The Spirit of Iron Eyes Read online

  Apache war smoke drifted up from beyond the distant sea of sagebrush. It twisted into the cloudless blue sky and hung there for knowing eyes to read its dark ominous message.

  Iron Eyes could not read the message in the smoke but knew it had to be about either Jones or himself.

  The sun-baked prairie was one place where the notorious bounty hunter did not want to get cornered by anyone, especially the Apaches who ruled this seemingly barren land. Iron Eyes wondered why the outlaw had headed straight into such a dangerous place at all.

  Iron Eyes drew in his reins, stared up at the smoke and squinted hard into the distance. He ran his long bony fingers through his lank matted hair and growled angrily.

  Whatever the smoke said, he knew it had something to do with his being in the middle of Apache land. The Indians had spotted him following the trail left by the outlaw from the sand cliffs which edged the entire prairie.

  He reached back to one of his saddle-bag satchels and flicked the metal fastening open. He dragged out a full bottle of whiskey and raised its neck to his razor sharp teeth.

  Iron Eyes pulled the cork from the black glass and spat it at the sandy ground. The aroma of the cheap liquor filled his nostrils a second before he curled his scarred lips around the bottle neck.

  He swallowed hard, then lowered it and sighed heavily.

  His thin neck turned as his keen eyes studied every inch of the horizon which surrounded him.

  Then he saw them.

  There were two other plumes of black war smoke behind him. One to the east and the other to the west. It became obvious to the gaunt skeletal figure that the Indians ahead had been warned of his intrusion into Apache territory by the smoke signals far behind him.

  They had spotted him hours earlier and by now, Iron Eyes suspected that probably every one of the tribe knew that the man known to them as the living ghost was almost within range of their rifles and bows.

  Iron Eyes hated the Apache even more than he hated most living creatures. They were brave. Too brave. In all his many encounters with their various peoples, he had always been badly injured whenever they ran into one another.

  He had killed many men in his time and a lot of them had been Indians. But he only hunted and killed white men for the price on their heads. The Apache were different. They usually attacked him and that annoyed the tall rider.

  There was no profit in killing anyone for free.

  The bounty hunter adjusted the two lethal pistols whose grips jutted from his belt above the buckle. As always, they were loaded and ready for action.

  The cold eyes glanced again at the war smoke ahead of him as he sipped at the whiskey thoughtfully.

  He started to wonder how many Apache were out there beyond the sagebrush.

  A hunting party?

  Somehow he doubted it. Every ounce of his being told him that there were far more Apaches ahead of him than he had ever had the misfortune of meeting before.

  He searched amongst the bullets in his coat pocket and pulled out the grubby poster and stared at it hard. The crude photographic image was not clear enough to be certain, but Iron Eyes began to wonder if Diamond Back Jones might not be part Indian himself.

  Could that be why the deadly outlaw had led the bounty hunter here?

  Was Diamond Back actually an Apache?

  The thought nagged at the tall man.

  Was he now the hunted and no longer the hunter?

  Had Diamond Back Jones turned the tables on him?

  Iron Eyes stepped off the pony and continued taking mouthfuls of whiskey as he walked around his lathered-up mount. No matter how much liquor he swallowed, he could not rid his mouth of the bitter taste that lingered.

  He knew that there was no safe way out of this land.

  Iron Eyes had been drawn into a well-laid trap.

  Chapter Two

  From the sandy ridge the outlaw focused his binoculars on Iron Eyes far below on the prairie floor. Diamond Back Jones stood amid the hundred or more Apache braves watching the solitary figure who was standing beside the pitiful pony, drinking his whiskey. He lowered the glasses and glanced across at the stone-faced Apache chief Conchowata.

  ‘Iron Eyes!’ Diamond Back Jones said in an almost triumphant way. ‘I told you that I would bring the evil one here, great chief. Didn’t I?’

  ‘You did, my brother,’ Conchowata agreed. ‘You have fulfilled your promise to your people. When you went to learn the ways of the white eyes, I thought they would destroy you as they have destroyed everything Apache. But I was wrong.’

  ‘He looks a little confused.’ The smile that had graced Jones’s face for more than an hour grew wider with every passing heartbeat.

  ‘The one known as Iron Eyes must be mighty scared!’ the chief grunted forcefully.

  ‘I don’t think Iron Eyes has ever been scared in his whole life, Conchowata,’ Diamond Back Jones said as he handed the binoculars to the painted Apache chieftain. Take a closer look at his face through them glasses.’

  Conchowata narrowed his eyes and looked through the small eye-pieces at Iron Eyes. His fingers turned the small metal wheel until the focus was crystal clear. He studied the bounty hunter’s scarred face carefully. The Apache was stunned by the sight. He had never imagined that anyone could look quite so horrific.

  ‘Iron Eyes has been in many battles. He wears his victories on his face.’

  Diamond Back rubbed his smooth chin thoughtfully. ‘What do you think he is, great chief? Mexican? White or Indian?’

  The Apache warrior brooded over the question.

  ‘He not like any other men I have seen before. He not even look alive.’

  ‘He’s alive OK.’ Jones nodded. ‘I seen him bleed. Ya gotta be alive to bleed.’

  Conchowata noticed the whiskey bottle in the bounty hunter’s hand. ‘Look! Iron Eyes drink firewater!’

  ‘They reckon the varmint lives on the stuff,’ Jones informed the Indian. ‘But they say he never gets drunk. No matter how much fire-water he drinks, he never gets drunk.’

  The chief patted the outlaw’s shoulder.

  ‘You did good, my brother. You have lured the living ghost into the land of the Apache just like you said you would. At last we shall get our revenge.’

  The outlaw removed his Stetson and shook his head. The long black hair fell on to his shoulders.

  ‘I have never forgotten that I am an Apache, Conchowata. I have lived with the white eyes for many moons and learned their ways. But I am like you. I am Apache.’

  The chief stared through the binoculars at the distant figure and smiled.

  ‘Iron Eyes has been curse to our people for many moons. He shall pay for all the crimes he has committed against us. Now it will be him who is hunted like a dog.’

  Diamond Back nodded as he stared into the blinding sun without blinking.

  This is a good day for our people. We shall kill the evil one who has taken the lives of so many of our brothers. We shall drink his fire-water and give thanks to the Great Spirit.’

  Conchowata returned the black binoculars to Jones and began to walk through his heavily painted braves towards their mounts.

  ‘We will kill Iron Eyes very slowly. We shall strip the flesh from his bones and feed it to our camp dogs. He shall suffer the death he deserves. A thousand knife-points will make him loco. Then we will make him beg us to end his agony. He shall know the vengeance of the Apache before he travels to the happy hunting ground.’

  Diamond Back walked next to the chief as the rest of the Apache braves followed them to the line of horses. He had known that bringing the living ghost to his tribe would ensure his safe passage through the land that he had grown up in. A land that had taught him to survive.

  But unlike the rest of his kind, Diamond Back had wanted more than the Apache life could ever give him. He had seen how the white men lived and the luxuries they enjoyed. That was his idea of living. He wanted to walk into a cafe and have money to buy an inch-thick steak covered in
gravy. Being a ruthless outlaw had given him that. Diamond Back Jones knew that he would never again search for grubs to eat like the rest of his tribe. To be only one day away from starvation held no romantic for value him.

  Diamond Back had tasted the fruits of the white eyes.

  He liked it.

  But being an outlaw brought dangers. The worst of which was the mysterious Iron Eyes. A man who seemed neither white nor Indian. A bounty hunter who it was said could never be killed because he was already dead.

  Jones rubbed his chin again as he and the rest of the Apache reached their mounts. Without Iron Eyes hunting him, he could probably continue his killing and stealing until he was too old to raise a gun in his hand.

  Leading the notorious bounty hunter here had achieved two things. It had raised his profile with the people he had abandoned and ensured that he always had a place where he could hide out from the law. It had also put the one man he feared in deadly danger. He knew that even Iron Eyes could not get out of this situation alive.

  Without the most feared bounty hunter on his trail, Jones could continue on to Texas and start killing and robbing again until he had everything he desired.

  Not that he had ever managed to get quite enough of anything he wanted. For killing had an addictive quality and he never seemed to be satisfied with any amount of stolen money.

  ‘We go and capture Iron Eyes!’ Conchowata shouted to all his braves.

  Every one of the painted warriors threw himself on the back of his pony and began to make war cries to the cloudless sky above them.

  Mounting his horse, the Apache outlaw known as Diamond Back Jones tried to stop smiling.

  It was impossible.

  Chapter Three

  Iron Eyes could feel the sand beneath his mule-ear boots moving long before he heard the spine-chilling sound of the Apache war cries. Any normal man would have been terrified. But not the bounty hunter.

  ‘Damn Apaches!’ Iron Eyes grumbled under his breath. He ran a match across his saddle and brought its flame to the tip of the mangled black cigar remnant. He sucked in the acrid smoke and then blew the flame out. ‘I hate damn Apaches! They just can’t leave me be.’

  He tossed the match away, looked at his pony and knew that it had little strength left after the merciless punishment he had inflicted upon it since he had been trailing the outlaw Jones.

  ‘Get ready, horse. I’m gonna push you ’til ya drop.’ Iron Eyes lifted the bottle to his mouth and finished its contents.

  His cold eyes focused across the sagebrush. The hunter of men could see the dust starting to rise as the Indians got closer. He inhaled the last of the smoke from the cigar and then flicked it away angrily.

  ‘There sure looks like there’s a lot of them this time,’ he muttered.

  He tossed the empty bottle aside and stepped into his stirrup. With one fluid movement, Iron Eyes mounted the pony and gathered up the loose reins in his bony hands. Now he could see the painted faces screaming in the blazing heat. There was still no fear in him, only frustration.

  ‘Damn! Looks like the whole Apache nation has come to visit me this time, horse.’

  This was the one territory that he hated. It was filled with dozens of creatures that seemed to have no other purpose than killing people. They either stung, bit or ate their prey. But of all the things to be found in this devilish inferno, it was the Apache he loathed the most. Most Indians he had met over the years would let him pass through their lands, but not the Apache. They liked to fight and they were too darn good at it for the bounty hunter’s liking.

  This territory was swarming with several different Apache tribes, each as deadly as the next. He had encountered most of them during his life and had the scars to prove it.

  Iron Eyes ignored the approaching warriors and allowed the skittish mount to turn full circle slowly as he squinted out across the rest of the arid terrain.

  The heat haze made everything appear to be moving like water flowing from a high cliff before his eyes. He then stopped the pony and stood in his stirrups.

  For a brief moment Iron Eyes thought that he had seen something out there far beyond the sandy ridges which surrounded the prairie. He held the pony in check and stretched to his full height. He screwed up his eyes and forced them to search for a place where he might find cover.

  ‘I ain’t too sure what that is out there, but I’ll never find out hanging around here,’ Iron Eyes told himself.

  The sound of the approaching Indians became louder and louder as the rider kept staring out into the swirling heat haze. The sound of rifles being fired rang out across the flat landscape but he ignored it as he continued to stare at the distant object.

  Was there something out there?

  Iron Eyes knew that the prairie could fool even the wisest of souls. Make a man see lakes where there was only burnt sagebrush. It had the power to convince the unwary that there were solid structures where in reality there was only shimmering hot air.

  He knew that the chances of reaching anywhere that he might be able to use for cover were remote but Iron Eyes had to try and find sanctuary somewhere.

  Bullets hit the ground a mere dozen yards from where his pony was standing, kicking up plumes of sand as the riders drew closer.

  ‘Easy, horse!’ the bounty hunter told his pony, holding the reins tightly in both hands.

  Iron Eyes turned his thin neck to his right and looked through the long limp strands of hair that fell over his face. He could now make out the painted faces of the Apache horsemen galloping straight at him.

  There were far more of them than he had ever witnessed in any one place at one time before.

  They were riding towards him. It was like a wall of living color. Rifles were cocked and fired along the entire length of the screaming warriors.

  He felt the heat of a bullet pass within inches of his face.

  ‘Reckon it’s time to go, horse!’ Iron Eyes sat down on his saddle and jabbed his sharp spurs into his pony’s flesh.

  The animal bolted.

  The tall thin figure allowed the pony to find its own pace as he continued looking at the wall of Apache riders who were closing in on him.

  Iron Eyes hauled his reins to his left and spurred again. He had to try and put distance between himself and his deadly pursuers.

  He stood up in his stirrups again and whipped the shoulders of the exhausted pony with the ends of his long reins as he balanced a few inches above the saddle. Holding the reins in his left hand he drew one of his Navy Colts from his belt and cocked its hammer.

  With his arm outstretched, he aimed and fired again and again at the wall of Indians.

  The sand beneath the pony’s hoofs was becoming softer and slowing the tired mount’s progress as its master tried to urge it one.

  Iron Eyes knew that he could take most of his weight off his mount’s back if he were to lean over its neck. He balanced as far forward as he dared.

  ‘C’mon, horse! Get moving. You don’t want them Apaches to catch us, do ya? They’ll kill me, but they’ll eat you!’ Iron Eyes yelled into the pony’s ear.

  The pony somehow found more speed and started to gather pace as its rider switched guns and continued firing at their attackers.

  Iron Eyes gritted his teeth and held on to his saddle horn as the pitiful animal continued to gallop. The sound of shots was almost deafening as more and more of his pursuers managed to fire their rifles at him.

  The air was alive with rifle bullets passing above and behind him. Iron Eyes whipped the pony again and then looked ahead and saw the sandy ridge was now getting tauntingly closer with every stride of his pony.

  He narrowed his eyes and squinted through the swirling heat haze at the ridge of sand-colored rock. He saw a black triangle shape half-way up the golden rock face.

  Was it a cave?

  His mind raced.

  This was no mirage, Iron Eyes thought.

  Whatever it was, it was real.

  But there was no
time to get excited. The sound of the Indians was growing louder and louder as they gained on him.

  ‘C’mon, horse!’ The words had barely left his dry cracked lips when he felt the animal beneath him shudder under the impact of a rifle bullet.

  The sound which came from the animal instantly told Iron Eyes that his mount had been hit by one or more of the Apache riders’ bullets.

  The bounty hunter hit the ground hard and rolled like a tumbleweed when the wounded pony collapsed. He got to his feet and continued to run towards the sandy ridge. With every step, his skilled hands emptied the spent cartridges from his weapons and reloaded them with bullets from his deep coat pockets. The sound of the Indian ponies grew louder as shots rained all around him.

  Iron Eyes tripped and fell. He swung around on the sand and narrowed his eyes before cocking both gun hammers and firing the Navy Colts.

  ‘I hate damn Apaches!’ he growled.

  Chapter Four

  Iron Eyes blasted each of his Navy Colts in turn at the scores of riders who were driving their painted ponies ever closer. He did not wait to watch the Apache braves falling off their mounts as his deadly bullets found their targets. The bounty hunter realized that the almost flat prairie offered him no cover from the rifle bullets and arrows of his enemies. Dodging the lethal projectiles he ran back to his fallen pony. He dropped behind the back of the stricken horse and pushed his shoulder up to the saddle. Bullets ripped up the ground and showered sand all over him as he continued to fire his matched .36s.

  The critically wounded pony was still kicking aimlessly at the hot air as blood poured from the three neat bullet holes in its side.

  There was no emotion in the gaunt features of the fearless Iron Eyes. He swiftly reloaded his guns again and resumed firing at the yelling Apaches.

  Bullets tore into the padded leather saddle behind the head of the cornered man. Every impact made the pony whinny as it vainly tried to get off the blood-soaked sand.

  Iron Eyes had already managed to shoot more than a dozen of the avenging Indians, but he knew that there were still roughly ninety more heading straight at him. An arrow landed less than three inches from his groin between his painfully thin legs but he still did not seem to take any notice. He continued squeezing the triggers of his guns and watching his accurate bullets knocking the horsemen off the backs of their mounts.