The Ghost of Iron Eyes (An Iron Eyes Western Book 8) (5 page)

Even the darkness of night
offered Iron Eyes no sanctuary as his ravaged body desperately
fought to regain its strength. For without the blistering heat of
the sun, the night saw even more deadly creatures emerge from their
lairs to seek out their chosen prey. And the severely weakened
bounty hunter was that prey. The twisting canyons became alive with
nocturnal hunters of every shape and size. A thousand types of
deadly insect, spider and lizard came out from their hiding-places,
as did the wolves and mountain cats.

All with just one basic
instinct controlling their every action. To kill and eat and not be
killed or eaten.

It was a nightly ritual that
the bounty hunter had so far survived. Yet for each of the previous
ten nights his ice-cold eyes had watched the pair of
mountain
cats get bolder and bolder as they homed in on his weak
body.

So it was as the sun gave
way once again to the bright moon.

Iron Eyes had managed to
move a dozen yards along the canyon wall but still had no idea how
far he was from anything remotely resembling civilization. For the
man who was feared throughout the West, civilization meant only
three things.

A soft hotel bed, a
plentiful supply of cigars and a bottle of anything remotely
similar to whiskey. Humanity could keep all the rest of its
trimmings. As long as he could drink the fiery distillation, he
would willingly sacrifice the bed and the smokes.

But each of those items were
just vague memories now. Things his tired mind conjured up to
remind him that this place was somewhere to escape from.

Not somewhere he would
willingly die in.

His
long fingers had become even more
bony during his enforced stay in this God-forsaken place. Yet they
were starting once again to move with the flexibility that had
allowed him to become a deadly shot with either hand.

He continued to check the pair
of Navy Colts and ensure that they were free of the dust and sand
that filled his eyes and mouth. He needed these weapons to be in
full working order if he were to continue to survive the perils of
Devil
’s
Canyon.

Then he heard the noise that
had haunted him for the previous week and a half.

An ear-piercing series
of
catcalls
rang out over the jagged peaks as one puma communicated with its
mate. They came from two different directions and taunted the
trapped man. The hunter in Iron Eyes knew that it meant the pumas
had returned and had his scent in their nostrils.

The bounty
hunter
’s
steely gaze darted from one black shadow to another as he attempted
to see his hunters. But they were experts at moving through the
ragged peaks unseen. Only their haunting noise gave him any clue to
where the slim athletic animals might be.

The mountain lions had a
strange, almost human cry which echoed all about him.

It chilled the bones of all
men who heard it, all men except Iron Eyes. He had spent too many
years hunting every known creature to be alarmed by the sound of
large cats as they vainly attempted to spook their chosen prey.
Their claws and fangs were no match for the bullets that had torn
his body apart over the years he had roamed the West.

If they did get the better
of him, Iron Eyes knew that they would kill him swiftly. For they
were driven by hunger and not malice like so many of his
enemies.

Then he saw them.

Two magnificent
animals.

Iron
Eyes peered intently into the moonlit
ridge and watched the silhouettes of the animals as they closed the
distance between themselves and the injured bounty
hunter.

Every night they had grown
bolder.

At first Iron Eyes had
managed to make them turn tail by shouting at them. A few nights
later, even his most hearty of calls had not discouraged their
advance.

He had wasted ten bullets in
as many nights frightening them away, but even that had started to
hold no fear for the pair of mountain lions.

Their feline brains had
confused his random gunfire with an inability to hit his targets.
They were now close enough to smell the injured
man
’s scent
on the evening air. The dried blood drew them like flies to an
outhouse.

Iron Eyes checked his
saddlebags and found the twenty remaining .36
caliber bullets in the
crumbling cardboard box. Not enough to wage war even on pumas. He
had never been so low on ammunition in all his grown
days.

From now on, he knew that he
had to make every bullet count.

He had to kill!

The matched pair of
lightweight weapons held six bullets apiece. Thirty-two rounds was
all he had between life and death.

Iron Eyes knew that he could
not afford to waste a single shell.

He narrowed his eyes,
gritted his teeth and focused on the large cats as they leapt from
one boulder to another on their descent to the canyon floor. This
time they were coming to get him. They had lost all fear of the
deadly bounty hunter.

At last they were both on
the sand and less than thirty feet from where he sat propped up
against the ragged rocks. Their eyes seemed to glow as they moved
in and out of the black shadows, staring at him.

It had taken the better part of
a year for Iron Eyes to regain his lethal instincts. His hands
clutched the Colts as his thumbs pulled back the hammers
until they fully
locked into position.

He rested his head back
until he could feel his matted hair being pushed into the nape of
his neck against the rocks. Never blinking, his narrowed eyes
continued to focus on the pair of pumas.

They had committed
themselves and he would attempt to give them a fight. He would not
allow them to do what so many others had tried to do in the past.
He would not let them win this battle.

For what felt like an
eternity, they had wanted to kill him.

Iron Eyes had tried to
dissuade them with his guns but now knew he would have to try and
destroy them before they destroyed him. It gave him no satisfaction
killing anything that he could neither eat nor get bounty
upon.

There would be no profit in
this night
’s
work.

None!

The only thing he would gain
would be more unwanted visitors when the scent
of their freshly spilled blood
drifted on the warm night air which continued to pass through the
maze of canyons.

There were plenty of other
predators in Devil
’s Canyon waiting for the chance to get a free meal. He had
heard wolves and coyotes howling at night since the moon had
returned to the star-filled sky above him a week
earlier.

Iron Eyes knew that there
was no way he could fend off an attack by a pack of hungry wild
dogs. He simply did not yet have the strength to fight.

His only power rested in the
guns he held in his hands.

His unblinking eyes burned
into the eerie blue light and tried to penetrate the black shadows.
The pumas continued to make their blood chilling
screams.

The barrels of the Navy Colts
tracked both cats
’ every movement without the bounty hunter even realizing
it. His hands had learned long ago how to aim the long seven-inch
barreled weaponry without any conscious thought. Even during his
worst moments, when he had first found himself in Devil’s Canyon,
he had still been able to rely on his ability to kill.

Then when both the pumas had
moved into the blackest of shadows on the rockface opposite the
bounty hunter, the pair of mountain lions stopped their
pacing.

Iron Eyes inhaled
deeply.

He tried to lock every
muscle into place as his trigger-fingers teased the cold steel. He
waited with the cocked guns held firmly in his outstretched
hands.

For what seemed a lifetime,
Iron Eyes patiently waited and watched the shadows. He knew what
the pumas were doing for he had done the same thing on countless
occasions.

They were getting ready to
strike!

Iron Eyes felt the weight of
the Navy Colts straining every muscle in his emaciated body. The
lightweight guns felt like blacksmith
’s anvils to the disheveled figure as he
rested his wrists upon his thin thighs.

‘
C’mon!’ he urged under his breath. ‘I’m ready!’

Then with a crescendo of
terrifying roars they came!

The huge paws of the large
cats ate up the distance as they thundered across the surface of
the soft sand towards their immobile prey. As one and then the
other puma sprang like coiled springs into the air, Iron Eyes
squeezed the triggers of his guns.

The deafening sound of the
Colts rang out through the arid landscape.

Both animals crashed
violently into him. He felt the claws tearing at his skin. The
sheer force of their full weight slammed into him. The back of his
head hit the rocks behind him. His smoking Colts were knocked from
his hands. Then he felt warm blood soaking him like a bursting
dam.

Iron Eyes somehow pushed the
lifeless animals
’ heavy bodies off him and then he stared at his handiwork.
Both his bullets had found their mark.

The cats had been hit
dead
center
as they had leapt off the ground. Blood still poured from the
wounds.

Iron Eyes rubbed the gore
from his face. His bony hands plucked his guns off the sand and
held them to his chest.

He closed his eyes and
listened to his own pounding heart.

Iron Eyes was still
alive.

The brilliant moon illuminated
a thousand white-faced steers as the startled cattle stared up from
the sweet grass of the open range and watched the five riders
gallop along the sandy ridge high above them with their four
pack animals in
tow. Dust drifted off the hoofs of the horses as the lawmen headed
at top speed for the first in the long line of remote settlements.
The isolated trail was the only route to the town of Porter’s Bluff
from Waco far to the south.

With every stride of the
lathered-up mounts, the acrid smell of foreboding grew more
intense. Each of the five Texans knew that their worst fears were
true. Brutal death had come to the town ahead of them.

Marshal Lane Clark drew his
reins to his
chest and watched his dust drift toward the strangely quiet
array of buildings ahead of them.

Clark lowered his
head.

‘
Damn!’ he snarled under his breath. ‘I was hoping I was
wrong.’

As the quartet of deputies
stopped their mounts alongside the brooding marshal, they saw the
reality that faced their skittish horses.

Even the moonlight could not
hide the bodies from their dust-caked eyes for long. They were
everywhere. Lifeless remnants of men, women and even children lay
rotting all around the deserted streets.

The sickening aroma hung on
the night air. It was the smell of decaying flesh.

‘
Oh,
dear God!’ Col Drake gasped as the true horror of their discovery
overwhelmed him. ‘Look at them, Lane. They’ve been slaughtered by
Jardine and the vermin that ride with him!’

Lane Clark reached across and
touched Drake
’s sleeve. He nodded slowly.

‘
Easy,
Col. We have to stay calm.’

Drake lowered his head and
tried vainly not to inhale the stench that turned his
stomach.

‘
I’ll
try, but it ain’t gonna be easy. I ain’t never smelled nothing as
bad as this.’

‘
You’re lucky. I have.’ The marshal flicked his reins and
pressed his nervous mount to walk forward. ‘I hope your canteens
are full. I got me a gut feeling that we ain’t gonna find no fresh
water here.’

‘
Why
not, Lane?’ asked Bobby Smith innocently as he steered his horse
wide of the marshal’s stallion.

“
Coz
men like Jardine take pleasure in dropping bodies down wells so
that they poison the water for anyone who’s brave enough to try and
follow them,’ the marshal answered, leading the horsemen through
the dark streets.

One by one the deputy marshals
followed Clark deeper into the silent town. From atop their horses
they continued to survey the scene of human
destruction that surrounded
them on all sides. None except Clark had ever seen anything like
this before.

Pete Hall took a half-smoked
cigar from his vest pocket and quickly lit it. He inhaled the blue
smoke and forced it down his flared nostrils. It was a vain attempt
to prevent the aroma of death from filling his every sinew but the
further their horses ventured in Porter
’s Bluff, the stronger the smell
became.

Bobby Smith urged his mount on
until it was nearly level with Lane Clark
’s.