Blood of Iron Eyes (10 page)

Only the light of a million stars suspended from a black sky had guided the formidable collection of riders to within a mere mile of Apache Wells. The forty-one horsemen had thundered across the arid wastelands towards the distant fiery beacons. Drawn like moths to a naked flame, the lethal army of killers had made good time. Fuelled by hard liquor and the promise of rewards beyond their wildest dreams, they had followed their leader like a pack of ravenous wolves seeking out fresh prey.

Just like Iron Eyes before them, they had spotted the torches on the way station’s high walls long before they had actually been able to make out its adobe walls bathed in starlight.

Like a warlord of ancient times, Brewster Fontaine had led his men from the front for the entire journey. It was something which he had never done before, but he had never faced the possibility of having his entire fortune stripped
from him before either.

He was in no mood to sit back and wait for his henchmen to do his bidding this time. This was one occasion on which he had to ensure that the job was done exactly right.

There was no room for error.

A kingdom was at stake. Fontaine had worked long and hard to take control of the vast untamed territory. It had taken genius to outwit an entire population until they were little more than his slaves.

Now it was at risk from faceless men back East. If not stopped, they would not only steal the land he controlled, but his fortune would also be at risk. He had heard of what had happened to other men such as himself when territories suddenly became states. Men who were richer than royalty one day were penniless the next. Fontaine had vowed that that fate would never overtake him.

He would die fighting to retain his riches and power. No Easterner would rob him of all the things he had managed to acquire over the years.

Fontaine sat astride his horse and stared at the distant adobe fortress. He knew that the only way that he could be certain that his hired gunmen did exactly as he had ordered was to lead them himself.

It had been a long time since he had killed anything, but he had not forgotten how. The lust for blood still remained in his bitter, twisted soul. 

Fontaine cast his eyes to either side of him as he urged his mount on. He was satisfied with the transformation of his henchmen. The half-light gave the disguised riders the appearance of
actually
being an Indian war party. He had even purchased forty-one blankets to hide their saddles from any keen-eyed trooper who might survive the attack.

Any uneducated eye that happened upon his attacking force would see only Indians. Greased skin and body-paint created the illusion. Yet they all knew that they would have to complete their task well before the sun rose again. None of them would ever pass for being a genuine Apache in the light of day. Dawn was their enemy as much as those who rested inside the way station.

The horses thundered onward toward Apache Wells.

Unlike the bounty hunter who had preceded them, they had not driven their mounts to
exhaustion
. These men had stopped to water their horses twice on the long journey from Hope.

Reaching a ridge, Fontaine hauled rein. Dust swept up towards the stars as the horse dug its hoofs into the sand. The forty horsemen stopped their own mounts beside their boss. For a few moments the way station was masked by the dust clouds that rolled over the terrain before them.

Only when it had settled did they see Apache Wells clearly. 

Keno moved his horse closer to the silent Fontaine.

‘I told ya that the place was like a fort!’ he said, pointing at the moonlit adobe structure a mile ahead. ‘Look at it! The folks who built that thing did it to stop critters like us attacking them!’

‘Quiet, ya fool!’ Fontaine muttered
thoughtfully
.

Riley adjusted the crude wig he had been forced to wear and looked across at Fontaine.

‘Do ya really reckon we can get the better of them bastards, boss?’ he asked.

‘I’d say that they’re all asleep in their beds, Frank,’ the confident Fontaine replied. ‘There ain’t bin any Indians in these parts for years. That breeds a false sense of security. I think we can just ride in and kill them all.’

‘I sure hope so!’ Keno shrugged.

‘The last time I came this way they didn’t even close the gates at night, boys!’ Fontaine smiled. ‘They just left them wide open! Yep, wide open like a two-dollar whore’s legs!’

‘Ya bin here before, boss?’ Keno asked.

‘Damn right!’ Fontaine said. ‘I know the inside of that place like the back of my hand! I know the lay-out of every room in the main building!’

Suddenly the confidence of their leader filled the rest of the horsemen with inspiration. They seemed excited again.

‘We gonna kill all them soldier blues, boss?’ Walt 
Jason piped up.

Fontaine turned and looked at the young gunslinger. Even the coloured grease which was smothered over his features could not hide the smile that went from ear to ear.

‘Yep! Every one of them!’

‘Then who we gonna let live?’ Riley queried.

‘The coach-driver!’ Fontaine answered. ‘He’s a civilian. He’ll make a darn good witness.’

‘What about the station workers?’ Jason wondered aloud.

‘We only kill them if they gets in the way!’ Fontaine said coldly. ‘They’ll make good witnesses! Reckon they’ll tell folks about the Injun war party that attacked and massacred the big man from back East and his cavalry bodyguards!’

‘What about this Carmichael critter?’ Keno wondered as he fought the effects of the whiskey which fogged his brain. ‘Do we kill him?’

‘Damn right we do!’ Fontaine laughed. ‘He dies like the soldiers! He’s our main target! We kill him and I doubt if they’ll ever be able to find anyone back East dumb enough to volunteer to replace him!’

The horsemen were laughing as Fontaine produced two bottles of hard liquor from the bags secreted beneath the blanket that hid his saddle from prying eyes. There were still two more bottles of whiskey remaining in the satchels. They were for later when their deed had been done. 

He tossed one to Jason and the other to Riley.

‘Take a mouthful of whiskey each and pass the bottles along, boys!’ Fontaine ordered. ‘This is a job that’ll be easier with fire in ya bellies!’

‘Will this stop them damn Easterners comin’ here to steal our land, boss?’ Riley asked.

‘It might slow them up a tad!’ Fontaine smiled. ‘Make them think twice about tryin’ to push their yella-belly laws down our throats!’

By the time the two bottles had been passed along the line of riders and reached the last of Fontaine’s henchmen they were empty.

Fontaine gathered up his reins. His eyes burned out across the distance between the starlit fortress and his line of primed riders.

‘C’mon, boys! We got us some scalpin’ to do!’

The shrewd businessman knew exactly how to get his men to do his bidding. All it took was the promise of enough money and just the correct amount of whiskey.

With Fontaine at their head, the troop of murderous riders thundered on towards the fiery torches perched upon the high walls of the way station. No genuine band of Apaches could have equalled the blood-chilling sight.

The stagecoach company workers had just secured the two gates set at opposite ends of the way station’s long courtyard when Iron Eyes shouted out to the rest of the well-armed men perched all 
around the high parapets.

‘Here they come!’ the bounty hunter yelled as he stared over the top of the wall at the
unmistakable
sight of horsemen headed straight towards them. ‘Cock ya rifles!’

The sound of Springfield rifles being readied for action echoed around the high parapets. The bounty hunter marched along the wall and checked the kneeling soldiers as they trained their weapons on the large band of horsemen.

‘Remember, boys,’ Iron Eyes growled, ‘ya gotta kill as many of them as ya can! If’n they gets in here, they’ll surely slaughter us for sure!’

Captain Sherwood raced across the courtyard from the main building and clambered up one of the ladders. He reached Iron Eyes’ side and stared out into the starlit wasteland which stretched before him.

A cold chill traced up his spine.

‘Dear Lord! You were tellin’ the truth! There are at least forty of the bastards headed here, and they’re disguised as redskins!’

‘And they figure on killin’ most of us if’n they gets half a chance, Captain!’ Iron Eyes added. He drew one of his Navy Colts from his deep
coat-pocket
and cocked its hammer until it fully locked. ‘Fontaine ain’t in the mood for no talkin’! He’s gonna kill most of us if he can!’

Sherwood looked along the parapets and yelled at the top of his voice at his troopers. 

‘Start shootin’ when they get into range, men! That’s an order! We ain’t takin’ any prisoners!’

Iron Eyes glanced at the obviously nervous
officer
who stood beside him, shaking.

‘Now ya talkin’ my kinda lingo, Sherwood!’ he muttered.

The army captain produced a pair of field binoculars from a small bag attached to his belt. He raised them to his eyes and adjusted the focus.

‘Great heavens. They are whitemen, Iron Eyes!’ He lowered the binoculars in shock. ‘I thought that ya had to be wrong! I just couldn’t believe that whitemen would stoop so low!’

‘Yep, they’re white, OK, and they’re loaded for bear!’ Iron Eyes assured him. ‘Look at all them rifles and six-shooters glinting like gold pieces! Just like I told ya!’

‘I apologize for doubtin’ ya, Iron Eyes!’ A bead of sweat appeared from the band of the captain’s black hat. It trailed down the side of the officer’s face. The bounty hunter stared at the man who, for his part, could not take his eyes from the approaching horsemen. ‘I know little of this
devilish
land or the vermin who occupy it!’

‘Ya ever seen action before, Sherwood?’ Iron Eyes asked. He watched the expression on the
officer’s
face.

‘Nothin’ to match this!’ came the honest reply. ‘What’ll we do? What should I do?’

Iron Eyes placed a cigar between his teeth, 
struck a match and lit it. He inhaled the acrid smoke and allowed it to linger in his lungs for a while before speaking in a low tone that only the captain could hear.

‘Just follow my lead, Sherwood! I’m just gonna try and kill them all! Copy that and ya ain’t gonna go far wrong!’

Before the shaking cavalry officer could speak again, the air around them rang out as deafening bullets rained in on them.

Instinctively, Iron Eyes placed a hand on Sherwood’s shoulder and pushed the man down violently so that the captain was below the
parapet’s
solid adobe wall. Chunks of the wall exploded as dozens of bullets sought out their targets. Yet the bounty hunter did not flinch as he sucked on the smoke and stared out at the approaching riders.

‘Open up on them, boys!’ Iron Eyes ordered the troopers. As one the kneeling soldiers started to fire.

‘Why don’t you get down, Iron Eyes?’ Sherwood shouted as dust showered over him from bullets tearing into the top of the wall. ‘Take cover, man!’

Iron Eyes did not duck down himself. He turned his painfully thin body sideways on to the approaching riders and then raised his Navy Colt until it was at arm’s length. He focused on the gun’s sights and then started to fire. The speed of his thumb as it clawed the hammer back after each 
shot stunned the kneeling Sherwood. He had never seen anyone who could fire as fast as this man.

What he could not see was that every one of the shots hit the riders. Three of the gunslingers were knocked off their horses before Iron Eyes had fired the last of his six shots.

Only when he needed to reload did the bounty hunter crouch down beside Sherwood.

‘Where did ya learn to shoot like that, Iron Eyes?’

‘It comes natural when ya don’t like many folks, Captain,’ the bounty hunter answered honestly. ‘In my profession ya gotta hit what ya aims at the first time. Ya might not get a second chance, ya know?’

‘But why didn’t ya take cover sooner?’

The bounty hunter shook the brass casings from the gun and started to push fresh bullets into its smoking chambers.

‘Ya ever tried shootin’ from a galloping horse? Ain’t easy hittin’ anythin’!’ Iron Eyes closed the Navy Colt and cocked its hammer again. ‘I figured I had me some time before they could judge the distance with them Winchesters!’

Even above the sound of the soldiers’ rifle fire, both of the kneeling men could hear the riders pass below them as Fontaine led his gang to the nearest of the locked gates, then round the walls to the other.

Fontaine had taken casualties and did not like it. 
The first of the tall gates were locked and the walls were manned with a score or more rifles. He drove his horse on. He stayed close to the wall and headed round to the other gate. Five of his
henchmen
trailed him as others were knocked from their horses by the cavalry’s lead. Frank Riley whipped his horse and drew level with his boss. A massive hole in his left shoulder spat blood over Fontaine.

‘They’ve suckered us in to a turkey-shoot, boss!’ Riley shouted out. ‘How’d they know we was comin’?’

‘Who cares? Just stick with me, Frank,’ Fontaine ordered. ‘I got me a plan to stick the fox in this hen-house!’

The half-dozen riders drove along the base of the sturdy wall. They had left Keno and the main body of horsemen shooting it out with the soldiers gathered near to Iron Eyes and the army captain.

Fontaine had another goal and another way to gain entrance into the Apache Wells fortress. Fontaine stopped his lathered-up mount beneath the big gates and pointed his rifle up at the cavalry men. Within a mere blink of an eye, he and his cohorts had opened up with deadly volleys of bullets. Soldiers cascaded off the walls and landed heavily in a row before the disguised riders. Fontaine pushed a cigar between his dry lips and lit it quickly. He sucked on it until its tip glowed like the tail of a firefly.

‘Cover me, boys!’ Fontaine commanded his henchmen.