The Spurs of Iron Eyes (Iron Eyes Western #3) (10 page)

‘Is
it ready, Iron Eyes?’ Pablo asked, as
he stared down at the quiet man.

‘
Reckon so.’

‘
Tell
me one thing: why did you allow the women to take all the animals,
even your own horse?’ The question was something even the bounty
hunter had been asking himself as he rested, trying to fend off
exhaustion.

‘
We
don’t need the animals, do we?’ Iron Eyes looked up at the old man
he was growing to admire.

‘
But
to allow your own horse to be taken away? How will you be able to
leave this place when all the fighting has ended?’

‘
Maybe
I won’t be needing a horse when this is all over,
Pablo.’

‘
What
do you mean,
senor?’

‘I
ain’t never tried to tag so many
gunmen all in one go. I might just get myself killed.’ Iron Eyes
pulled yet another cigar from his pocket and wearily bit off its
tip. ‘I figure it’ll be touch and go for a while.’

A match was struck and placed
to the cigar. Pablo
’s wrinkled eyes watched as the bounty hunter sucked in the
smoke wearily.

We will be victorious, my
friend,
’ he
said.

Puffing on the acrid smoke
slowly, Iron Eyes nodded his appreciation.

‘
You
are surely a plucky old rooster, Pablo.’

‘
We
will win this fight.’ There was a confidence in Pablo which seemed
to be absorbed by the younger man who stared through the haze of
blue smoke.

Getting back to his feet,
Iron Eyes raised a hand to shield his eyes and stared out at the
distant mesa.

‘
Damn.’

‘
What
is wrong?’ Pablo asked.

‘
Dust.’ Iron Eyes pointed his thin index finger out at the
distant horizon.

‘
They
come?’

‘
Yep.
They’re coming.’ Iron Eyes swallowed hard as his icy glare flashed
around their crude defenses trying to see if he had managed to get
it all right. It was hard to see anything out of place and that
suited the tall thin man. If he could not detect his own handiwork,
the bandits had no chance of spotting the traps.

For the first time since he
had last tracked down and trapped wild animals out in the
wilderness, he felt as if he was doing what he did best.

Pablo turned to the five other
men of his village and spoke quickly to them in Mexican. The
villagers rushed to the side of the figure who stood motionless,
watching the rising dust
signaling the bandits were heading toward their
small settlement.

‘
How
long before they arrive here, Iron Eyes?’ Pablo asked with a
dryness in his voice.

‘
Not
long,’ came the hollow reply.

Luis Manillo was everything
a leader of men should be: he was brave, greedy, arrogant and
ruthless. Over the past few lucrative years each of his front teeth
had been replaced by golden replicas and he smiled at his followers
at every opportunity to let them see his golden dental work. The
bandits had ridden south to San Rialto and robbed a small bank
before returning here to a place they knew was safe. This small
village had something he knew his men liked, it had victims to
use.

Manillo led the troop of
sixteen ragged riders like a military general. He looked every inch
the part with his lavish golden saddle decorations and clothing.
His sombrero was unlike any adorning the heads of his followers.
His was black and had golden thread covering it. As he
rode through the
morning sunshine, he gleamed like a knight from long ago. Manillo
was their supreme leader and it showed.

There was no doubting he
ruled this miniature army and there were no pretenders to his
throne.

As Luis led the riders
towards the small unnamed village he knew would satisfy even the
most disgruntled of his followers, Manillo sat atop his prized
black stallion proudly.

In his own ruthless mind,
he was no mere bandit as others were bandits. He was Manillo. He
was the best. He was unique. In his own world he was indeed the
monarch.

As the riders got within a
half-mile of the small settlement, Manillo began to sense something
was out of place and drew in his reins until his mount stopped. The
sixteen riders behind him halted their horses while their leader
sat glinting in the sunlight.

‘
What
is wrong, Manillo?’ one of the men asked, rubbing his nose along
his sleeve.

Manillo looked in disgust at
his follower.

‘
The
village is very quiet, you filthy swine.’

‘
It is
very early, Manillo,’ another of the disheveled riders said, as the
horses stood amid the swirling dust which rose from their
hooves.

‘
For
us it is early, you fool. But for farmers?’ Manillo snapped his
fingers and one of his men produced a golden cigar box and offered
it to the immaculate man. Manillo withdrew a long fine cigar and
sniffed it before biting off the end and placing it into his mouth
between the golden teeth.

‘
You
think they should be awake by now?’ the rider asked as he struck a
match and guarded the flame for his leader to suck into the long
Havana.

‘
They
should be in the fields doing whatever farmers do in the fields,
you idiot.’ Manillo blew the smoke over his head and chewed upon
the end of the cigar thoughtfully.

‘
You
are right,’ another of the riders agreed.

‘
Thank
you, Pedro.’ Manillo rolled his eyes as he watched the village
carefully trying to see any sign of life.

‘
Maybe
we hurt them so badly last time we visited, they have all died?’ a
voice piped up from the rear of the riders.

Manillo turned and stared at
the hapless rider.

‘
Shut
up, fool.’

The riders all began to draw
level with the man whose clothing and saddle gear gleamed brightly
in the blazing sun.

‘I
have a bad feeling about this, my
soiled ones,’ Manillo said as he savored his smoke and glared
across at the village. ‘I have not felt this feeling in my stomach
for many a long time. I see this as a problem.’

The bandit named Pedro
leaned over towards Manillo.

‘
We
could go somewhere else, I think.’

‘
Silence, fool.’ Manillo considered his options. His canteen
was empty and so were those of his followers. He knew the village
offered fresh well water and a plentiful supply of food. Yet if his
suspicions were correct, riding into the village would be costly.
Even to a mind as calculating as that of Manillo’s, it seemed
inconceivable a mere handful of farmers could have either the wits
or the courage to attempt anything remotely courageous, but he had
not lived so long without being shrewd.

‘
What
shall we do, Manillo? Sit here all morning in the blazing sun until
we end up mere raisins?’ the bandit with the golden cigar box asked
bluntly.

Manillo smiled through the
smoke.

‘
Of
course not, my brave one.’

The rider suddenly
regretted opening up his mouth.

‘
I did
not mean to sound critical, Manillo....’

‘
No
matter. I have decided what the best course of action is to resolve
my silly worries,’ Manillo grinned, as ferocious sun bouncing off
his golden teeth.

‘
What
have you decided, Manillo?’ the rider asked fearfully.

‘You
are brave and bold and can never be
called a coward in my presence, my loud one. I have decided to
allow you to ride into the village alone to see if anything is
wrong.’ The bandit leader cast a look at his other men who were now
utterly silent.

‘
I am
to ride in alone?’

‘
Si,
my bravest and most loyal one.’ Manillo could not resist
turning the screw on the mental torture he was inflicting. ‘I think
you are not like the rest of my men. You alone should not be forced
to turn into a raisin. You alone should be granted the honor of
riding down into the village and seeing if all is well so we can
follow you.’

‘
But
if all is not well, Manillo?’

The smiling bandit leader
patted his hand upon the frightened man
’s shoulder.

‘I
shall mourn for your immortal soul,
my gallant one.’

The rider gritted what was left
of his brown teeth and gathered up the reins in his sweating palms
as he jabbed spurs into the sides of his horse. The creature moved
forward cautiously as if aware of its master
’s trepidation.

Manillo sat smiling in his
saddle as he chewed upon his Havana cigar.

‘
Do
not fear. We are here behind you.’ The bandit looked over his
shoulder while he steered his horse slowly through the fields of
crops. He knew whatever was ahead of him could not be worse than
what was behind him. He had witnessed Manillo’s vengeance on his
own men when his orders were disobeyed

What he did not know was that
with every stride of his horse
’s hooves, he drew closer to Iron Eyes.

Iron Eyes was not the sort
of creature to hide from anyone or anything, but on this bright
sunny morning as he waited beside one of the small adobes, he chose
to keep his presence a secret. Each of the village farmers hid as
he had instructed them to do and was armed with the spare handguns
he had brought with him from the town of Rio Vista. On his right,
the anxious figure of Pablo awaited instructions as sweat soaked
his clothing.

‘
Just
don’t shoot me with that hogleg, old man,’ Iron Eyes whispered as
he studied the approaching rider with all the intensity any hunter
applied to its prey.

‘I
am scared,
senor,’
the frail old man admitted as he
leaned his back against the white wall.

‘I’m
a tad angry myself,’ the bounty
hunter said sucking on the cigar which had long ceased to
burn.

‘
Angry?’ Pablo scratched the top of his balding head as he
studied the expressionless face above his own.

‘
Old
Manillo is one smart cookie. He’s sending in one of his men to
check out if it’s safe.’ Iron Eyes pulled out one of his primed
Navy Colts and rested its long blue barrel against his
temple.

‘
What
will we do,
senor?’
Pablo asked, fearing the tall man’s well-thought-out plan
might come to nothing by Manillo’s shrewdness.

‘
I’ve
gotta do some fast thinking. If I shoot him off his horse, we’ll
see them bandits hightail it out of here before I can finish them
off Iron Eyes knelt down and studied the ends of the ropes he had
placed around the small settlement, which he had instructed Pablo
to get the younger farmers to pull when he signaled
them.

Iron Eyes knew he had to
think fast if he was going to lure Manillo into the village. Only
then could he free these people from the terror and horror the
bandits were inflicting.

‘
The
bandits can see almost everything from where they are waiting, Iron
Eyes,’ Pablo pointed out.

The bounty hunter rubbed the
dust off the dynamite
fuses at his feet and mumbled to himself angrily
as he slid the long-barreled Navy Colt back into his belt. Then he
suddenly relaxed and gazed at Pablo.

‘I’ve
got it!’ Iron Eyes exclaimed
excitedly.

‘
What,
senor?’
Pablo asked quietly as the bounty hunter stood upright
spitting out the spent cigar from his dry cracked lips.

Iron Eyes turned and looked
across at the other secreted farmers huddling in terror behind
various houses before staring down into the face of the old man
with an intensity he had thought he no longer possessed.

‘
We
gotta do this right. If it goes wrong, we ain’t gonna get a second
bite at the cherry.’

‘
You
are making me very nervous, Iron Eyes,’ Pablo gulped.

‘
It’s
good to be nervous, old man. It’ll keep you sharp and ready for
whatever Manillo throws at us.’

The elderly farmer tried to
appear unconcerned, but his eyes kept glancing at the approaching
rider.

Leaning down over the small
farmer, Iron Eyes began explaining what he was going to attempt and
what he required Pablo to do in order for his plan to work. It was
a simple idea. If it were executed with split-second timing it
might even work,
Iron Eyes thought. It was the sixteen riders who waited and
watched four hundred yards away which troubled him though. If he
mistimed his plan, would they scatter, or would they
attack?