Iron Eyes 12 Read online

  ‘You worked hard on Iron Eyes, Doc.’ Bale nodded. ‘Anyone would be tired.’

  ‘Reckon so.’ Doc swallowed the last of his beer and placed his glass down next to the marshal’s.

  ‘I better go do my rounds. Doc,’ Bale said. ‘I’ll drop in the office first, though.’

  ‘Want company?’

  Bale grinned. ‘Why, sure. C’mon.’ Both men left the saloon and walked across the street towards the marshal’s office. Doc Hardy pointed to the end of the street where a crowd was gathered outside The Texas House, bathed in torchlight.

  ‘Look at them fools, Monte. Trying to get into a place guaranteed to rob them blind. All that pretty paint and a few new girls and men just turn into fish.’

  ‘Fish?’ Bale unlocked the office door, walked to the nearest of his lamps and lit its wick as the doctor made for a chair. ‘Men turn into fish? Maybe I’m a bit tired as well coz I can’t for the life of me see the connection.’

  Hardy nodded firmly as he relaxed. ‘Sure enough. You put a bit of shiny paper on a hook and drop it in a creek and what happens? Some dumb fish will up and swallow it hook, line and sinker! All that Texas Jack has done is bait a hook and look at them two-legged fish lining up to swallow it.’

  ‘They’ll even pay him for the privilege, Doc.’ Bale laughed as he made his way to his desk and sat down.

  Joshua was red-faced and gasping for air when he reached the marshal’s office and burst in. Monte Bale looked up from his desk and frowned.

  ‘What in tarnation is wrong, boy?’

  ‘You OK, Joshua?’ Hardy asked.

  The panting deputy frantically waved his right arm around as it pointed out at the street.

  ‘Suck in some air, Joshua.’ Bale smiled. ‘You’ll burst otherwise.’

  Joshua did as instructed, then staggered to the larger of the two desks inside the office. He placed the palms of both hands down on it and blinked hard.

  ‘I found me a body out there, Monte!’ The smile evaporated from Bale’s face. He slowly stood and walked around the desk until he was nose to nose with his red-faced deputy.

  ‘You found a body?’

  Hardy got to his feet and moved to both men. ‘What kinda body did you find, boy?’

  Joshua nodded. ‘A dead ’un!’

  Bale walked to the open door and looked up and down the street. ‘Where?’

  ‘Go on, Joshua. Tell Monte where you found this body,’ Hardy teased.

  The deputy frowned at the doctor. ‘Quit baiting me, Doc. I did find me a body. Honest.’

  Bale grabbed his deputy by the arm and hauled him to the open door. ‘Where did you find this body?’

  ‘Up in the alley next to Cooper’s store.’ Joshua pointed.

  ‘What were you doing up there?’ Hardy enquired.

  ‘I was having me a looksee at the new Texas House and went into the alley to relieve myself when I done fell over Lane Smith. He was just lying there all quiet like. I could smell the corn whiskey and said for him to get up and go home.’

  ‘You sure he’s dead?’ Bale asked.

  ‘Dead drunk by the sounds of it.’ Hardy grinned.

  ‘He sure is dead.’ Joshua nodded hard. ‘I give him a real good kicking and he just lay there all quiet like. So I bent down and turned him over. He was covered in all sorts of dirt. Shame, really, coz he had himself a darn nice suit on.’

  Bale pulled his hat from the stand and wiped its band with his hand. ‘But he’s dead? You’re sure that he’s dead?’

  ‘How many times have I gotta tell you boys, Monte? He’s deader than my Aunt Bessie.’

  Bale nodded and stepped out on to the boardwalk. ‘I never heard any gunfire.’

  Joshua waved his arms around. ‘He weren’t shot none. Leastways if’n he was I didn’t see no blood. I struck a match and held it under his chin and it looked all messed up. Bruised an’ all.’

  Doc Hardy rubbed his whiskers. ‘Sounds like he was strangled, Monte.’ The marshal gritted his teeth. ‘Go get the undertaker, Joshua!’

  The deputy blushed. ‘Can I go to the outhouse first? You see I never had me time to—’

  Bale nodded. ‘You go and—’

  Joshua turned on his heels fast. ‘OK! After I’ve gotten rid of all this liquid in me, I’ll go get the undertaker.’

  The doctor edged close to Bale. ‘I better tag along with you to see if Lane Smith is really dead, Monte. And if he is, I have to figure out what killed him. Sure sounds like he was strangled though. Who throttles a man in these parts?’

  ‘Someone who wants to kill quiet and ain’t got a knife.’

  ‘I’ll tag along.’ Hardy sighed. ‘I’m a little curious about this and no mistake.’

  ‘I’ll appreciate your help, Doc.’ Bale looked back across his office at the open rear door. ‘And put your damn gun on, Joshua.’

  Hardy stood on the boardwalk with his hands in his pockets and rocked back and forth. ‘Could be whiskey poisoning! Homemade corn liquor has seen off more folks around here than smallpox!’

  Just at that moment Rufe Carter was crossing the street, going towards the marshal’s office. He touched the brim of his hat when he saw the lawman and the doctor.

  ‘Marshal! Doc!’

  ‘Hey, Rufe!’ Bale stepped down into the street. ‘You had yourself a new customer earlier on today.’

  Carter raised his eyebrows. ‘I had a couple. I think it must be The Texas House opening tonight.’

  ‘The one I’m interested in was looking real tuckered. Came riding into town from the desert.’

  ‘Mr. Brewbaker,’ Carter said. ‘He was in a bit of a mess when he arrived but he’s looking mighty fine now! Amazing what a bath and some new clothes will do for a soul.’

  Bale placed his own hat on. ‘Thanks, Rufe.’

  ‘My pleasure.’ Carter carried on walking.

  Hardy stepped down and caught up to the marshal. ‘What was that about, Monte?’

  ‘Rufe don’t know it but he’s got himself a bank robber staying in his hotel.’

  ‘Only a bank robber could afford the prices that varmint charges.’ Hardy sighed.

  Both men started for Cooper’s General Store.

  Then a deafening salvo of gunfire rang out into Main Street. It echoed off the fronts of the buildings and rang in the ears of the two walking men.

  ‘Where’d that come from, Monte?’ Hardy asked.

  Bale drew his gun and began to run. ‘The hotel!’

  Chapter Eleven

  WITH SMOKE BILLOWING from the barrel of his Colt, Fargo watched as Smith and Green left the hotel room with the hefty pair of canvas bank bags between them. Ben Layne hovered next to Fargo like a vulture over the stricken Brewster. Blood had splattered across the room’s far wall as evidence, if any were necessary, of what Texas Jack Kelly’s top gunman had done.

  Two bullets had already felled the bank robber. What remained of Brewster was crumpled beyond the bed where he had landed after being punched off his feet by the sheer force of Fargo’s bullets.

  ‘Let me finish him off?’ Layne begged as his index finger twitched inside the Colt’s trigger guard.

  Fargo glanced at Layne. ‘He’s already finished, Ben. You go and tell Jed and Seth to wait for me out back with them bags. I ain’t gonna be long.’

  ‘Who’s gonna go and finish Iron Eyes off, Fargo?’ Layne slid his gun back into its holster and backed off toward the door. ‘I thought we was headed there after this.’

  ‘Jed and Seth are going to kill that stinking bounty hunter, Ben. OK?’ Fargo’s thumb dragged the hammer of his Peacemaker back until it locked into position again. He raised the gun and stared along its seven-inch barrel at the man on the floor.

  Then, without warning, Brewster’s left hand appeared from beneath him with one of his own guns in its grip. He somehow managed to squeeze its trigger. A plume of gun smoke spewed as a deafening bullet ripped across the room and tore past the gunslinger’s shoulder.

  Fargo gave out
a laugh, then pulled back on his own trigger and blasted a deadly reply. The head of Joe Brewster shattered as it took the final bullet.

  Fargo went to approach when he saw through the window the marshal racing along Main Street towards the hotel.

  ‘Good try, Joey, but you bit off more than you could chew.’

  The gunman turned on his heels, ran down the back stairs and trailed the route his fellow hired killers had taken seconds earlier. Fargo reached the three of them and grabbed both bags from Green and Smith before throwing one into the arms of Layne.

  ‘Ben comes with me back to the Texas,’ Fargo said quickly as they all reached the lane which ran along the back of all the buildings. He looked at Smith. ‘You and Jed go to Doc Hardy’s and make sure that that bounty hunter is dead! If he ain’t then you kill him!’

  Green and Smith did as ordered and hurried down through the shadows towards the back of Hardy’s office. With the scent of gun smoke in their nostrils the gunmen too wanted to get some killing under their belts before the day came to an end.

  Monte Bale charged into the lobby of the hotel with his gun at hip level. He was ready for anything. He knew that the shooting had emanated from somewhere inside the hotel. Now he would follow the scent of gun smoke to its origin.

  He climbed the stairs two at a time and reached the landing within seconds. His eyes vainly searched the corridor for danger. Then he saw the smoke drifting from the open door of room three. He strode up to it and looked inside.

  With gritted teeth Bale approached the body, then gave out a long angry sigh. It was impossible to tell who lay there with half his face shot off, but he suspected it was Joe Brewster. Bale knew that those he sought had escaped by taking to the back stairs. It was pointless even trying to catch up with them.

  As a puffing and panting Doc Hardy reached the landing the marshal rested a shoulder against the corridor wall and holstered his own weapon.

  ‘There’s a dead ’un in here, Doc.’ Bale gestured with his right thumb.

  Hardy stopped and tried to get his second wind. ‘Who is it?’

  ‘Whoever it is he ain’t got a lot of head left on his shoulders,’ the marshal warned.

  Chapter Twelve

  A THOUSAND RAVENOUS bats swooped all around the town chasing the moths which were being drawn to the blazing torches outside The Texas House. Lines of men still waited to be fleeced of their meager savings and neither saw or heard anything of the activity above their heads. All they could think of was being allowed into the palace before them. No Eden could hold greater expectations for the townsfolk. It was as if every eye within the boundaries of the remote oasis town could see only one thing: the splendidly painted doors which, they believed, would lead them to not only paradise but fortune.

  The two gunslingers had carried the pair of heavy bags the length of Main Street’s back alleyways to remain unseen, and had then crossed the wide dusty thoroughfare, heading towards their goal, the busy gambling hall.

  It had been difficult to find enough shadows to shield them from prying eyes but Fargo and Layne had managed it. They carried their hefty burdens down the side of the newly constructed building into the darkness until they reached its guarded door. Gunman Poke Piper was nearly as old as Fargo but had not carved as many notches on his wooden gun grip. He opened the door and ushered the two men inside before closing it.

  The wooden stairwell was unlike the rest of the magnificent gambling-hall. This was a private route to Kelly’s private offices. Both Fargo and Layne made their way up the narrow flight of steps with the heavy bags in tow. Fargo knocked the door at the top of the dimly illuminated steps and waited.

  ‘It ain’t locked!’ Kelly’s voice rang out.

  As they entered the lavishly decorated room they saw Kelly rise from his desk eagerly. The gambler dropped his cigar into the glass tray and met them halfway across the room. He could not conceal his elation.

  ‘This better be worth it, Texas,’ Fargo gasped as beads of sweat dripped from his face. ‘I almost busted my back carrying these damn bags.’

  ‘What’s in them, Texas Jack?’ Layne managed to ask.

  ‘A treasure, boys.’ Kelly grinned broadly. ‘Stolen from a bank by the Brewster brothers and now ours. A golden fortune!’

  Layne dropped his bag on the carpet. ‘I think I prefer paper money.’

  Texas Jack Kelly smiled before snapping his fingers at his men. ‘Open them up, Fargo. I want to see what a fortune in gold coin looks like.’

  Fargo released his grip on the bag he had carried from the back of the hotel and produced a knife from his pants pocket. He opened its blade, dropped on to one knee and slashed through the canvas.

  A few golden coins fell on to the carpet, then Fargo’s expression altered as his eyes and then his hands vainly searched for more.

  ‘What in tarnation?’

  Kelly stooped and gazed into the bag. ‘What’s wrong?’

  Fargo did not reply. He turned on his knee and pulled the other bag away from Layne. He stabbed the bag and draped the honed edge of the blade across the canvas until the bag’s interior was also exposed. Again a dozen or more golden coins fell from the top of the bag. Fargo dropped his knife and began hauling the contents of both bags on to the carpeted floor.

  It was metal but it was nothing like gold coin. Everything from horse shoes to rusted farrier’s tools appeared as the pile grew bigger at Fargo’s knees.

  ‘We got us a lotta lead and iron here, Texas. But there ain’t no more gold that I can find.’

  ‘What?’ Kelly screamed out at both men. ‘Are you sure these are the right bags? Maybe there were others in the hotel room! Did you look?’

  ‘These are the only two bags there was, Texas.’ Fargo looked mystified.

  Layne blinked hard as his mind tried to work out what had happened to the fortune he had heard his boss rave about. ‘I don’t get it, Texas Jack. This is junk. Where’s the rest of the golden eagles?’

  Kelly straightened up. His eyes narrowed to such an extent that they could not be seen by either of his henchmen. He clenched both fists and paced around the room, staring at the ceiling above them. Then he paused.

  ‘These are the bags from Brewster’s room?’ he repeated.

  ‘The only bags that were in there, Texas,’ Fargo replied. He stood up and patted the rust from his hands.

  Kelly glanced at his top gun. ‘And Joey?’

  ‘I killed him just like you told me!’

  ‘Damn!’ Kelly cursed angrily. ‘Joey must have hidden the loot before he reached Desert Springs. He piled this junk in those bags to fool us. Now we can’t get him to spill the beans and tell us where he stashed the gold coins.’ Fargo ran a hand across his sweating neck. ‘We can’t ever find out where he hid it, Texas.’

  Texas Jack Kelly turned and looked at Fargo. His left hand rose until he was pointing straight at the confused gunman.

  ‘He came in from the desert,’ Kelly muttered like a burning fuse. ‘Maybe he hid it out there. Maybe you boys ought to go and try and find it.’

  ‘What?’ Layne gulped at the thought of ever going out into the vast desert that fringed the southern part of the town. ‘I ain’t hankering to ride out there. Not even for a share of a fortune.’

  ‘You will do what I tell you to do, Ben,’ Kelly growled angrily. ‘I pay you to obey orders and you’ll earn your salary any way I say.’

  Layne bit his lip. He turned and started to walk back towards the door.

  ‘I quit! You ain’t paying me enough to go tangle with no damn desert!’

  Texas Jack Kelly pushed past Fargo and stooped. His hand caught hold of the knife. He straightened up and called out at the retreating gunman.

  ‘Hold on up there, Ben!’ Kelly said as he continued on to the man with his back to him. ‘I got something for you!’

  Ben Layne turned just as Kelly reached him. For the first time since the gunman had known the gambler, he saw the expression change from its usual expressionless
state to one of blind rage. Kelly thrust the knife with all his force into the middle of the stunned Layne. Layne gave out a scream as he felt the sharp blade carve its way into him. His eyes widened and then looked down at the handle of the weapon. Kelly twisted the blade as if he were gutting a fish, then released his grip. Layne coughed blood up and then looked down at the lethal wound.

  ‘Y—you done killed me, Texas Jack!’ Layne said through a mess of gore.

  Kelly did not reply as he walked to Fargo’s shoulder, then paused. The gambler smiled as Layne dropped on to his knees and clutched at the gore-covered hilt of the knife.

  Fargo walked away from his boss and rested his hip on the edge of the desk. He rubbed his whiskers and exhaled. ‘You better not try that trick with me, Texas! I’ll shoot your eyes out if’n you do!’

  Layne fell on to his face. His body twitched as life left it swiftly, leaving only an expanding pool of blood in its wake.

  ‘Nobody quits Texas Jack.’ Kelly said, rubbing the blood from his hand down Fargo’s vest. ‘Not him or you or any of the other vermin I pay. Savvy?’

  Fargo looked at the stain on his vest and then back into the face of the man who, he knew, was far more dangerous than his fancy riverboat-style clothing would imply. ‘I reckon so, Texas!’

  ‘You and the rest of the boys will head out into the desert at sunup and see if you can find where Joey hid them gold coins, Fargo,’ Kelly announced. He picked up his cigar and placed it between his teeth. He struck another match and touched the ashed tip of his cigar. Smoke billowed around the room.

  ‘Joe might have hidden the gold coins in town after he arrived,’ Fargo suggested. ‘Maybe we ought to look around the places he went after he got here?’

  The gambler sucked in the smoke and closed his eyes as though nothing had happened in his office. He waved a hand. ‘You might just be right there, Fargo. But before you do anything get Piper and a few of the other boys to clean up this mess. They can take the carpet out back and burn it!’