The Ghost of Iron Eyes (An Iron Eyes Western Book 8) (13 page)

‘
Blast
their hides. I really thought that they were in their room by now,
sleeping!’

‘
So
did I, Henry.’ Cole slid his gun from its holster and cocked its
hammer. ‘So did I.’

The three Darrow brothers
looked far from sleepy as they stood on the saloon boardwalk
staring around the quiet street at the rain that had begun to wash
away the blood that had covered so much of its sand since their
arrival.

Jardine felt
uneasy.

He knew that if he and Cole
were caught in the telegraph office, even the Darrows would be able
to work out what they were up to.

‘
With
any luck, we might be able to get out of here unnoticed and make it
to our room.’ The older outlaw sighed.

‘
Has
this office got a rear door?’ asked Luther Cole.

Jardine looked around the
small office for another way out but could see none. A window on
the back wall had bars against it for some reason that the veteran
outlaw could not fathom.

He rubbed the sweat off his
face with the tails of his bandanna and then saw the three outlaws
turn up their collars before stepping down into the street.
It
was as if
none of the trio noticed the rain.

Their minds were on
something else.

Something entirely
different.

‘
What
they doin’, Henry?’ Cole asked nervously. ‘Where they going at this
hour?’

‘
Damned if I know, Luther,’ Jardine admitted. ‘I thought
they said that they were making an early start for Waco in the
morning.’

‘
They
did,’ Cole confirmed.

Jardine glanced at the wall
clock. It was just a few minutes past four.

‘
It’ll
be dawn in less than two hours’ time. What in tarnation are they
doing walking around town when they got themselves such a hard ride
ahead of them?’

Luther Cole ran his left
hand across his bald head as he tried to think.

‘
You’re right. What are they doing ambling around town? I
thought they’d wanna get as much shut-eye as they could before
setting out for Waco.’

‘
What
if they ain’t going to Waco?’

Jardine asked.
‘What if they’ve
got other ideas?’

The Darrow brothers
continued walking towards the telegraph office, talking to each
other in unusually hushed tones for them as rain ran off their hat
brims.

Something suspicious was
happening, Jardine thought. These were men who enjoyed being loud,
as if they took pleasure in hearing their own raised voices. For
some unknown reason they were making a point of being
quiet.

‘
I
don’t like it. They’re up to something, Luther.’

‘
But
what?’

Jardine ducked and moved
across the doorway until he was next to the large window. He stared
at the three men as they walked past the telegraph office and on
towards the bank.

‘
Now I
know what Toke and his brothers are up to, Luther.’

Cole moved to the side of
his companion.

‘
What?’

‘
The
bank. They’re going to the bank where we have all our money
stashed, Luther!’ Jardine gasped. ‘Can you believe it? The bastards
are gonna steal our money.’

Cole grabbed the arm of the
older man.

‘
You
can’t be certain of that, Henry. Remember, some of that loot
belongs to them anyway. Besides they’d need the keys and you have
them. Right?’

Jardine checked his coat
pockets and then spat at the floor angrily.

‘
Not
any more. They must have picked my pocket in the saloon
earlier.’

Luther Cole shook his head.
Then he saw Toke Darrow produce the distinctive keys to the bank
and its vault from his inside vest pocket. Cole tapped his partner
and pointed.

‘
There
they are.’

The rain continued to pour down
over the three men who stood outside the bank. Toke Darrow unlocked
the large door of the bank and entered with Fern and Jade a few
steps behind. A few
seconds later light escaped from around the window-blinds
as oil-lamps were lit inside the building.

Jardine turned and looked at
his bald friend.

‘
They’re gonna take it all! I bet you that they’ll steal
every damn cent we’ve accumulated over the last few
months.’

Cole pushed a hand across
the mouth of his friend.

‘
Hush
up! They’ll hear you.’

Henry Jardine checked both
his sixguns and stepped out on to the porch of the telegraph
office. His eyes screwed up as he stared at the bank.

‘
Damned if I care anymore. I ain’t letting them young
bastards steal our loot.’

Luther Cole watched his
partner step down into the rain and start walking towards the bank.
The bald outlaw shook his head and exhaled heavily.

Against his better
judgment, he
reluctantly followed.

Only a few hours earlier
little Johnny Cooper opened his eyes and stared up at the brooding
sky as yet another lightning-flash traced through the black clouds.
Whether it had been the sound of thunder exploding or the incessant
rain that had filled the ditch into which he and his dead mount had
fallen at the height of the battle, his confused mind could not
work out. All he knew for sure was that he was somehow still alive.
There was a merciless pain inside his head that felt like a red-hot
branding-iron being skewered into his brain. Johnny slowly sat
upright and rubbed the rain from his eyes as the pain
eased.

The youngster tried to recall
the events that had led to him ending up in the dark ditch. The
harder he tried to recover the elusive memories, the more
his head seemed to
pound. He could remember being in the thick of the fighting when
his gun had run out of bullets. How the smell of the gunsmoke had
filled his nostrils as he had desperately fought just to remain
alive whilst all around him were dying.

Then Johnny
’s memory faded into a confused
mixture of grey.

With rain pounding into his
face, he clawed at the wet sand and crawled up the side of the
ditch until he was able to look across the desert.

As sheets of lighting
illuminated the scene of brutal futility, he focused on the bodies
that were scattered for as far as he could see.

It was a sight that was too
much to stomach.

The youngster buckled and
was sick.

Then he saw the Apache riders.
They moved their ponies through the maze of dead men, checking
their handiwork. The Apache braves used their war lances to poke at
what remained of Johnny
’s comrades. Further away, other Indians were
collecting their dead and throwing the bodies over the backs of
bedraggled horses.

Johnny slid back down the wet
sand and dragged his rifle from the scabbard beneath his lifeless
horse
’s
saddle. He checked its magazine. It was still fully loaded. He then
made his way through the water along the ditch until he was level
with the flat desert.

He had never felt so alone
before.

Darkness was his only friend
and companion now.

Anger filled his pounding
heart. He moved as fast as his youthful legs could carry him
towards the Apache braves. Every time the sky lit up, the young
Texas Ranger stopped and pretended to be another of the
dead.

Closer and closer he managed
to get to one of the native horsemen.

He had no idea what he was
doing. Vengeance was driving him forward and all he wanted to do
was kill. Had the sight of so much carnage twisted his
once-innocent soul?

His head pounded as he
rested on his belly with the primed rifle in his hands. Another
blinding pain tore mercilessly through his head. He raised his hand
and allowed his fingers to touch the side of his temple where most
of the pain seemed to be.

Then Johnny realized why he
could not shake off the war drums inside his skull.

Johnny
’s fingers ran along his eyebrow
until their tips felt the hole where once skin and bone had been. A
sharp pain made him withdraw the fingers. He blinked hard trying to
gather his thoughts as the true horror of the situation dawned on
him.

Cautiously, he returned his
fingers to the side of what remained of his head.

Somehow, the brave Ranger
had lost most of the right side of his temple. A gaping hole of two
inches stretched from just above the eye to his ear.

A cold chill overwhelmed
him.

He had been shot in the
head!

The youngster knew that if
he were to have even the slightest hope of living, he would have to
get away from this place. He had to find a doctor who might be able
to repair the damage to his pounding skull.

But he could not escape from
the desert on foot.

He needed to get himself a
horse. All the stray mounts that had survived the earlier
confrontation had been taken as prizes by the victorious
Apaches.

Johnny knew that he would
have somehow to relieve one of the Indians of his mounts. That was
far easier said than done. For to part an Apache from his pony was
virtually impossible without killing the brave first.

Johnny managed to remain
still even though he could see the legs of the approaching pony
through the driving rain. He watched as the war lance was thrust
down into one of his dead comrades after another.

A
dozen sticks of dynamite could not
have made more noise as thunder spewed out its venom far above. The
sand beneath his belly shook.

Slowly, Johnny turned his
head and stared out across the makeshift battlefield as more
flashes of lightning lit up the savage scene.

The rider was getting
closer, but the rest of the drenched warriors were more than fifty
yards from where he lay. Johnny knew that if he were to fire his
rifle it would alert the other Apaches.

He was far too weak to
outride them.

What he had to do was get
that pony from the Indian without alerting the rest of
them.

Johnny withdrew his finger
from the trigger guard of his carbine and ran his hand along the
wet barrel until he was gripping it firmly. He turned the weapon in
his hands around and held it like a club.

He knew that normally darkness
was little protection from the eyes of a deadly Apache warrior, but
the rain was
falling hard and that might just mask his
movement.

The Indian had his head down
against the rain that cut into his stony features. He was looking
only at the dead Texas Rangers closest to the unshod hoofs of his
pony and the bloodstained point of his lethal lance.

Johnny defied his own fear
and the blinding pain inside his head. Somehow he managed to get up
on to his knees. Then he rose with the rifle gripped firmly in his
hands like a battle-axe. He swallowed hard and steadied
himself.

He prayed that there would
be no more lightning until he had achieved his task.

Johnny would have only one
chance to achieve his goal. One mistake would bring the rest of the
Apaches down on him faster than vultures swoop on a fresh carcass.
But the rain was on his back and in the Apache
’s face.

Would it be enough of an
advantage?

The young Ranger inhaled deeply
and walked across the soft sand until he
was directly below the mounted
warrior. He swung the rifle back and paused. Just as the Apache’s
eyes looked upon him, Johnny moved his entire body like a coiled
spring. Every ounce of his strength was focused in the rifle as its
wooden stock was propelled at the mounted brave. The wooden
rifle-stock caught the Indian cleanly in the side of the
head.

The Apache reeled and
dropped his lance. He tried to find his deadly knife as Johnny
moved in closer and repeated his actions with even more venomous
accuracy.

There was a shattering noise
as the rifle smashed into the dazed head of the Indian. The rider
was lifted into the air and flew off his pony.

Before the
warrior
’s
limp, unconscious body had hit the ground, Johnny had grabbed the
pony’s mane and thrown himself up on to the back of the
animal.

Little Johnny Cooper crouched
over the animal
’s neck, used his rifle as a whip and urged the pony into
action. It galloped off into the dark desert.

When the lightning once more
lit up the battlefield, the young rider had disappeared into the
darkness.

It was a sodden Luther Cole who
grabbed Henry Jardine
’s arm and used his hefty bulk to stop the man in
his tracks. He turned the outlaw around and then pushed his face up
against his partner’s.