The Curse of Iron Eyes Read online

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  Iron Eyes is not your usual western hero. "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." This is the legendary bounty hunter known simply as Iron Eyes. Prepare for a high body-count! Iron Eyes, the infamous bounty hunter, had taken on his greatest challenge. He rode into Waco to try to collect the bounty, not on one outlaw, but on an entire gang. The Calhoon owl hoots were ten strong and as mean as they came, but Iron Eyes did not easily frighten.

  THE CURSE OF IRON EYES

  Within minutes of arriving, Iron Eyes had killed them all -except for Harve Calhoon, their leader. He had somehow managed to slip away from his gang.

  Like a man possessed, Iron Eyes set out on Calhoon’s trail. It was a blood-soaked journey and the worst the bounty hunter had ever undertaken. Even for such a man of steel the odds he faced were fearsome indeed. Now death stared him in the face.

  THE CURSE OF IRON EYES

  IRON EYES 6

  By Rory Black

  First published by Robert Hale Limited in 2004

  Copyright © 2004, 2014 by Rory Black

  Published by Piccadilly Publishing at Smashwords: July 2014

  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.

  Cover image © 2014 by Carl Yonder. Visit Carl here

  This is a Piccadilly Publishing Book

  Series Editor: Ben Bridges

  Text © Piccadilly Publishing

  Published by Arrangement with the Author.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Blood ran down off the lush red velvet-covered walls, but was hardly noticeable until it reached the highly polished floorboards. Then it blended into the rest of the horrific pool of quickly drying crimson gore spread evenly between the six dead bodies which were scattered all around the bounty hunter.

  The tall thin emaciated figure moved slowly through the gunsmoke like a phantom seeing a new place to haunt. His eyes darted all around him as he moved determinedly on. There was no time to waste thinking about what he had just done. He had to concentrate on what had yet to be achieved.

  For it was far from over.

  He had only been in this place for a mere three minutes according to the wall clock that continued to tick on the far wall. But in those three short minutes the bounty hunter had already killed all who had tried to stop his progress towards his ultimate goal.

  Killing the leaders of the Calhoon gang.

  The photographic likenesses of each of them were on the crumpled Wanted posters pushed down into the deep pockets of the long trail coat. Frank and Harve Calhoon were worth six thousand dollars between them and their cousin Dale Smith another two. Rob John Floyd was reputed to be the actual brains of the gang and yet his value was only a thousand bucks.

  None of this mattered to the bounty hunter though. He had chosen to claim the bounty on all their heads and that was what he intended to do.

  Smoke traced from the pair of Navy Colts as the long thin legs of their owner stepped over one body after another on his way towards the high staircase.

  He knew that the four of them were up there somewhere, hiding in any of the dozen or more rooms that served to make this place the most profitable building of its kind anywhere west of Dodge.

  The walls still resounded to the echoes of the bullets that had blasted through the cigar-smoke-filled rooms as the awesome figure strode on.

  There was no escape.

  He had their scent in his nostrils and was closing in on them for the ultimate kill. His calculating mind had already worked out that he had earned nearly a thousand dollars by destroying the outlaws lying at his feet.

  But the biggest prize of all was still to be had.

  The Calhoons were up there behind the solid oak doors.

  His long skeletal fingers quickly reloaded the pair of guns before his mule-ear boots stepped on to the luxurious carpet at the foot of the flight of stairs.

  Without pausing for even a single moment, Iron Eyes continued up towards the well-illuminated landing. With each step, the sound of his razor-sharp spurs rang out around the wooden building.

  Their ominous jangling was like the warning bells of death tolling for those who knew that the Grim Reaper was headed straight for them.

  Most of the females who worked in this place had fled in terror as the lead had started to fly. But Iron Eyes knew that there had to be more of them upstairs and that the men he sought would more than likely try to use them as human shields to avoid the lethal lead of his Navy Colts.

  Iron Eyes would not be so easily dissuaded from using his lethal guns though.

  He would not deliberately kill any female but if they got in his way, he would shoot through them. For he wanted the bounty money on the heads of his prey.

  For that was what the Calhoons were to the bounty hunter.

  They were his prey and they were wanted.

  Dead or Alive. To Iron Eyes, that meant dead. He had no time for prisoners.

  When he reached the landing, he paused. Iron Eyes lowered his head and stared through the long black strands of hair that hung before his eyes. He knew that behind one or more of these closed doors, men waited for him with their guns cocked and ready.

  Just like his own Navy Colts were.

  He listened and waited.

  It seemed that the only sound he could hear was his own heart beating hard inside his thin chest. The stench of gunsmoke had risen to where he stood. It reminded him of the job that was still unfinished.

  Iron Eyes did not move a muscle. Only his eyes moved as he studied the layout before him. There were an equal number of doors on either side of the corridor which faced the barrels of his still-smoking guns. It was not the way he liked to hunt, but there had been far worse places that he had found himself drawn into when he was closing in on the faces that appeared on the crumpled Wanted posters in his deep jacket pockets.

  He inhaled deeply.

  A noise along the corridor caught his attention. It was the muffled sobbing of a female. He began to stride silently like a panther along the carpeted floor towards the sound.

  This was going to be bloody. He knew that. The men who had tried to stop him below had only been the hired help of those who were up here with the soiled doves.

  The men he was after were far better with their weaponry and yet he was unafraid.

  For fear to Iron Eyes was something that he had never experienced in his entire life. Only men with something to live for fear dying. And Iron Eyes had never had anything to live for.

  He simply existed.

  Further and further he ventured along the corridor towards the room where his keen hearing told him that a woman had a hand across her mouth. Glass oil-lamps decorated the length of the long corridor. They were suspended on brass hoops that were screwed to the walls.

  Then it happened.

  Three of the doors swung open.

  Swiftly, Iron Eyes raised both his pistols to shoulder-height.

  There were two to his left and one to his right. One behind him, one level with him and the third, slightly ahead of him. Each of the outlaws held their partially clothed female host
ages tightly with their left arms whilst their right hands gripped their primed guns. The barrels of their pistols came jutting out of the dark interiors of the rooms allowing the lamplight to dance off them.

  Faster than seemed possible, Iron Eyes turned with his guns at arm’s length. In the time it takes for a heart to beat just once, the bounty hunter had spotted that all three outlaws had done exactly as he had expected.

  Each of the vermin was using the near-naked females as human shields.

  The cold steel-colored eyes of the bounty hunter narrowed as they sought their targets. He only required a glimpse of the wanted men, to be able to hit his targets with his deadly bullets.

  All three outlaw guns exploded into action. It was like a fireworks display on the Fourth of July. The lethal red-hot tapers sped at Iron Eyes from three different directions. Bullets rained in at him.

  The acrid stench of the choking gunsmoke soon filled the length of the corridor.

  As the wall around him was torn into shreds by the deadly lead, Iron Eyes dropped on to one knee and felt the plaster showering over his head and broad shoulders.

  The oil-lamps that were attached to the corridor walls began to explode as stray bullets shattered their glass globes. With each shot that was fired, it was getting darker. Iron Eyes had very little target to aim at and yet his deadly accuracy once again did not fail him.

  He sent a bullet over the shoulder of one of the females and saw the head of Frank Calhoon virtually explode. The girl dropped to her knees as gore ran down her back. Her screams were almost as deafening as the sound of the pistols that were being fired in the narrow confines of the corridor.

  Without even a second’s hesitation, the bounty hunter threw himself across the floor. He landed on his back and fired both his Navy Colts above his head at the furthest open doorway. This time his shot went beneath the near-naked red-haired girl and smashed into the startled outlaw’s ribs.

  The wounded outlaw released his grip on her and staggered into the frame of the door. Iron Eyes blasted two more bullets into the center of his already helpless target.

  He did not wait to watch Rob John Floyd falling. He knew that the outlaw was dead.

  Iron Eyes had seen the red-haired girl running away from the carnage before he leapt back to his feet.

  The last of the wanted men could see that having a human shield was no protection against such a marksman. He pushed the female toward Iron Eyes. The bounty hunter was knocked off balance and felt the Colt in his left hand fire. The bullet went straight up and hit one of the few remaining oil-lamps. The glass bowl exploded.

  Liquid fire cascaded over the girl as they both fell backwards and hit the floor.

  Iron Eyes saw her hair ignite only inches in front of his face as his back hit the wall.

  She screamed in agony. It was the most chilling sound that he had ever heard.

  The bounty hunter reached out and pulled her blazing head into his jacket. He smothered the flames with his own shirt and leather coat.

  Iron Eyes could feel his own skin burning, but did not acknowledge the pain. He watched the outlaw slam the door opposite them.

  Iron Eyes released the screaming girl. Her hair was still smoldering. It was a stench that sickened even him. He rose to his feet and heard the sound of the bolt being pushed into place behind its solid oak door.

  He knew that he could waste a lot of expensive bullets trying to get into that room and still not achieve his goal.

  Iron Eyes ignored the wailing hysteria of his terrified audience and marched down the corridor until he found a window.

  He turned its latch and then pushed the window away from him, staring out into the darkness. A balcony went all the way around the side and front of the building.

  Iron Eyes tore the lace drapes from the window and then poked his long left leg out and followed it. He was still gripping on to his Navy Colts. Then saw a window roughly fifteen feet away from him opening.

  That was the window to the room that the outlaw had locked himself into, he thought.

  He began to walk silently towards the open window.

  As the outlaw clambered out on to the balcony with his gun in one hand and his clothes in the other, he did not even think to look behind him. His eyes were fixed on the bolted door which he expected the bounty hunter to try and shoot his way through at any moment.

  It came as quite a shock to the outlaw when he heard the eerie voice behind him.

  ‘Going someplace, Dale Smith?’

  Iron Eyes’ breath chilled the man’s naked spine.

  Smith turned and saw the gruesome sight before him. He had heard tales of the bounty hunter who, it was claimed, was more dead than alive.

  As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, Smith knew that there was no description which could come close to describing the way this man looked. The long, limp, black hair over the scarred features did not make this creature look any less horrific.

  ‘Are you Iron Eyes?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘I ain’t got no beef with you.’

  ‘This ain’t personal, Smith,’ Iron Eyes said coldly. ‘You’re wanted dead or alive and as far as I’m concerned, that means dead.’

  ‘So you’ve made yourself judge and jury, huh?’

  ‘Yep.’

  Smith’s gun barrel began to move.

  Both Navy Colts fired. Smith went spinning on his heels. His clothes flew over the balcony and floated down into the street as he bounced off the balcony rail. Smith raised his gun and squeezed its trigger. His bullet seemed to pass through the bounty hunter as Iron Eyes fired both his weapons again.

  Smith was thrown backwards. His body hit the wooden boards hard.

  Iron Eyes pushed one of his Navy Colts into his belt and then ran his fingers across his stinging side. He stared at the blood on the tips of his fingers and sighed.

  ‘Close, but no cigar, Smith. You’ve obviously bin used to shooting much fatter men.’

  CHAPTER TWO

  It was a vision that would have frozen the blood in the veins of most men. Marshal Tad Barker stared hard at the foreboding figure before him trying to convince himself that it was indeed human and not something from dark depths of his nightmares.

  As the flickering street-lanterns tried to fend off the blackness of night, sweat traced down the side of the seasoned law officer’s face. He held on tightly to the cocked scattergun in his weathered hands and tried to swallow. Barker was thankful that he had not been foolhardy enough to satisfy his curiosity on his own.

  For the strange figure before him was not the sort of man any sane person would wish to meet alone.

  He had mustered every single deputy within the streets of Waco when he had heard the sound of gunfire emanating from the Red Garter House, before daring to venture towards it. The sight of Iron Eyes standing on the raised porch amid the array of bodies chilled even his cold heart.

  The tails of the trail coat flapped in the evening breeze in tune to the beat of his long, matted black hair.

  The marshal raised the primed scattergun across his chest and strode purposefully towards the bounty hunter with his six deputies spread evenly to either side of him.

  In his long eventful life, Barker had faced hostile Indians and the cannon of a bitter enemy during the war, but he had never faced anyone who looked anything like Iron Eyes before.

  For the first time in his life, he felt totally afraid. Iron Eyes still held one of his Navy Colts in his bony left hand as he bent over his victims and added up the financial tally he had just earned.

  It was like witnessing a vulture in human form checking the carcasses it was about to feed upon.

  The bounty hunter squinted through the lantern light at the seven lawmen who approached him and then stood upright. He lowered his pistol and stepped to the edge of the boardwalk as Barker reached it.

  ‘Marshal.’ The word came through Iron Eyes’ small sharp teeth.

  ‘You seem to have bin on a killing spree, stranger,�
�� the marshal said carefully. ‘I hope you got yourself a darn good reason.’

  ‘I’m a bounty hunter. I claim the bounty on these varmints’ heads,’ Iron Eyes said. He reached into his deep pocket and pulled out the crumpled Wanted posters.

  Barker signaled to one of his deputies. There was no way that the marshal was about to release his grip on his weapon to accept anything from the terrifying figure, just in case it was a trap and he started killing again. A cautious deputy stepped forward and took the posters from the thin skeletal hand and unfolded them.

  ‘What they say, Clem?’ Barker asked as his index finger remained on the twin triggers of the scattergun and his eyes remained glued to the bounty hunter.

  The deputy named Clem looked up from the posters.

  ‘Looks like we have us the remains of the Calhoon boys here, Tad.’

  Barker raised an eyebrow and took his eyes briefly away from the tall figure of Iron Eyes and glanced at the bloody pile of corpses stacked before him. It was impossible to identify any of the bodies clearly in the shadows that bathed the front of the whorehouse.

  ‘If this is the Calhoon gang, it looks like you’ve made yourself a lotta money this night, stranger,’ the marshal said, spitting at the ground beside him before starting to chew the tobacco plug in his mouth once more.

  Suddenly, Iron Eyes looked troubled.

  ‘The name’s Iron Eyes, Marshal,’ he said coldly. He turned back towards the bodies again He stuffed the pistol into his belt beside the other and then paced around the blood-soaked corpses again.

  ‘What’s wrong, Iron Eyes?’ Barker asked. His hooded eyes watched the bounty hunter bending over and lifting each of the outlaws’ heads off the boardwalk in turn.

  ‘How many posters have you got there, boy?’ Iron Eyes asked the deputy called Clem as he studied his handiwork.

  Clem cleared his throat and hastily counted the crumpled sheets of paper in his hands.

  ‘Ten, Mr. Iron Eyes. Why?’

  ‘Damn!’ Iron Eyes kicked the lifeless head of Rob John Floyd in anger. ‘I missed one of the bastards.’