Iron Eyes, no. 1 Read online

  Reissuing classic popular fiction from the 1970s, 80s, 90s and Beyond!

  Iron Eyes was a deadly bounty hunter who never brought his quarry back alive. Riding into a small town, he soon gunned down a wanted outlaw called Dan Hardy, and dragged his body down to the sheriff’s office to collect his blood money. There was just one problem. Only the law in El Paso was authorized to pay the reward.

  Iron Eyes set out for the big city … unaware that Hardy’s younger brothers were already dogging his trail.

  As if that wasn’t enough trouble for a man to handle, Iron Eyes became involved with a mysterious woman and a Mexican rancher along the way, who had a dangerous mission in mind for him.

  Only his deadly skill with a gun would give him any chance of getting his money … and staying alive to spend it.

  IRON EYES

  By Rory Black

  First Published by Robert Hale Limited in 1999

  Copyright © 1999 by Rory Black

  Published by Piccadilly Publishing at Smashwords: November 2012

  Names, characters and incidents in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each reader. If you’re reading the book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Cover image © 2012 by Westworld Designs

  This is a Piccadilly Publishing Book

  Dedicated to Laura and Jack

  Chapter One

  The Red Dog Saloon had seen its fair share of trouble and bloodshed over the years, but nothing like this. This had been a blood-bath, resulting in total destruction.

  The crimson blood was still streaming down the expensively papered walls as the choking gunsmoke began to clear. Death lay all around this place. Screams from the saloon’s dancing girls echoed off the wooden walls as the gaunt, tall man slowly moved across the body-littered floor.

  He held tightly on to his still-smoking Navy Colts as he moved forward amid the carnage. His worn boots stuck to the fresh red liquid as he headed for the swing doors.

  The man had a haunting face that hid beneath long, limp, black hair. He wore a battered, weather-proof coat favoured by long riders and road agents which almost reached his spurs. With each stride the sound of bullets clinking together in his deep pockets filled the room.

  This was no normal man. This was an evil spirit who had yet to die and seek refuge in Hell.

  Stepping over bodies, he studied the scene with an almost disconcerting lack of interest. This was a man who wore no gunbelt like average folks did. His broad pants belt doubled for holsters.

  Pushing his way through the swing doors of the Red Dog, the tall man stuffed both his pistols into his belt and stopped to watch the crowd that was rushing toward him. The sight of this stranger stopped every single man, woman and child in their tracks.

  Even the town sheriff, clutching his trusty Winchester, found himself staggering to a complete halt by the very sight of the man on the boardwalk.

  It was dusk and getting darker with every heartbeat as the tall, evil-looking creature pushed a long, thin cigar between his dry cracked lips. As he struck the match down along the wooden upright and cupped the flame around the tip of his smoke, the true extent of this stranger’s features became apparent to all the watching townspeople.

  This was a cold face. An evil face. The face of a man who survived on rotgut whiskey rather than solid food.

  He had cold eyes of a colour that resembled hammered gun metal in their deadness. The eyes were how everyone knew who it was.

  This was the legendary bounty hunter known simply as ‘Iron Eyes’.

  They all watched as the thin leg forced his boot into his stirrup, and he eased himself off the boardwalk into his waiting saddle. Blowing the thick ash from his cigar, he turned the dark grey horse toward the crowd of people and rode slowly at them. As if instructed by a silent voice, they all parted and allowed him clear passage out of their town.

  The sheriff stared helplessly up at the lifeless face that returned his glare.

  The cold, deep-set pupils burned into the lawman.

  As Iron Eyes spurred his mount, the long black hair beat up and down upon his collar.

  It was like the flapping of a bat’s wings.

  Chapter Two

  Leaving the bodies back in the Red Dog posed no problems for the rider as he headed deeper and deeper into the dark prairie. Why he killed so many innocent people was a question he failed to ask himself

  Someone had made a mistake and he had been taught a lesson. As often happens in small towns, the victim had a friend who also had to be shot.

  Iron Eyes had been drawn on and responded with his usual deadly accuracy. When he had finished killing the fools he had only one bullet left in his Navy Colts.

  The reason why he was in Arizona was simply business. He had plucked a wanted poster off a wall outside a sheriff’s office back in Dodge, and wanted the twenty thousand dollars for bringing in a certain Dan Hardy Dead or alive suited Iron Eyes just fine.

  In fact, it was the real reason he had set out upon this long trek that had lasted over two months. He could almost smell the money and the blood as he rode.

  Iron Eyes used every drop of the full moon to aid his ride through the cold night as he headed toward the next town on the stage route.

  Rio Drago was where Iron Eyes hoped his quest would end. He knew that soon he would be running out of places to go. The tall, arid mountains seemed almost blue as he rode through the silent valley.

  Faster and faster he forced his horse to race. He did not like this part of the world and would not risk camping out unless he could not avoid it.

  This was the land of the whip scorpion and diamond-back rattlers. Iron Eyes spurred his horse on. He would not stop until he had reached the distant township of Rio Drago. There he would rest and wait for his prey.

  As the sun rose and spread its light across the desert that surrounded him, Iron Eyes could see the white-washed sod structures catching the morning rays.

  The dark grey mount was lathered up and steaming with exhaustion as the gaunt man galloped into the town. He pulled up outside the crude livery and dismounted. Taking his long rifle out of its leather sheath and untying his saddle bags he banged his fist on the large door until a small Mexican answered. Thrusting a few coins into the man’s hand he left the horse in his care.

  As he strode along the dusty streets, he watched the sleeping town around him. It was not so much a town as a gathering of white houses. As he headed toward the only word in English he could see he wondered if this was where he would get his man.

  The word ‘HOTEL’ was painted upon the tall, white-washed face of the building. It had almost disappeared after years of bleaching by the cruel sun.

  Entering the cool of the building he stopped and paused for a few seconds to allow his eyes to adjust.

  Then he saw the small, dark-tanned man with the long moustache hanging from his face. The greased hair had a shine about it that was very strange to Iron Eyes' way of thinking.

  ‘Room,’ Iron Eyes said in a tone that was almost demanding.

  The small man nodded and handed over a key. There was no way that this man was about to raise any objections to this evil-looking stranger.

  The steel-cold stare had conveyed its message effectively

  No further words were spoken as the bounty-hunter marched up the stairs.

  The small man rushed from the building as if he had to tell someon
e some very important news.

  It was well after eleven that same morning when the knock upon Iron Eyes' hotel door echoed around the sparse room.

  ‘Come in,’ came the growling snarl.

  The handle turned cautiously, and the middle-aged man stepped into the bright resting-place.

  He was a law officer of sorts, by the tin star upon his vest. His white sombrero perched upon the crown of his head denoted a man who had seldom been required to take any action.

  Iron Eyes sat upon the top of the bed, still fully dressed and looking like a scarecrow from hell.

  Even in Rio Drago they had heard of the man.

  ‘You want something?’ Iron Eyes questioned.

  The smaller man hesitated near the frame of the doorway as if he wished a quick escape route out of this room. His dark eyes hidden under the greying brows studied Iron Eyes who was propped against three pillows. At either side of him, only inches away from his fingers, the Navy Colts waited.

  The lawman cleared his throat and forced the words out of his dry mouth. They were not his words; they were the words of concerned citizens.

  ‘Are you Iron Eyes?’

  ‘Could be.’

  ‘If you are, it would please the town elders if you could get your business done very quickly and ... ’ there was a long pause before the man finished his sentence. ‘ ... leave.’

  Iron Eyes was motionless as he rested his chin on his chest and watched the man through his black eyebrows.

  ‘You seen a critter named Dan Hardy?’

  ‘Eh, yes,’ the man stammered.

  Iron Eyes watched the man as sweat began to stream from the brim of his sombrero, down over his dark face.

  ‘He still around?’

  ‘I can’t say.’

  As fast as anything the lawman had ever seen, the thin hands had grabbed up the two Navy Colts and brought them both up at arm’s length.

  The grey pupils focused down the barrels at their target. The small man felt his knees shake at the suddenness of the action and the realization of what might follow.

  ‘Try’ Iron Eyes snarled.

  ‘He is in the cantina, sir,’ the man blurted.

  As quickly as he had drawn the two weapons, Iron Eyes replaced them beside him upon the quilted bed cover.

  ‘Thank you.’

  The lawman was about to turn to leave when the stranger’s voice tore through him.

  ‘Where you going?’

  ‘I was — ’

  ‘We ain’t finished our confab.’ Iron Eyes slithered down the bed and rose above the man’s shoulder. ‘We gotta continue our talk.’

  The smaller man slowly faced his aggressive companion and forced himself to stare up into the dead eyes that burned down at him.

  ‘What else we gotta discuss, sir?’

  ‘We gotta talk about Hardy.’ Iron Eyes stretched out his thin arm and pushed the door shut. As it clicked tightly the lawman felt a cold shiver run along his spine.

  ‘Hardy?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘Explain.’ The smaller man found himself unable to maintain eye contact with the tall, gaunt figure.

  Iron Eyes paced around the man, and the smell of the trail lingered in his wake. It was the aroma of death.

  ‘If you were to leave now, you might high-tail it over to the cantina and warn Hardy.’

  ‘I guess he already knows of your presence in Rio Drago.’ The man nervously coughed out his words. ‘Everyone knows you are in town.’

  Iron Eyes’ expression changed. It looked like a man who was about to explode in fury as he paced across to his pistols and rammed them into his pants. Then he moved to the chair, plucked up his long dusty coat and pulled it on. The rattling bullets within the pockets sounded like distant spurs.

  ‘Outta my way,’ Iron Eyes roared as he strode at the door. Flinging it open he continued down the hall.

  Nervously the small man with the tin star pinned to his vest edged his way out on to the landing and stared down at the charging figure of Iron Eyes as he marched out of the hotel.

  Chapter Three

  Iron Eyes continued his relentless march up the centre of the deserted street. Dust rose around his feet as he aimed his boots at the cantina.

  Twenty-three steps later he walked through the hanging beaded curtain and stopped.

  The noise of the beads was the only sound within the dark, cool room. A startled bartender was frozen at the sight of the thin killing-machine. Iron Eyes stood like a statue as he absorbed the room. Only his eyes moved as they flashed around the scene before him. One elderly Mexican man sat at a table with a spoon in his hand and a half-eaten bowl of chilli before him.

  The old man had stopped eating when he had seen Iron Eyes. Now only the flies moved around the brown food.

  It seemed like hours but in reality was only a matter of seconds before Iron Eyes heard the noise to his left. The corner was hidden in shadows but the bounty hunter had heard the sound that he had heard many times before. It was the sound of a pistol being pulled from its leather holster.

  Iron Eyes did not hesitate.

  With a movement that defied belief; he had drawn both his long-barrelled Navy Colts from his pants belt and somehow fired into the blackness of the corner. A shot was returned but went wide and was obviously not aimed. This was a bullet leaving the barrel of a gun being held by a man who was falling.

  The noise of the body hitting the floor vibrated around the cantina as Iron Eyes returned his left pistol into his pants. The old Mexican and the bartender watched silently as the tall, thin figure walked over to the dark corner. To both men’s utter shock Iron Eyes fired another bullet into the stricken body before returning the gun into his belt.

  Whether the man who lay on the floor had been only wounded before Iron Eyes finished him off was open to conjecture, all that was certain now was that Dan Hardy was indeed dead.

  Grabbing Hardy’s shirt collar in his bony hand, Iron Eyes dragged the corpse out of the cantina and down the long street.

  His destination was the small sod-built building that had the word ‘SHERIFF’ painted along its frontage.

  The small man with the tin star stood shaking as he watched the figure of Iron Eyes approaching with his trophy. The breeze blew the black, limp hair over the gunman’s face, making it impossible to see his expression.

  Iron Eyes dropped the body of Dan Hardy at the law officer’s feet and returned to his full height.

  ‘You wanna see the wanted poster?’ Iron Eyes growled.

  The sheriff nodded carefully with his shaking, out-held hand.

  After studying it for a few moments, he gulped. ‘What do you want me to do, sir?’

  Iron Eyes looked around the area for telegraph wires. He finally saw them and pointed.

  ‘Wire for my money,’ he advised.

  The sheriff nodded silently as Iron Eyes headed back down the dusty windswept street toward the hotel. Then the small man noticed the blood running freely around his boots from the body with such a surprised expression upon its lifeless face.

  The message that greeted Iron Eyes as he read the wire did not sit easily in his guts.

  He had to ride to a town named El Paso to get his money. The news angered Iron Eyes greatly as he paced around his hotel room, puffing on his long cigar.

  El Paso was across the Rio Grande and in Texas. A long, hard ride, with nothing in-between except Apache.

  The cantina fell silent as the gaunt man sat and ate his meal that evening. The music had stopped when he had entered and would not resume until he left. Iron Eyes chewed his chilli thoughtfully as all around him kept their distance.

  It was almost midnight when he mounted his grey and rode away from Rio Drago. The moon was still big enough to light his way as he galloped through the barren landscape.

  Iron Eyes would continue to ride his mount as fast as the animal could manage. Day after day and night after night. Stopping only to water and feed the beast, Iron Eyes would not rest
until he had the money in his saddle-bags.

  El Paso was a town that he had been lucky in. Iron Eyes remembered the time when he was walking down one of its long, aimless streets, littered with saloons and whorehouses, when he saw a face in the crowd.

  Not just any old face. A face he had seen on a wanted poster. That was all the reason he required to follow the man. It was a long walk before the man stopped to buy himself some comfort from a five-dollar wench, but that was all the time Iron Eyes had required. He called the man’s name, and the guns were drawn and fired blindly

  Smoke filled the scene for several minutes before the bounty-hunter found himself standing over the body of a big, fat, pay-day bounty That day he walked out of the First National Bank with a saddle-bag filled with ten-thousand-dollars-worth of gold.

  Iron Eyes still had the ability to see what others missed. His was the eyesight of a bird of prey.

  As long as there was a bounty on the head, he would do anything to kill that face.

  This had been his life for over a decade since he found making a living out of hunting animals less than profitable. Turning his talents into hunting men did not bother Iron Eyes. In fact, he found killing men far easier than killing animals.

  Men often deserved to be dead and buried.

  Iron Eyes was always willing to oblige.

  As the sun rose on the third day, Iron Eyes had to rein his mount to a premature stop.

  He stood in his stirrups and stared ahead. Dust was rising on a hill ahead of him. For a few minutes, the cold grey eyes gazed at the dust and watched as it moved across his path.

  There was only one sort of person Iron Eyes hated more than white folks.

  ‘Apache,’ he growled.

  Chapter Four

  Without a moment’s hesitation, Iron Eyes drove the spurs deeply into the flesh of his grey The mount leapt across the sagebrush and galloped over the high sierra, with its merciless rider hanging on to the reins.