The Spurs of Iron Eyes (Iron Eyes Western #3) (12 page)

Iron Eyes
’ head was bursting with the
echoing of the dynamite and gunpowder blasts he had so ruthlessly
planted.

Fumbling for bullets in his
deep coat pockets, the bounty hunter tried vainly to reload his
pistol. Attempting to see anything through the choking flames and
smoke which now hung before him became increasingly difficult. He
had never been so bruised or battered before and yet the job was
not finished in his mind. Manillo was his prey and Iron Eyes would
not stop until he was convinced he had added that evil soul to the
long list of his victims.

The horse which leapt out
from the flames and almost crushed Iron Eyes beneath its hooves,
was the black stallion laden with gold over its saddle and tackle.
For a fleeting moment, as the bounty hunter fell backwards, his
mind was confused. How could they have survived the
explosions?

Then, glancing up as the rider
passed above him, Iron Eyes saw the blood-soaked face of Manillo.
Aiming high, the determined hunter fired and heard the
man
’s anger
as he pulled his mount to a stop and turned.

Manillo returned the shot
through the swirling smoke and Iron Eyes felt the skin on his
shoulder
burn as it was grazed by the bandit’s bullet.

Angrily, Iron Eyes squeezed
his trigger again but its hammer fell on empty chambers as the
bandit drove the bleeding stallion into him.

Rolling head over heels,
the long-haired man found himself lying in the hot ashes as Manillo
rode after him again. Now it was merely a fight between these two
determined men. It had become a battle which only death could
end.

Pulling at his reins, Manillo
forced his injured mount to rear up and bring both hooves down
within an inch of Iron Eyes
’ head. As if in a trance, the emaciated hunter
grabbed at the left stirrup of his attacker and hauled himself
upright. Manillo thrust his spurs into the belly of his enemy
before raising his pistol above his head and bringing it down. As
the gun barrel glanced across his skull, Iron Eyes felt his legs
weaken, but he refused to release his grip on the rider’s leg and
clawed his way through his own pain.

Blow after blow caught Iron
Eyes across his shoulders and scalp but his grip remained true.
Staring up through his limp hair as blood ran down the individual
strands, he snarled at the bandit.

Viciously spurring the
stallion, Manillo forced the injured creature to race across the
green pastureland away from the scene of the battle.

Holding on for dear life,
Iron Eyes clawed his way up until he was able to reach the golden
saddle horn and lift his feet off the ground.

Smashing the gun down across
the bleeding black hair again, Manillo could see the blood pouring
down Iron Eyes
’ face, yet he refused to be beaten and hung on until the
mortally injured stallion stumbled.

The two fighting men
suddenly felt the once proud animal crumbling beneath them: its
heroic fight had ended.

Manillo hit the ground
heavily, but he, like his enemy, refused to allow anything short of
death itself to stop him. Getting to his feet, the bandit wiped the
blood from his own face and aimed his body at the rising bounty
hunter. There was a grunting noise as the two bodies crashed
together. The force with which both men hit the ground robbed them
of what little wind they still had within their wheezing
lungs.

For a few seconds the two
men lay beside one another, bleeding, as they tried to find the
strength to finish their deadly duel. Once again, it was Manillo
who somehow rose first onto his knees as Iron Eyes rolled around
helplessly, wiping the blood from his face as he frantically tried
to see where the Mexican was.

As his vision cleared, Iron
Eyes looked straight
across at the man who was loading his gun with
stiff, bruised fingers. Bullets fell over the ground as Iron Eyes
pulled his empty pistol from his belt.

Smashing it down across
Manillo
’s
wrist, Iron Eyes spat out blood at the ground as he staggered
toward the man.

The scream which came from the
Mexican
’s
lungs almost shattered Iron Eyes’ eardrums as he pounced on top of
the bandit and began wrestling with him. With a power which came
from his own sheer vanity, Manillo tore himself free of the bony
fingers and got back onto his feet. Looking around desperately,
trying to work out what he could do next, Manillo saw the distant
horses. Only two of the bandits’ mounts now remained upright,
seemingly uninjured by the mayhem which had destroyed the
others.

As Manillo took his first
steps in the direction of the horses he heard the cold chilling
voice behind him. Slowly turning, the bandit stared at the
hollow-eyed vision who was swaying as he tried to maintain a
tentative balance.

‘
I
said you ain’t going anyplace, Manillo,’ Iron Eyes repeated his
statement as he squared up to the bandit. ‘Not alive,
anyway.’

There was an eerie silence as
the two men studied one another carefully. Blood seemed
their
only
unifying quality; lots of blood, both wet and drying. Manillo used
every ounce of his arrogance as he tried to outstare his opponent.
The trouble was you could not outstare Iron Eyes.

‘
Are
you the hunter of men called Iron Eyes?’ Manillo asked, slipping
his fingers into his torn jacket pocket searching for the tiny
gold-plated Colt .41 derringer he always kept hidden there for
emergencies such as this.

Iron Eyes stared down at
the flattened ground and his empty Navy Colt pistol before looking
up into the smiling face of the man with golden teeth.

‘Yep.
They call me Iron Eyes,
Manillo.’

‘
You
have heard of the great Manillo?’ The bandit’s chest swelled with
self-importance as he spoke.

‘I’
ve heard of everyone with a price on
their head,’ Iron Eyes said, as blood continued to drip onto his
red shirt. He nodded to himself when he realized he had been right
about the color. It did not show. ‘How much is a dandy like you
worth in American money, Manillo?’

‘I
think your question is pointless,
Iron Eyes.’ Manillo continued fumbling in his pocket for the small
single shot pistol.

‘
How
come?’

‘
Because you will not live to collect any reward money for
Manillo,
senor.
There is no man alive who will ever defeat the great
Manillo.’

Iron Eyes threw his hair
off his face with a flick of his long neck. Blood sprayed the
flamboyant bandit.

‘
Maybe
so, but are you damn sure I’m alive?’

The bandit rubbed the blood
from his face as he watched the strange creature before
him.

‘If
you were already dead, it would make
sense,
senor.
I have never seen a living man who looks as dead as you
do.’

Iron Eyes took a step
forward and watched as the fearful man retreated.

‘
A
dude like you ain’t so brave without his army of misfits to back up
his words.’

‘
I am
the great Manillo.’

‘I
reckon your dead horse has more
brains than you, Manillo,’ the bounty hunter said, while he watched
the man’s arm moving as his fingers searched the jacket
pocket.

‘
Your
words are big,
senor.’

‘
Not
half as big as yours.’

Manillo shrugged.

‘
But
you are unarmed and not in the best of states, my friend. For a man
such as myself to be taken prisoner by an unarmed bounty hunter is
not possible.’

‘I
don’t take prisoners, Manillo.’ Iron
Eyes felt a smile crossing his face. ‘I’m taking you in, all right.
Dead.’

Finally, the Mexican pulled
the small derringer out from his pocket. Iron Eyes saw the glinting
of the tiny golden barrel and ducked down just as the shot blasted
away from the small gun. The bounty hunter felt the heat from the
tiny lead ball as it passed over his head. Grabbing at the handle
of his long knife inside the right mule-ear boot, Iron Eyes pulled
it out and threw the bloodstained blade straight at Manillo. The
knife hit the bandit squarely in the middle of his frilly
shirt.

Manillo seemed to hover for
a moment before dropping the tiny derringer. Then, both his hands
reached up to touch the handle of the knife stuck firmly in his
chest. As Iron Eyes walked towards him, he toppled silently
backwards.

Dragging the knife out of his
victim
’s
chest, Iron Eyes spat at the body. He had killed many men in his
lifetime for reward money, but he would have killed Manillo for
nothing.

Staring up, Iron Eyes saw
the rejoicing Pablo and his fellow farmers coming across the fields
towards him.

It was over.

The border town of Rio Vista
was bathed in the light of a new day as Sheriff Bass stretched his
arms and felt his bones clicking back into place. He had not slept
well during the past two humid nights and knew his mind was on the
fate of the strange bounty hunter he had watched ride off with the
old Mexican farmer named Pablo.

This was the best time of
the day in the sleepy border town, thought the sheriff. For the
first hour after sunrise the sun was simply bright, but as it
crawled higher in the cloudless sky, the heat would begin to take
its toll upon every living thing. Even now, he was sweating, as he
stared out over the wide, rippling river below him.

Walking along the ridge
overlooking the river, Bass wondered if he should have joined Iron
Eyes on his suicidal mission. But he was no gunfighter
or marksman like
the bounty hunter. For Bass, shooting a twin-barreled shotgun was
as skilful as he had ever managed to get; even then he had to get
in close.

Yet he was troubled. Over
the years he had met many souls as they drifted on through his
small town, but none of them ranked in the same league as Iron
Eyes. The legendary bounty hunter who was infamous for never
showing any emotion or pity for anyone or anything had left his
mark upon the sheriff Bass knew the man had ridden to help the
Mexican villagers fight off the evil Manillo and his gang, and even
with all the explosives and extra weaponry, it had seemed a doomed
gesture.

Hearing the distinctive
sound of the shuffling sandals belonging to the robed Father Jose
behind him, the sheriff raised a hand.

‘
That
you, Father?’ Bass called out, without bothering to look
around.

‘
Si,
Sheriff Bass. It is another fine morning, is it
not?’

The sheriff nodded as he
sighed thoughtfully.

‘
You
reckon Iron Eyes knew what he was riding into with old Pablo,
Father?’

The priest could hear the
concern in the sheriff
’s voice as the man kicked at the dusty
trail.

‘
You
liked the strange Iron Eyes, did you not?’

Bass glanced at the robed
man.

‘
I
can’t figure out why but I did like him. Most men are complicated
but not Iron Eyes. Maybe he was just plain honest.’

‘
You
are concerned for his safety?’ Father Jose had felt the same
worries filling his own conscience.

‘
They
rode out two days ago, Father,’ said Bass running his tongue over
his teeth. ‘Whatever was going to happen, must have happened
already, I guess.’

‘
You
feel he might have ridden to his death?’ Father Jose rested a hand
on the firm shoulder of the lawman.

‘
Yep.
He seemed like he was ready to die, Father.’ Bass shook his head at
the thought.

‘
I do
not think he was ready to commit suicide, Sheriff The voice seemed
almost musical as it floated over the words.

‘I
don’t understand it.’

‘
Understand what? His bravery? His willingness to help those
weaker than himself?’

Bass turned to face the
shorter man.

‘
He
had a fortune in gold and silver coin in his saddlebags and yet he
was unhappy. He seemed unable to come to terms with the fact he did
not have to hunt men any longer. Then he comes along and says he’s
lost the money and has to take a job helping Pablo and his friends.
Does it make sense, Father?’

Father Jose began to smile
knowingly.

‘
Do
you know where he lost all that money, Sheriff?’

‘
Nope.’

‘
He
lost his money in my chapel.’ The priest smiled and crossed himself
as he stared at the sky above them.