The Wrath of Iron Eyes (An Iron Eyes Western #5) (5 page)

Sanora was a sleepy town of more than a
hundred whitewashed adobes resting thirty miles south of the
border. Their red-tiled roof-tops could be seen from twenty miles
away in any direction amid the white sandy terrain. This was a
place where people came to drink, sleep and hide.

Men like Tucker. Black Ben Tucker dressed
entirely in black and rode a stallion to match. His was a charmed
life but he knew exactly where to head when it had become too hot
for him in Texas. He had aimed his trusty mount at the border and
headed for Sanora.

He had ridden here because he
wanted a safe haven where he could spend the money he had made from
his last job, unhindered by the Texan lawmen who were hunting him.
He was a train-robber who had only one equal
and that was the legendary
Jesse James. But unlike James, who had a large gang, Tucker worked
entirely alone.

He had managed to steal more
than
ten
thousand dollars from the Southern Pacific Railroad a few months
earlier but found his every turn blocked by the Texas
Rangers.

Riding with the law dogging his tail, Black
Ben had decided that it was far healthier to head south of the
border and disappear rather than wait for the inevitable.

For nearly two weeks the famed
robber had rested amid the peaceful Mexican surroundings spending
his newly acquired fortune on wine, women and song. He had decided
that once he had had his fill of these he would cut across country
and head into Southern California. From there he could head up the
coast to the gold fields. There were plenty of trains there
shipping not only money around but gold ore. A man of his talents
could make a lot more money there than by
remaining in Texas.

Black Ben Tucker knew that the Texas Rangers
would not venture into Mexico in order to capture him. They had
rules which made it impossible. But Tucker had no idea that there
was another man who was trailing him to the sleepy Mexican
town.

A dangerous man who did not live by the
rules of others. A wounded man who followed the tracks of his prey
wherever they led.

Iron Eyes did not recognize any man-made
borders.

He went wherever he liked to claim the
bounty upon the heads of those who were wanted dead or alive.

Even with blood running freely
down inside his left boot, Iron Eyes had continued his quest for
the man with the
two thousand dollar bounty on his head. At first he had not
noticed the delirium which confused his usually keen mind and
slowly overwhelmed him. Iron Eyes had been riding for more than an
hour since the Indian attack but could not remember any of the
miles that now lay behind him.

Only dogged determination had
brought
him
here to capture the outlaw whose trail had led him into this
hell-hole.

The strong
dapple-gray beneath his saddle
galloped into Sanora just before two o’clock on the hot afternoon.
The bounty hunter stared at the dozens of men who sat with their
backs against the whitewashed adobe walls and slept beneath their
sombreros. They lined both sides of the quiet Sanora streets as
Iron Eyes pulled back on his reins and slowed the powerful horse to
a walk.

The bounty hunter felt sweat running down
his face. He was burning up and his leg throbbed with every
movement of the tall horse. Yet there seemed to be nobody awake to
notice that the wounded rider was swaying on his saddle.

He had made it to this remote
town but it had cost him a hefty price in blood. Iron Eyes knew
that the arrow that he had pulled from his leg must
have been tipped
with poison because he had lost blood before and not felt like
this. Poison must have entered his body and was now wreaking its
toll upon him.

Iron Eyes had never felt truly at ease in
Mexico during the hours of siesta. It did not seem natural to the
bounty hunter for people to sleep during the hours of daylight. Now
with a fever raging inside his confused mind, Iron Eyes imagined
that the sleeping people were only pretending and would rise up and
start shooting at him at any moment.

Yet the bounty hunter could not manage to
find either of his trusty Navy Colts. His hands could barely hold
on to the leather reins any longer.

The heavy-lidded eyes wandered
aimlessly around the sleeping townspeople as he stopped the horse
outside one of the many cantinas and slid from his saddle. Hanging
on to the saddle horn with every ounce of his strength, Iron Eyes
stared at the beaded curtain
that swayed before him.

Black Ben Tucker strolled out into the
blazing sun and looked at the tall emaciated figure.

Their eyes met. A few seconds later, the
bounty hunter crashed into the sun-baked ground at Tucker’s
feet.

Being so close to the border, there was
nothing unusual in seeing Mexican riders drifting in and out of
Cripple Creek. Malverez knew that they would not warrant a second
look from even the most curious of the town’s citizens. As the
chimes of the town hall clock struck two and echoed around Cripple
Creek, the six bandits rode their exhausted mounts through the
quiet streets as if shielded by a cloak of invisibility.

They were slumped in their saddles and
spaced just far enough apart to give any onlookers the impression
that they were not together at all.

Malverez dismounted outside the
Blue Garter saloon and watched as his men drifted to various other
buildings. They tied their horses up beside six different
water-troughs along the long
main street and moved around the quiet streets
giving the appearance of men who were just passing through the
remote Texan town, men who had never met before.

They did not have to work too hard because
it seemed that no one gave them a second look anyway. As the bandit
leader had guessed, mere Mexican drifters were not worthy of a
second glance.

This was the ace in Malverez’s pack.

One by one the bandits slowly made their way
to a small cantina which was tucked away in a small alley just off
the main street.

The men entered separately a few minutes
apart, and gathered in a dark corner of the building. They stared
at the wall clock perched above the naming cooking range from which
savory smells arose.

It was a few minutes after two in the
afternoon.

They had arrived exactly on
time, just
as Malverez had planned, even though they had been delayed
by the strange bounty hunter near the wide river
crossing.

The bandits made their way to two separate
tables and then ordered chili and wine. When the waitress was out
of earshot the men talked and honed the details of their despicable
plan until each knew exactly what he had to do, and when he had to
do it.

Malverez went over and over every aspect of
his plan. The bandits listened and nodded.

Timing was the key factor for the men who
lived by destroying the dreams of others. Everything had to be
timed to the nearest second and the six bandits all synchronized
their pocket-watches until they ticked as one.

Previous scouting visits to
Cripple Creek had given the six men details of Jed Smith and his
daughter that were invaluable to their plan. They knew the banker’s
habits even better than he knew them himself. They also knew where
Smith lived and the swiftest way
to and from the large house. Every detail
of the banker’s daily routine was etched into the bandits’
minds.

Jed Smith was a creature of habit and never
deviated from his habitual routine. The bandits knew when he would
leave the bank for his mid morning break, and where he went to have
exactly two cups of black sugarless coffee. They knew that however
busy his bank was, Smith would leave at exactly two minutes after
one by a side door and walk home for his lunch, leaving his staff
to cope.

The bandits knew that Smith would leave his
home at ten minutes before two and call in at the Blue Garter
saloon for exactly two glasses of whiskey before returning to his
bank at just after two in the afternoon.

Jed Smith would lock the door
to the bank at four and his staff would leave at precisely five.
At
five-thirty, he would leave by the bank’s large front doors
and make his way home, again via the Blue Garter saloon. He would
arrive at his home between six-fifteen and six-thirty. They also
knew that Smith’s daughter never went anywhere without her father
and whilst he worked, she would remain in or around her home alone.
A cleaning lady would spend an hour between nine and ten each
morning and not return to Smith’s home until the following
day.

It was a routine that never deviated by more
than a few seconds on any day and this was why Malverez knew how
easy their job was going to be.

They would fill their bellies in the cantina
and then put the first part of their plan into operation.

It was exactly four in the afternoon. Each
of their pocket watches chimed as one within their silver cases.
Malverez had organized everything down to the last second. The
bandit pulled up outside the home of Jed and Rosie Smith atop a
newly purchased four-horse wagon with three of his men sitting on
the flat-bed. Four of their mounts were tied up to the tail-gate
whilst the remaining pair of ruthless Mexicans were on the other
side of Cripple Creek watching their pocket-watches and waiting for
the precise moment when they too had to act.

Malverez pushed his right foot
down hard on the long brake-pole and dragged the heavy reins back
until he was able to wrap them around the pole. The team of horses
instinctively knew that they were not going anywhere until
the bandit wished
them to do so.

Dust swirled over the scene masking the
details of the four men’s actions from prying eyes. But the bandits
knew what their jobs entailed and could have executed them with
their own eyes closed.

But their eyes were not closed. They were
wide open and aware of everything. Without a second’s hesitation
the four bandits jumped down from the wagon, leapt over the white
picket fence and entered the garden. Before anyone in the street
had time to part their lace drapes and look out of their windows to
see what was happening, the men had all entered the large
house.

They were like a well-oiled machine as they
moved through the large building, room by room.

But they had done this so many times before
that it had become almost second nature to the bandits. They knew
how to take their victims by surprise and did so without any sign
of emotion.

If Rosie Smith had managed to scream out,
the bandits might have been forced to abandon their plans and
hightail it out of Cripple Creek. But Rosie had not had time to
even catch her breath when the four men stormed the house. Malverez
had kicked the front door open and made his way into the large
house at the same time as his three companions came in through the
rear door.

Rosie Smith had not even been able to open
her mouth when the filthy hand grabbed at her face and hauled her
on to the expensive carpet.

‘She is most pretty,
amigo,’
one of the bandits
had said, laughing as he held her face down on the floor whilst the
bandit leader tied her wrists and ankles together with wet
rawhide.

The bandit who was still
nursing the bullet-hole in his right hand knelt on Rosie Smith’s
back as Malverez tied a blindfold over her eyes and then rammed his
greasy bandanna into her unsuspecting mouth before securing
it
with a
tight knot.

‘
There will be time for
pleasure when we get her over the border and to our hideout, Jose,’
Malverez snapped, dragging the helpless female off the floor as if
she was a rag-doll.

The remaining fourth bandit tore the velvet
drapes from one of the front windows and wrapped it around their
shocked victim until she completely vanished inside the heavy
material.

A matter of seconds later all four men
lifted up their precious bundle, marched swiftly into the front
garden and out to the quiet street. They tossed the helpless Rosie
on to the flat-bed of the wagon and closed the tail-gate. Malverez
secured it and then nodded to the other bandits.

‘You know what to do,
amigos.’
The bandit leader
ran to the front wheel of the wagon, climbed up to the driver’s
seat and released the brake-pole. Malverez whipped the heavy reins
down hard on to the backs of the team of horses.

Having untied their three mounts from the
rear of the flat-bed wagon, leaving only Malverez’s mount, the
bandits quickly threw themselves on to their saddles and rode back
to the main street of Cripple Creek.

Their job was not finished.

If anyone in the adjoining houses had seen
the men they would never have known what lay hidden inside the
velvet drapes that they had thrown into the back of the wagon. Who
would have even guessed that the innocent daughter of Jed Smith
could have been hidden inside the luxurious fabric?

But there were no eyewitnesses fast enough
to catch even a glimpse of the men.

The bandits had gone and left only a cloud
of dust in their wake in the quiet side street.

The entire operation had taken less than one
hundred seconds from beginning to end.

Now the bandits had disappeared.

Malverez whipped the team of
horses
up to
speed and knew that the first part of his ruthless plan had gone
smoothly. Looking at his pocket-watch as he drove the horses out of
Cripple Creek, Malverez knew that his men were about to put the
next carefully timed part of his plan into action.