Read The Spurs of Iron Eyes (Iron Eyes Western #3) Online
Authors: Rory Black
Tags: #bounty hunters, #western fiction, #western adventure, #piccadilly publishing, #rory black, #pulp western fiction
‘
I
hope you will enjoy your stay here, sir.’
‘
If
the room has a bed, I’ll be happy enough,’ Iron Eyes said, as he
looked around the large foyer with more than a hint of interest
etched across his face.
‘
Shall
I have someone take care of your horse?’ The clerk raised a
trembling finger and pointed at the still drinking animal directly
outside the hotel doorway.
The tall bounty hunter raised
an eyebrow and
looked at his exhausted mount with his usual lack of
compassion.
‘
If
you like. I don’t give a damn.’
The clerk lowered his hand
back onto the desk as he cleared his throat.
‘
We do
have a fine livery stable in Rio Vista, Mr. Iron Eyes. They will
take good care of the animal for quite a reasonable
price.’
‘
I
guess he could use a feed,’ Iron Eyes admitted, before
reaching into his right pocket and fumbling around in the mixture
of pistol and Winchester bullets until his long fingers located
another couple of silver dollars. Placing them on the top of the
open ledger, he nodded silently down at the man.
‘
Thank
you. I’ll take care of it personally,’ the small man
said.
Iron Eyes grunted as he
turned and walked toward the wide staircase and its threadbare
carpeting before pausing and looking over his shoulder. His voice
seemed sharp like a straight razor as it cut across the distance
between them.
‘
Bring
me up a bottle of good whiskey and some hot vittles.’
‘
Right
away, Mr. Iron Eyes.’ The clerk felt the sweat flowing down from
underneath his armpits while he watched the bounty hunter ascend
the stairs silently.
For the first time in his
entire life, he knew what it was like to stand face to face with
death.
Drinking alone in a hotel room
had never been something the strange killing machine had cared for.
Yet he had done it more times than he could recall clearly. After
finishing off most of the contents of the whiskey bottle and his
meal, Iron Eyes began to take an interest in the town outside the
small sealed window which faced the front of the hotel. Resting a
hand upon the wall, the cold, bullet-
colored pupils glanced down upon the pair
of bloodstained spurs resting over the back of the solitary
hardback chair where he had placed the saddlebags. He moved around
the small clean room like a caged beast. It was quieter out in the
street now as the noonday sun blazed its fury down upon Rio Vista
and the few citizens mad enough to venture out in its cruel
brilliance.
Iron Eyes lowered down the
drape by its pull cord and secured it around a nail driven into the
window sill.
Sweat trickled down from his
forehead and dripped off his smooth
jaw line freely. Unlike most grown men,
whiskers had never chosen to propagate over his scarred face. Some
had suggested the infamous bounty hunter must be an Indian, but
even he had no idea of what he truly was. If he were a white man,
he was unlike any other in the West. He was an outcast.
Iron Eyes was one of a
kind. A unique being who seemed to be destined never to fit in
anywhere with anyone. There was no place for him. Perhaps this was
why he had taken to killing so easily and so expertly.
The residents of Rio Vista,
like most people in border towns, seemed to be an even mixture of
Mexican and Texan by those he had observed from his high vantage
point. Iron Eyes knew most Mexicans preferred to sleep during the
sun
’s
highest point and spend the night enjoying themselves. Texans were
a different breed altogether: they tended to work during the day,
until the sun burned the skin off their backs, then spent the night
sleeping.
Iron Eyes wondered which was
the smartest way to live. Neither seemed to hold any clear
advantage to a man
who had seldom, if ever, experienced pleasure. Hard liquor had
never managed to smooth away the blackness of his nature, however
much of it he consumed. Most men who lived by the gun spent their
free time and blood money seeking and finding women to satisfy
their basic needs. Yet Iron Eyes had never done so. Females who
plied their trade within saloons and dance halls never came close
to men with his threatening appearance. Not that he had ever had
any real desire for a woman to come too close anyway.
Iron Eyes sat down on the soft
mattress and touched the sharp spurs resting upon the chair before
him. Blood ran from his fingertips the way it always seeped from
his horse
’s
flanks when he drove them on and on brutally. How many miles had he
ridden in search of one wanted outlaw after another? Forcing his
thin fingers through his long hair, he wondered why he had come to
this place called Rio Vista. Since leaving Tombstone, he had
travelled continuously south, as if drawn by an invisible power he
neither knew or understood.
Why had he come
here?
Was there a
reason?
Lying back on the bed, he
stared at the wall where his coat hung covered in the stains of a
life
devoted
to slaughtering those wanted by the law. His saddlebags sat heavily
on the small wooden chair taunting his every waking moment below
the vicious spurs. Exhaling heavily, he pulled the two matched Navy
Colt pistols from his broad belt and rested them at his sides and
tried to sleep. The drawn drape failed to keep the brilliant
sunlight out of the room which was beginning to annoy the
cold-hearted bounty hunter, when the sound of knuckles on the
room’s wooden door drew him into a sitting position.
‘
Who
is it?’ Iron Eyes growled, staring at the door handle, waiting for
it to start turning.
‘
Sheriff Bass,’ came the reply.
It ain
’t locked, Sheriff.’ Iron Eyes
glanced quickly down at his guns and then back up at the door as it
began to slowly open inward.
‘
I
ain’t armed, Iron Eyes,’ the voice informed the watching man, as
the door revealed the stout lawman.
Iron Eyes remained upon the
bed as he saw the cautious man stepping into his room. When
satisfied the sheriff was telling the truth, Iron Eyes lay back
against the pillows.
‘
I
like you, Bass. You got brains.’
‘
I
guess that’s fine, Iron Eyes,’ Bass said, removing his hat and
holding it across his ample belly. You also got a lot of guts to
come visiting someone like me, Bass.’ Iron Eyes watched the man
with his cold, hypnotic steel-colored pupils.
The sweating sheriff edged
closer until he was at the foot of the bed looking straight down at
the man whose reputation he was intelligent enough to fear. Even
with his Navy Colts lying to either side of his thin frame, it was
evident to the lawman this was probably the most dangerous few
moments of his entire life.
‘
You
in town for a reason, Iron Eyes?’
‘
To
rest.’
‘
You
ain’t hankering to kill nobody, are you?’ Bass tried to control his
voice, as he felt every sinew in his body shaking in
terror.
Iron Eyes pulled a long
thin cigar from off the small table next to him and placed it
between his teeth before striking a match across his belt
buckle.
‘
I
ain’t hunting no bounty in Rio Vista, Bass.’
The sheriff watched, as
Iron Eyes sucked in the smoke as the flickering flame of his match
teased the end of the foul-smelling weed.
‘
I
find that hard to swallow. Men like you don’t just ride into a
peaceful town to take in the scenery.’
Iron Eyes blew out the match
and tossed it at his food tray before sucking the strong smoke into
his emaciated body.
‘
I’m
telling the truth, Bass.’
The lawman nodded, the way
all men nod when faced with a man known for his speed with his
weaponry.
Then why come
here?
’
‘
I
ain’t intending settling down in Rio Vista, if that’s what
you’re frightened about,’ Iron Eyes smiled, through a cloud of gray
choking smoke.
‘
When
you riding out again?’ Bass blurted.
‘
I
can’t say for sure. When I’m ready, I’ll go.’ There was a
coldness in Iron Eyes’ voice as he savored the flavor of his
cigar.
The sheriff began to edge
himself backward towards the door once again.
‘
There
are a lot of folks in town who might not believe you, Iron Eyes,’
he warned.
‘
So?’
‘
I
don’t want no blood spilt in Rio Vista.’
‘
Then
tell them to keep their guns holstered and they’ll live long enough
to see me riding out, Bass.’ Iron Eyes stared coldly at the rotund
man before him making his way slowly to the door.
‘
I
don’t want trouble.’
‘
I
ain’t gonna start none, but if some fool makes a play, I’ll finish
it,’ Iron Eyes warned the sheriff.
Bass replaced his hat upon
his head and began nodding, as he took the door handle in his
sweating hand.
‘
Good
enough. Good enough.’
Iron Eyes watched as the
door closed before blowing a line of smoke at the ceiling. Swinging
his mule-eared boots back onto the floor, the tall gaunt man stood
and grabbed his coat off its hook before sliding his pitifully thin
arms down the sleeves. Leaning over, he plucked the Navy Colts off
the blanket and pushed them into his belt.
He was going for a walk
around Rio Vista.
If there was some foolhardy
soul out there, he wanted to meet him. For the first time in seven
months he felt his sap rising.
The heat bore down upon Iron
Eyes as he strolled across the wide street from the hotel towards
the largest of the saloons he had noticed upon his arrival a couple
of hours earlier. Being watched was nothing new; he could sense
eyes tracking him wherever he went, burning, inquisitive eyes. Few
men carried a heavy saddle-bag over their shoulder in the blinding
heat which baked this small border town. Even fewer men had the
ivory grips of two Navy Colts ominously protruding from their belt.
Yet, as he reached the porch overhang outside the saloon, there was
no living person about to question him. Pushing the swing doors
apart, the large room suddenly went silent.
Iron Eyes stepped into the
cool building and studied the faces of the two dozen men and women
whose attention was fixed upon his every movement.
Walking silently to the long
bar he felt uneasy as the men drifted away from him, dragging their
drinks across its damp surface. One of the pair of bartenders
closest to him stepped forward and gulped.
‘
What’ll it be, stranger?’
Iron Eyes silently placed a
handful of silver dollars onto the top of the bar and indicated a
bottle of whiskey bearing a
colorful label amid the various home-made rotgut
preparations.
‘
This
is too much,’ the bartender announced.
‘Fill
a few glasses.’ Iron Eyes cast a look
at the terrified gathering before turning with the bottle and a
crystal shot glass in his hand and walking to a dark
corner.
The room remained silent until
the bartender counted the coins and shouted at his
customers,
‘The drinks are on the stranger, folks.’
Suddenly the saloon began to
rekindle its former confidence. Iron Eyes watched as the people
moved to the bar to collect their free drinks. Pulling the cork
from the bottle neck with his small sharp teeth, he poured himself
a glass of the amber liquor observing the people through
his limp, black
hair which dangled before his face.
Sipping at the whiskey,
Iron Eyes missed nothing within the four walls of this
place.
There were six females amongst
the crowd, each looking as if they had seen better days. Two
Mexicans wearing droopy sombreros wrestled in the far corner over
what remained of a bottle of tequila. The remaining patrons were
Texan men of various ages and appearance. The majority looked
harmless, but two seemed worth keeping an eye on. Well-heeled with
polished leather
gun belts and gleaming gun grips these men drew his
attention. He had seen their like before too many times in too many
towns.
Iron Eyes knew these two
men might just be well-scrubbed cowboys out on the prowl for the
soft bosoms and thighs of a female who had her price, but his
well-honed instincts told him to be wary.
The pair finished their
free drinks and then purchased a few more before turning to face
the seated figure in the shadowy corner.
Their interest in him made
the bounty hunter realize he was correct in his assumption they
were not cowboys. Even the average cow hand had brains enough to
steer well clear of a man like him.
Then the swing doors parted and
the portly
Sheriff Bass walked in carrying a twin-barreled shotgun in
the crook of his arm. The two men glanced across at the lawman and
then turned to face the bartenders once more.
Iron Eyes sat upright in
his chair and watched as the sheriff ambled over to his
table.
‘
Bass.’
‘
What
you doing here?’ Bass asked angrily.
‘
Drinking.’
Bass stared down at the fat
leather saddlebags and then back at the gaunt stranger.
‘
You
leaving?’
‘
Nope,’ replied Iron Eyes.
‘
Why
you got your trail gear with you then?’
‘
I
ain’t. This is my bank roll.’
The sheriff jabbed the
saddlebags with the
barrel of his weapon and heard the distinctive sound of metal
coins. Looking into the scarred face he seemed confused.
‘
Ain’t
you heard of paper money, boy?’
‘Y
ep. I don’t like it.’
‘
Why
not?’
‘
It
burns and it rots. Silver and gold don’t even rust,’ Iron Eyes
grunted, as he cast an eye across at the two men who were watching
and listening with far too much interest.
Bass sat down next to the
bounty hunter and sighed.
‘
I
told you, I don’t want no trouble in my town.’
Iron Eyes took a deep
inhalation of air as he watched the pair of very clean men moving
away from the bar and strolling out of the saloon.
‘
Who
are those two varmints?’
Bass looked over his
shoulder at the swing doors which told him the men had
gone.
They ain
’t from around
here.’
‘
How
long have they been in Rio Vista?’
They rode in an hour after
you.
’
Iron Eyes nodded. They
ain
’t
cowboys.’
‘
Then
what? Outlaws?’
‘
Maybe.’ Iron Eyes pushed the tall bottle towards the
sheriff and thought about their faces which seemed to be carved
into his distant memory, faces he had once seen on a wanted
poster.