroes as friends, and my walls are covered in the photographs of several of my cowboy hero pals. I’ve written a lot of books and I hope you enjoy this one, because there are plenty more to follow! As one of those friends, the late, legendary Monte Hale used to tell me, ‘Shoot low—they might be crawling!’
Always your pal, Michael D. George.”
The Iron Eyes Series
By Rory Black
Iron Eyes
Iron Eyes the Avenger
The Spurs of Iron Eyes
The Fury of Iron Eyes
The Wrath of Iron Eyes
The Curse of Iron Eyes
The Spirit of Iron Eyes
The Ghost of Iron Eyes
Iron Eyes Must Die
The Revenge of Iron Eyes
Iron Eyes Makes War
Iron Eyes Is Dead
… and more to come!