The Curse of Iron Eyes (13 page)

The dozen riders
surrounded the wagon when it rolled into the quiet streets of
Calico. Harve Calhoon knew that he had to say nothing and simply go
along with the brutal Brady if he were to have even half a chance
of getting out of the badlands alive.

The
street-lanterns flickered as Black Roy Hart hauled the wagon reins
to his chest and then pushed the brake-pole on with his
foot.

The men who stopped
their horses all around the wagon wanted their share of the army
gold payroll and it showed in their gruesome expressions.

Big
Jack Brady carefully maneuvered his three hundred-pound bulk down
from the driver’s seat of the wagon to the ground. He hauled the
tarp back and stared at the eight strongboxes lying next to the
remainder of the dynamite and fuses.

Even in the light which
escaped from the large store windows on to the street, Calhoon
could clearly see Brady drooling as if he were looking at one of
the countless meals he must have consumed in his life.

Brady
studied the padlock of the closest of the large metal boxes and
then hauled one of his pistols from its holster. He aimed at the
padlock and squeezed the trigger.

The bullet shattered
the lock into a thousand fragments.

Brady rammed his gun
back into its holster. He pulled up the steel flap of the box and
lifted the heavy lid.

He had never seen so
many freshly minted golden eagles in all his days. Drool dripped
from his open mouth.

‘Look at it,
boys. We struck pay dirt and no mistake.’

Harve Calhoon
dismounted and led his horse to the closest hitching rail and
wrapped the reins around it. He kept trying to tell himself that he
was an outlaw and this was what his kind did, but it did not
work.

However bad he thought
he was, he was a saint in comparison to these men.

‘We sharing it
out now?’ one of the riders asked in a voice that caused all the
other horsemen to nod in agreement.

Brady lowered the lid
of the strongbox and turned to face the riders who encircled
him.

His eyes sought out the
one who had asked the question.

‘Nope. We
ain’t.’

The riders began to
mutter amongst themselves as they eased their horses closer to the
huge man.

‘We want our
share now, Brady,’ shouted another of them.

Harve Calhoon stood
beside his mount. He saw the figures coming out of the various
buildings into the wide street. It was as if every outlaw in Calico
could smell the gold within the boundaries of their town.

Big Jack waved a finger
at the horsemen.

‘We can’t stay
in Calico, boys. We have to hightail it out of here if we are gonna
share out this loot.’

They did not seem to
like the idea.

‘We want our
share now, Big Jack.’

Brady felt the hair on
the back of his fat neck tingle but he defied his own fears and
stayed firmly planted to the spot.

‘The army will
come swarming in here as soon as they discover the train, boys. We
have to get out of the badlands and head south. Then we can split
the money equally.’

The words did not seem
to wash with the mounted gunmen.

‘Some folks
might say that old Big Jack is trying to run a scam on us, boys,’
growled one of the riders. His fellow outlaws all grunted in
agreement.

Big
Jack Brady’s eyes searched the faces of the onlookers as his mind
wondered where his personal bodyguards were. He had left them in
Calico when he had headed to Honcho Wells with this bunch of
killers. Now he needed them to back him up.

‘This is a
mistake, boys.’ He tried to convince them. ‘Even Calico ain’t no
protection should the army come looking for its money. Can’t you
understand that?’

Suddenly the crowd made
a unified gasp.

Brady
and the riders all turned to face the crowd which had gathered
outside the Wayward Gun saloon. Even in the lantern light, it was
clear that a tall figure was moving down from the
boardwalk.

Each of the outlaws
around Brady turned his horse to square up to the tall, emaciated
figure before them.

‘You’re just
like a bunch of hyenas fighting over a rotting carcass,’ Iron Eyes
said loud enough for Brady and all of his followers to
hear.

‘Who the hell is
that?’ Brady asked. He stepped away from the wagon and rested his
hands on the grips of his guns.

A mumble went through
his hired riders until one name became clearly audible.

‘Iron Eyes!’
they all seemed to say at once.

‘Iron Eyes?’
Even Big Jack Brady had heard of the infamous bounty
hunter.

The man who looked more
dead than alive stepped out into the light that bathed the street
and allowed them to study his hideous features in more detail. He
rested his bony hands on his hips and lowered his head.

Iron Eyes stared
through his long, limp hair at the men who faced him. It was a look
that many men had seen just before he had killed them.

‘That’s right.
I’m Iron Eyes.’

Brady defiantly took
another step forward.

‘The stinking
bounty hunter?’

A wry
smile etched Iron Eyes’ scarred face.

‘Yep,’ he
agreed.

Brady waved his left
arm at his riders.

‘Kill
him!’

The order was loud
enough to echo off the wooden walls of every building in Calico.
The men frantically reached for their guns.

Before
the first outlaw’s finger had found its trigger, Iron Eyes had
hauled both his Navy Colts from his belt and thrown himself
sideways towards the line of horses tied up outside the
saloon.

Bullets tore through
the air towards the thin figure. Iron Eyes rolled over until he was
on one knee. His deadly aim had not deserted him.

With every beat of his
heart, Iron Eyes shot one outlaw after another off his horse as
Black Roy jumped to the ground and Brady ducked behind the
wagon.

A half-dozen bullets
sprayed into the horse beside the kneeling bounty hunter. He heard
a pitiful whinny and then had to dive backwards as the heavy
creature landed heavily beside him.

Iron Eyes narrowed his
icy stare and watched silently as the crowd disappeared as quickly
as it had appeared. Bullets were cutting across the warm night air
in both directions as Iron Eyes crawled beneath the nearest
boardwalk and hastily reloaded his guns.

He
snapped shut the smoking chambers of both Navy Colts, and scurried
beneath the building until he reached its corner. Iron Eyes hauled
himself back to his feet and leaned against the wall.

Shadows were now his
only ally.

Those of the riders who
were left were still shooting in the direction of the fallen horse.
He counted five men left in their saddles and Brady and Black Roy
Hart hiding behind the wagon.

His mind told him that
he had had twelve bullets and there were only seven of them
left.

Without a second
thought for his own safety, the bounty hunter stepped away from the
building and fired again as he advanced towards them.

Before
any of Brady’s hired killers knew what was happening, the deadly
accuracy of Iron Eyes’ Navy Colts had brought them off their
saddles. Then he turned his attention to the men behind the
wagon.

Iron Eyes knelt and
stared under the belly of the heavily laden vehicle. He could see
movement. He pulled back the hammer of the pistol in his left hand
and fired.

The sound of a man
shouting angrily filled his ears. He rose back to his full height
and fired again as he raced across the distance between them.

When he was within
twenty feet of the back of the wagon, he saw a figure rising and
aiming his guns at him.

Both men fired at
exactly the same time.

Black
Roy’s head shattered as the bullet hit it dead center but as the
man fell forward and hit the ground, his dead fingers caused the
hair-triggers to fire again.

Iron Eyes felt himself
turning on his heels as the impact in his left shoulder knocked him
off balance. He staggered and fell towards the wagon.

The
metal wheel-rim caught the side of the bounty hunter’s temple just
before he crashed to the ground. He tried to move but he was too
dazed.

Suddenly the huge
figure of Big Jack Brady loomed over Iron Eyes. The stunned bounty
hunter tried to raise his weapons but he could not.

He was helpless.

Then
he saw the barrels of Brady’s guns aimed at his face.

‘You’re gonna
die, you evil bastard!’ the man yelled down at him.

The sound of the
gunfire was deafening.