Read The Curse of Iron Eyes Online
Authors: Rory Black
Tags: #bounty hunter, #pulp fiction, #gunfighters, #gunslingers, #the old west, #the wild west, #rory black, #western frontier fiction, #iron eyes
Harve Calhoon was first
to his feet.
His keen eyes squinted
into the sun as he looked at the bridge. It seemed an eternity
before the billowing smoke thinned out enough for him to see his
handiwork.
As Brady staggered to
his feet and leant on the side of the wagon next to him, Calhoon
felt a sudden relief overwhelming him.
He had done it.
He had completely
demolished a quarter of the massive bridge with only half the
dynamite in the wagon.
‘
You done it,
Harve!’ Big Jack yelled happily. ‘You blew the hell out of the damn
thing.’
‘
I sure did.’
Calhoon leaned on the tailgate of the wagon and looked at the
unused sticks of dynamite and boxes of fuses still under the
tarp.
‘
The train will
have to stop now!’
Black Roy was hitting
the side of his head frantically.
‘
I can’t hear
nothin’,’ he wailed.
Harve Calhoon looked
into the wagon at the surplus dynamite.
‘
Reckon you’ll
want to dump this here to make room for the gold, Big
Jack?’
Brady
shook his head. ‘Nope. I ain’t throwing that dynamite away, boy.
It’ll come in useful on our next job. Besides, it cost a lot of
money.’
Black Roy got to his
feet and kept rubbing his ears in a vain attempt to stop the
ringing inside his head.
‘
I’m deaf,’ he
shouted.
‘
Let’s hope it’s
permanent,’ Brady chuckled.
‘
Yeah.’ Calhoon
rubbed the dust off his face. He had a feeling in his craw that it
might not be easy to ride away from Big Jack Brady.
In fact, it might be
impossible.
The explosions at
Honcho Wells rattled the windows of every building in Calico, but
few were awake at dawn to notice. Only one man noticed. He stared
at the window in his small room above the Wayward Gun saloon.
Iron Eyes had not slept
during the night. He had just been smoking one cigar after another
and sipping his whiskey from the neck of his second bottle.
Even though the distant
explosion had shaken the entire badlands, Iron Eyes seemed
unconcerned. He did not bother to get up from the bed that he was
lying upon, with his primed Navy Colts to each side of his lean,
scarred body.
When
the panes stopped rattling in the window-frames, he looked back at
the hotel door. It was bolted against any unexpected intruder
wishing to claim the life of the infamous bounty hunter.
Iron
Eyes wondered whether any of the hard-drinking men who had been in
the saloon when he arrived might have recognized him. If they had
it was only a matter of time before they came looking for
blood.
His blood.
His only consolation
was that covered in sand-filled wounds he might not have looked his
awesome worst. Maybe the sight had made the witnesses to his
arrival in the saloon think that it was impossible they had been
actually looking at Iron Eyes himself. For the myth of his apparent
invincibility was known far and wide.
Either way, he could
not give a damn.
If they came looking
for him, he would kill them. It was as simple as that.
Iron Eyes thought about
the explosions again. He knew that Harve Calhoon must have had
something to do with them, because it mentioned that he was an
expert with dynamite on the crumpled Wanted poster.
He sucked on the wet
end of the cigar, then nodded to himself as his eyes continued to
stare at the door of the room.
At
last he knew why the outlaw had left the rest of his gang and
ridden here. It had something to do with Big Jack Brady’s needing a
man of Calhoon’s talents.
Iron Eyes wondered what
he had blown up.
He
knew that it must have been big for it to be felt here in this
remote town. But his curiosity was not like other men’s. He could
wait to find out.
Suddenly a knock came
at the door.
The
long thin fingers of the bounty hunter clawed the Navy Colts into
his hands and stroked the gunmetal fondly. His head was propped up
by three pillows so that he could see the door at all
times.
‘
Who is
it?’
‘
The barkeep,
sir,’ came the recognizable voice from the other side of the wooden
door.
‘
What you
want?’
‘
I brung you the
clothes that you wanted and another bottle of whiskey,’ the
bartender replied.
Iron
Eyes’ thumbs hauled the hammers of his twin pistols back until they
locked fully.
‘
I thought you
said that the clothes store didn’t open until about
ten?’
‘
It don’t. But
the owner came in for a few drinks and I got him to open up early.’
The man’s voice sounded nervous.
Iron Eyes raised
himself up until he was sitting. He swung his long naked legs off
the soft mattress and placed his feet on the floorboards.
He stood and walked
silently to the door with both his Navy Colts at hip level. Iron
Eyes used the barrel of the gun in his left hand to slide the bolt
across before stepping backwards two paces.
‘
Come in real
slow,
amigo.’
His
voice had a warning in it.
A warning that the
bartender heeded.
The
cold gray eyes watched the door handle turn and the door open
towards him. His fingers were resting on the triggers of the guns
waiting to see if this was yet another trick.
There had been so many
in his long life.
The bartender entered
with the clothes over one arm and a bottle of whiskey under the
other. He tried not to look at the tall naked figure as he made his
way to the bed and placed everything on top of the crumpled
sheet.
Iron Eyes kept the guns
trained on the man.
‘
You did OK,’
the bounty hunter said, looking at the new clothes.
The bartender tried to
avert his eyes from the scarred body before him. He had never seen
such injuries on anyone before and it upset him.
‘
Are them knife
wounds, sir?’
Iron
Eyes nodded. ‘Yep. I had me a disagreement with some
Apaches.’
The bartender cleared
his throat and offered the tall man his change from the golden
eagle coin.
Iron Eyes shook his
head. He placed one of his guns on the bed and lifted up the
pants.
‘
Keep the
change,’ he said.
The bartender moved to
the door and then looked back at the figure. It seemed impossible
that anyone could have such gruesome injuries and still be capable
of functioning.
‘
I got me a
feeling that you ain’t an outlaw like the rest of the folks in
Calico.’
Iron
Eyes glanced at him. ‘Let’s keep that a secret,
amigo.
I’ve had me too many accidents
in the past twenty-four hours.’
‘
I ain’t no
gossip, sir.’
The man closed the door
and made his way along the corridor to the stairs. As he walked
down the carpeted steps he heard the bolt being pushed back into
place in room twelve.
Captain Wallis’s face went ashen as the deafening echoes
eventually faded from Devil’s Pass. The seasoned officer had
stopped his men when the first crescendo of explosions began
echoing off the canyon walls.
He sat silently as
Sergeant Hanks moved his sweating mount next to the tall
charger.
‘
Reckon that’s
got anything to do with ya orders, sir?’ Hanks asked as he steadied
his nervous horse and thought about the secret papers he had been
allowed to read hours earlier. Papers that ordered them to
investigate the goings-on within the Indian Territory.
Wallis
looked across at the brooding trooper. Hanks’ face reflected the
same concern that was etched on the eighty other
cavalrymen.
‘
That sounded as
if it came from the territories to me,’ the captain said. ‘What do
you think, Hanks?’
Hanks
nodded. ‘Reckon ya right.’
The
captain’s attention was drawn to Billy Bodine, who had reached
their ranks hours earlier with his tall story about Apaches waiting
to ambush them. Wallis had thought then that the young trooper had
simply had too much sun the previous day and then allowed his vivid
imagination to run unchecked. Now with the violent explosions still
ringing in his ears, he was not so sure that Bodine was imagining
things.
He was simply
misinterpreting them.
‘
Come here,
Billy,’ Wallis called out.
Bodine spurred his
quarter horse to the side of the captain and Hanks.
‘
Yes,
Captain?’
‘
How far are we
from the narrow side-canyon that you said had two sets of horse
tracks?’ Wallis asked.
Bodine smiled. At last
the man was starting to believe him.
‘
It’s hard to
tell in daylight, but as best as I can figure, it can only be
another mile or so.’
Hanks looked at the
thoughtful officer.
‘
You don’t
believe the garbage that young Billy here was spouting earlier, do
ya?’
Wallis
looked at the shimmering trail ahead of them. They were now right
in the heart of Devil’s Pass.
‘
I never doubted
that Billy saw tracks, but I got me an idea that he just didn’t
know what they meant.’
Billy leaned forward in
his saddle.
‘
What is our
mission, Captain?’
Wallis glanced at Hanks
and then returned his attention to the youthful trooper.
‘
I’ll tell you,
Billy,’ he began. ‘There are rumors that the Indian Territory has
been taken over by outlaws. That’s why we’ve been getting news at
Fort Dixon of various bands of Indians roaming around outside their
designated land.’
Hanks looked at the
younger rider.
‘
Our mission is
to go into the Indian land and see for ourselves what’s
happening.’
Bodine swallowed
hard.
‘
Ride into
Indian land?’
Wallis
smiled. ‘That’s about it. Lead the way to that canyon you found the
tracks in, Billy.’
Reluctantly, the
trooper spurred his chestnut mount on. The captain waved his arm
and the platoon started on after the quarter horse.
Hanks
scratched his side-whiskers.
‘
Do ya think
this is a real smart thing for us to be doing, sir?’
‘
Orders don’t
have to be smart,’ the captain answered, ‘they have to be
obeyed.’
Hanks
sighed heavily. ‘Which do ya reckon is worse, sir, outlaws or
Indians?’
Wallis looked at
Hanks.
‘
I was just
wondering that myself.’
‘
That don’t
settle me down none.’
Wallis allowed his
charger to gather pace behind Bodine.
‘
But ask
yourself something, old friend. Do you think that Indians would or
could have created that explosion we heard a while
back?’
Sergeant Hanks allowed his horse to keep pace with his
superior’s mount and thought about the question.
Hanks had no answer for
it.
Blood
ran down the steep incline towards the river which continued to
flow swiftly beneath what was left of the bridge. The bullet-ridden
bodies were littered over the high embankment and
rail tracks next to the carriages behind the huge
locomotive, which had come to an abrupt halt just before the
destroyed bridge. Those who had managed to survive the bullets had
been hacked to death.
The
train had arrived at Honcho Wells on schedule. It had taken less
than ten minutes for Big Jack Brady’s hired killers to storm its
meager defenses and kill every man who tried vainly to protect its
valuable cargo.
They were good at their
job.
Their lethal gun-skills
had been honed by anger and impatience while waiting in the blazing
sun for hours. Yet the true fury was born long before in minds that
saw nothing wrong with slaughtering anyone who defied them.
It was a madness that
made them valuable to people like Big Jack Brady.
Brady
had watched from the safe distance he had put between himself and
the men who he knew would kill for the price of a bottle of
whiskey, let alone an equal share of the profits with which he had
tempted them.
His massive bulk shook
with excitement as he listened to every unheeded scream.
The
slaughter had gone on for far longer than it would have taken just
to kill those who were hired to protect the army gold. The big man
knew that once his handpicked team of murderers tasted the blood of
their victims, they would not stop until every single living
creature on the train had also been brutally killed.
It was a knowledge that
he had kept from the dynamite man.
Harve Calhoon had said
nothing as he watched and listened in horror from beside the wagon
with Black Roy Hart and the excited Brady as the carnage was
carried out above them.
The outlaw felt his
stomach turn over when his ears picked up the unmistakable sound of
women and children screaming in the carriages of the helpless
train.
The gunshots ended all
the pitiful pleas for mercy that drifted on the warm air towards
them.
Every one of his
misgivings about working for Brady had been realized. The outlaw
felt sick, yet he knew that it would be suicidal to voice his
objections. He had already done his job and was now expendable.
‘They done it,
Harve,’ Brady said, gleefully clapping his hands together. ‘I told
ya that them boys are the best there is in all of the badlands.
They know how to kill.’
Calhoon had robbed many
banks in his time but he had never been involved in anything like
this.
It was like a
nightmare.
‘I told ya that
my boys are the best,’ Brady repeatedly boomed as his huge hand
pointed at his men who were now throwing large metal strongboxes
down into the valley.
Calhoon stood and rubbed the sweat off his mouth. His eyes saw
Black Roy’s face. It bore the same fevered expression as was etched
on that of Big Jack.
The grin seemed to go
from ear to ear.
‘We had better
take the wagon to the bottom of the slope, boys, and collect all
them strongboxes,’ Big Jack Brady gushed eagerly. ‘I want that gold
on the flatbed.’
Calhoon said nothing as he gathered up his reins and watched
the huge man climbing up on to the driver’s seat of the wagon, next
to Black Roy.
The smaller man lashed
the long reins down hard on the backs of the four-horse team. He
guided the wagon along the riverbank to where the strongboxes were
piling up.
Harve
Calhoon mounted and sat in his saddle, watching in disbelief. He
wanted to ride away from this blood bath but knew he would not
reach safety before a bullet found his back.
He teased his horse
after the wagon and wondered if he would survive once Brady had
realized that he no longer needed him.