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  Iron Eyes had the scent of his prey in his nostrils, and was determined to add yet another notch to the gun-grip of his infamous Navy Colt. But the closer he got to where his outlaw quarry was holed up, the more guns were turned on him.

  Refusing to submit to the lethal lead of those bad men who would halt his progress, he forged on toward Cheyenne Falls … and the violent fate that he knew would await him come showdown-time …

  IRON EYES 21: THE TOMB OF IRON EYES

  By Rory Black

  First published by Robert Hale Limited in 2014

  Copyright 2014, 2022 by Rory Black

  First Electronic Edition: November 2022

  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.

  You may not copy, store, distribute, transmit, reproduce or otherwise make available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or by means (electronic, digital, optical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

  This is a Piccadilly Publishing Book / Text © Piccadilly Publishing

  Series Editor: Ben Bridges

  Visit www.piccadillypublishing.org to read more about our books

  Dedicated to the actor

  Robert Fuller.

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Thirteen

  Finale

  About the Author

  Prologue

  THE HAUNTING SOUND of razor sharp spurs rang out in a chilling melody as the gruesome rider steered the powerful palomino stallion down the high ridge toward the sprawling settlement below. Birds ceased to sing and what animals there were scattered across the tree covered hillside took cover. It was as though they sensed the danger which moved silently through their midst. The aroma of death hung over his emaciated form and traveled with him wherever he chose to go. It was a companion he had grown used to riding upon his shoulder. Death had become an old friend.

  It was a constant reminder of his own mortality even though it was rumored that he did not fear death because he was already dead. Being considered immortal had its advantages when you lived by the gun. Those who faced his Navy Colts mostly considered themselves already defeated.

  His flesh was brutally scarred with every fight and battle he had found himself embroiled within. It was more akin to that of a monstrous creature rather than to a living man.

  The skeletal horseman was a corpse who had yet to truly die. A man who was hated by both white and red men alike he continued to journey on because there was nowhere for him to settle. Fate had ensured that he would become the best hunter of wanted outlaws and yet it was a hollow existence.

  He tossed his mane of long jet black hair off his face and felt it beat on the shoulders of his battered trail coat.

  Just as his flesh bore the scars of his every fight the trail coat seemed to harbor the marks of each of his many killings. Every drop of dried blood remained upon its tattered and worn fabric like memories for himself and warnings to others. Most of the blood which had soiled his coat had been spilled from his own veins.

  His eyes darted all around the area as he steered his mount down through the trees toward the first of the town’s many structures. If there was going to be trouble the bounty hunter was ready to meet it head on.

  Nothing could slow his pace.

  He had the scent of the man he hunted in his flared nostrils. The outlaw whose crude image was printed upon the folded wanted poster buried deep in his pocket was branded into his mind. He never forgot a face when it was wanted dead or alive and had a price printed above its paper.

  Iron Eyes looked all around him as his mount made its way down toward the edge of the settlement. He drove his spurs deep into the flanks of his powerful stallion and increased his pace. The palomino began to trot as it reached level ground and approached the town.

  His bony left hand teased his long leathers and guided the horse through the trees toward the crude sign that was nailed to a staff. The bounty hunter drew back on his reins and stopped the stallion. He stared down at the marker.

  ‘Cheyenne Falls,’ Iron Eyes whispered the name through his sharp teeth before poking a long thin cigar into the corner of his mouth. He scratched his thumbnail across the top of the match and lifted the flame to the end of his cigar. He inhaled deeply and closed his eyes for a brief moment as he savored the strong tobacco.

  He tossed the match aside and opened his bullet colored eyes and stared at Cheyenne Falls. He could see enough of the town to understand it. There were three roads leading in and out of the sprawling settlement.

  Iron Eyes drew in more smoke and then pulled the long cigar from his sharp teeth. There were so many identical towns in the territory. In each of them there was danger for anyone who hunted outlaws for a living.

  Cheyenne Falls filled a gulch set between two tree covered hills. The sun beat down mercilessly across the roof tops of the wooden buildings. Iron Eyes was thoughtful. He had learned the hard way that it paid to evaluate such seemingly peaceful places before riding in with guns blazing.

  He raised himself in his stirrups and balanced as he sucked hard on his cigar. The telegraph poles were well hidden by the trees but he could see them. That was a comfort to the bounty hunter. He lowered himself back down upon the ornate Mexican saddle and tapped his spurs again.

  The stallion obeyed its ruthless master.

  It walked beyond the marker.

  Iron Eyes continued to look all about him. His eyes darted back and forth from behind the veil of long strands of sweat soaked hair. Few men could have looked more hideous to the unsuspecting eyes of the onlookers who were about to see the bounty hunter’s arrival.

  Even fewer would have known what to expect from Iron Eyes as he continued to tap his spurs into the bleeding flesh of the high shouldered animal.

  The sun was at its zenith. Iron Eyes glanced up and saw the blinding orb of white light. He then lowered his head again and saw the first of the townsfolk as they went about their daily rituals.

  He continued riding slowly. There was no movement from the tall gaunt horseman as his lean figure sat atop the palomino and guided it deeper into the town. A score of men were gathered in a circle at the edge of the town. The sound of fighting roosters filled the air but Iron Eyes showed no interest in cock fights.

  The bounty hunter could see the shock and repulsion of both men and women as they finally set eyes upon his mutilated face from the corners of his eyes. Their gasping terror did not interest him either.

  The buildings grew more organized.

  The deeper he rode into Cheyenne Falls the closer together they got. It was the same in all towns, he thought. Unlike himself it seemed that all other human’s needed company. He had no idea why.

  He jabbed his spurs into the large stallions flesh again and it continued to pull on its bit. As with all his previous horseflesh the palomino wanted to escape the painful spurs but was trapped.

  There was no escape.

  Just like the outlaw he hunted, i
t was doomed to its fate.

  Iron Eyes knew that he was now in the very heart of the town. Buildings suddenly merged together and became busy streets. He teased his long leathers and allowed the stallion to walk into the wide expanse of what he knew had to be the main street.

  His eyes darted at every man that wore a gun. He sniffed the air and inhaled the one scent he actually liked.

  The aroma of whiskey filled his nostrils. It wafted on the hot midday air from the numerous saloons open doorways yet this time Iron Eyes did not stop. The bounty hunter had something more pressing to sort out before he quenched his insatiable thirst.

  The painfully lean horseman kept on urging his mount forward past the hundreds of terrified townspeople until he found what he was seeking. With a quick jerk of his wrist he turned the stallion and dismounted as it reached the hitching pole.

  Like a statue Iron Eyes stood beside the shoulder of the handsome animal and allowed the dust to settle before hitching his reins to the twisted pole and stepping up on to the boardwalk. He paused and surveyed the street like a vulture looking for a tasty body to start ripping apart. The people who had been casually walking in his direction suddenly crossed the wide street to avoid getting too close.

  His eyes moved from one saloon to the next as he counted the various drinking holes. The bounty hunter counted fourteen within spitting distance. Every one of them had at least two horses tied up outside whilst their masters drank their fill of the amber rotgut they called whiskey.

  He pulled the cigar from his mouth and allowed the grey smoke to filter from between his scarred lips. Nothing within the street was ignored by Iron Eyes. He studied everything.

  Nothing escaped his cold calculating eyes.

  When he was satisfied he turned to face the sign on the wooden wall. He read it and then leaned down and grabbed the door knob and twisted it.

  He entered the office. His spurs echoed off the wooden interior as he stopped and stared at the desk set below a gun rack with a carbine and scattergun upon it. He lowered his eyes to what was sat behind the desk.

  A well rounded man looked up, gasped and then rose unsteadily to his feet. The sunlight which had followed the bounty hunter into the office gleamed off the tin star pinned upon the man’s chest.

  ‘I’m Sheriff Cord,’ he said unsteadily.

  Iron Eyes nodded and returned the cigar to his mouth.

  ‘Sheriff,’ he said.

  Sheriff Josiah Cord looked as though every ounce of color had been drained from his face as he swallowed hard and gave a nod.

  ‘Who in tarnation are you?’ he asked in a vain attempt to sound and look like a confident lawman.

  ‘Iron Eyes.’

  The eyebrows rose on Cord’s confused face. ‘What?’

  ‘My names Iron Eyes,’ the lean figure repeated as his bony hand closed the door behind him. He took a step closer to the ashen-faced lawman. ‘I’m a bounty hunter.’

  It was as though every ounce of courage had suddenly drained for the star packer. Cord nervously sat back down and rubbed his face. Yet no matter how hard he rubbed his jowls he could not stop his eyes staring at the hideous sight before him. Cord had never seen anything that was not already dead that looked as bad as Iron Eyes.

  The sheriff looked at the gaunt bounty hunter. The grips of the two Navy Colts protruded from behind his belt buckle and pointed straight across the desk at him.

  ‘So you’re a bounty hunter, are you?’ he managed to say without stammering.

  Iron Eyes advanced another step. ‘Yep. Maybe you’ve heard of me?’

  Cord shook his head. ‘Nope, I ain’t ever heard about you. I’d have remembered you sure enough. You ain’t the kind of critter a person could forget in a hurry.’

  Iron Eyes was not certain but it sounded as though he had been insulted.

  ‘You got a bad notion about bounty hunters?’ he asked.

  Cord shook his head. ‘We don’t tend to attract many of your profession to Cheyenne Falls.’

  The bounty hunter inhaled deeply and then pulled the cigar from his mouth and stepped to the window. His narrowed eyes stared out into the street as smoke slowly drifted from his mouth.

  ‘I’m looking for a wanted varmint, Sheriff,’ Iron Eyes said as his left hand disappeared into his deep trail coat pocket and produced a wanted poster. He pulled it out, shook it and handed it to the lawman. ‘You seen this critter?’

  Cord took the poster and flattened it out on his ink blotter. He studied the crude photographic image and scratched his unshaven face.

  ‘Nope, can’t say I have,’ he answered.

  Faster than the sheriff had ever seen anyone move before Iron Eyes turned on his heels and snatched the poster out of the sheriff’s hands.

  ‘Are you sure?’ Iron Eyes asked coldly.

  Cord looked up at the face which loomed over him. He had never seen such a face in all his days. He tried to smile but no amount of forcing could make his face obey. He raised his hands and meekly shrugged.

  ‘Honest, I ain’t seen that critter,’ Cord managed to reply as he felt sweat trace down his spine. ‘Are you sure he’s in Cheyenne Falls?’

  Iron Eyes straightened up and stared at the poster in his hand. His eyes narrowed as they glared at the image printed upon the paper.

  ‘Joe Corrigan,’ he read aloud. ‘He’s wanted dead or alive for double murder and bank robbery. It says here that he’s worth $1,000.’

  Cord had never before encountered a bounty hunter. If Iron Eyes was an example of the profession, he did not care to meet any others.

  ‘I asked you if Corrigan is in Cheyenne Falls, Iron Eyes,’ he asked again. ‘Well, is he?’

  Iron Eyes folded the paper and poked it back down into his pocket. The sound of loose bullets filled the small office. The lean bounty hunter blew a long line of smoke at the floor and then stared into the sheriff’s eyes.

  ‘Corrigan had a few days start on me, Sheriff,’ Iron Eyes said as his fists clenched. ‘I lost him back at Adobe Wells and rode across country to head him off. By my figuring he’s headed in this direction.’

  ‘But you don’t know if he’s even headed here or not, do you?’ Cord said.

  The bullet colored eyes burned into the seated lawman. He stepped closer to the fat Cord.

  ‘He’s either here already or he’s headed here, Sheriff,’ Iron Eyes replied. ‘There ain’t no other place within twenty miles of Cheyenne Falls.’

  Cord cleared his throat. ‘How can you be so sure he’s riding here?’

  The bounty hunter turned and walked back to the door. He grabbed its handle and pulled it toward him. He then paused briefly and stared at the sweating sheriff.

  ‘I know he’s headed here,’ he repeated.

  ‘But how can you be so sure?’ Cord asked.

  There was a long pause as the bounty hunter drew smoke into his lungs. Then the bullet colored eyes stared straight at the lawman.

  ‘Because I’m Iron Eyes,’ he said. ‘That’s how.’

  Chapter One

  IRON EYES STEPPED down from the boardwalk, pulled his reins free and led the palomino stallion across the street toward one of the many saloons that were dotted along its length. For midday Cheyenne Falls had grown unusually quiet. The townsfolk who normally paraded its length had paused and were huddled in stores along the main street. Every eye watched the tall thin figure as he walked toward the saloon. The chilling sound of his spurs seemed to warn of impending doom.

  The gaunt bounty hunter glanced to a small building set halfway along the street. He did not have to read the large sign which had been erected above its doorway to know what it was. Every telegraph wire converged at a high pole and then ran down into the telegraph office.

  Iron Eyes looked around him as he pulled the pall palomino toward the saloon. He watched the men, women and children that were watching him. He icy returned his glare to the saloon and looked at its two large windows. They were
set to either side of the welcoming swing doors and offered his honed vision the opportunity to see what was behind him in their reflective surfaces.

  Iron Eyes could see the sheriff’s reflection as well as countless others watching his every move. Over the years that simple trick had saved him from being back-shot many times.

  The name of the freshly painted drinking hole was ‘The Lucky Lizard’ but it was not that which attracted him. It was the water trough set just before a long twenty foot long hitching pole. He knew the powerful stallion was thirsty just like its master.

  Iron Eyes reached the pole, secured his long leathers and then stepped up under the well shaded porch overhang. He faced the street and watched as the stallion drank. Iron Eyes then swung on his heels and pushed the swing doors apart with one hand whilst his other rested close to his gun grips.

  For a brief moment Iron Eyes simply stood as the swing doors rocked on their hinges behind his wide back. His eyes darted around the room at every face in turn.

  Then the tall emaciated figure walked across the saloon toward the long mahogany bar counter. The saloon fell into silence as each of its patrons caught sight of the man with the haunting spurs.

  None of them had ever seen anyone who looked as horrific or dangerous than Iron Eyes before. His gun grips poked ominously out from his flat belly from the belt buckle they were nestled behind. Choking cigar smoke hung in the air as the tall bounty hunter cut a path through it.

  With each long stride patrons finished their drinks and hastily departed out into the street. It was like a stampeding herd of mavericks. By the time Iron Eyes reached the counter only the bartender remained in the Lucky Lizard.

  The wide-eyed bartender stood open-mouthed as Iron Eyes rested one hand on the counter and the other on a gun grip. There was a long silence before the man finally managed to ask his only remaining customer.

  ‘What’ll it be, stranger?’

  ‘Whiskey,’ Iron Eyes said dryly as he pulled a golden coin from his shirt pocket and placed it on the stained wooden surface of the counter. ‘An unopened bottle.’