The Fury of Iron Eyes (An Iron Eyes Western #4) (4 page)

There were ten heavily
laden wagons filled with more than sixty gold miners pulled by the
same amount of oxen slowly heading towards the tall hills. Flanked
by nearly a hundred troopers, this was no ordinary expedition that
was entering the reservation of the Southern Cheyenne, but
something far more ominous.

This was an army of
scavengers. Men who did nothing except ravage nature for the yellow
nuggets which were prized above all things, including life itself.
Men willing and able to destroy entire mountains just to take the
golden ore from beneath its soil. Men who, for some reason, were
being protected by the US Cavalry.

The straight-backed officer at
the head of the cavalry troop and swollen wagons had never
knowingly disobeyed
an order in his entire career. A career which stretched
back twenty years to the West Point Military Academy, yet for the
first time in that illustrious career he knew that he was aiding
and abetting something which was fundamentally wrong. Entering the
land of the peaceful Cheyenne did not sit well with the man who had
always prided himself on doing the right thing.

Major Thomas Roberts had
not spoken more than a dozen words since he had left Fort Bruce a
week earlier. He had done his talking to try and stop this
violation but all his pleading had come to nothing. It was as if
everything he held dear — about morality and how the white men
should not continue to take advantage of the Indians — fell on ears
either unable or unwilling to listen. Roberts had reluctantly
accepted the duty forced upon him with a heavy heart.

Yet with every passing mile
he knew this was wrong. Not just morally but legally.

Every objection Major
Roberts had given his superiors within the tall, wooden walls of
the prairie fortress, had been totally ignored. He had tried to
reason with them, but there was something else behind the orders he
was not privy to. Now he knew that if anyone were to head this band
of ruthless miners, it had to be him. Major Roberts realized that
he was probably the only chance the Cheyenne had of not being lured
into something they were incapable of winning.

As the elegant horseman
steered his grey charger deeper and deeper into the land which only
five years earlier had been given to the Cheyenne, supposedly for
eternity, he glanced at the tree-covered hills which rose to both
sides and knew there might be eyes behind every tree-trunk,
watching them.

A hundred questions had
constantly filled Roberts’s mind since he had first been given his
orders to escort the gold
miners into the land where thousands of Cheyenne
lived peacefully. What could have possessed Colonel Harker to give
permission to the mining company? Why would he risk starting
another Indian war?

Major Roberts knew he might
never truly find the answers he sought because there was more
behind this than met the eye. During the years he had served in the
cavalry out west, he had witnessed one broken treaty after another
— seen entire tribes of Indians obliterated from the face of the
prairies simply because they were standing in the way of
progress.

The East required expansion
to settle the hostile lands so it had a market for the goods being
manufactured in its factories. Guns and ploughs were being made by
the million, and the west provided customers.

The Indians of the plains
required nothing but the land itself, and stood in the way of the
plans which had been created to join the west coast with the
eastern one. They
had to be removed by any means possible.

As Major Roberts gripped
the reins of his grey mount firmly in his white gauntlets, he knew
that the Cheyenne had been given land that was later discovered to
be rich in gold. This meant that they too were to be sacrificed
like the countless other tribes he had seen driven to extinction.
The other plains Indians had simply occupied land which the powers
back East wanted to release to settlers as the American Nation
forged further and further West. But a land filled with gold was
even more tempting.

Major Roberts glanced back
at his troopers and the wagons behind him before returning his
attention to the tall grassland ahead. He was party to an outrage
and yet felt he could do nothing except follow his
orders.

Roberts knew that if the
Cheyenne attacked, as was their right, he would have to defend the
miners. The papers in
Washington would say that the hostile savage has
attacked the US Cavalry and broken the peace treaty. There would be
nobody to tell the truth and defend the Cheyenne.

Roberts reined in his mount
and stopped the caravan of invaders. Sitting on his high saddle he
pulled out his binoculars and searched the hills for signs that
they might have already been noticed. There were none.

He gave a sigh of relief as
he dismounted. There was still enough time to turn around and
withdraw from this place, he thought, as he watched miners
clambering from their wagons and troopers from their horses. Still
enough time to get out of this reservation and head back to Fort
Bruce.

As he slid the binoculars
back into his saddlebags, Sergeant John Walker rode up beside him.
Walker was a big man with a smiling face that belied his
courage.

Climbing off his horse, the
well-built sergeant
strode to the side of his superior and removed his battered
white hat.

‘
What we stopped here for,
sir?’

Roberts bit his
lip.

‘
I’m not venturing any
further today, Walker.’

‘
But it ain’t even noon
yet,’ Sergeant Walker said staring at the low sun which had many
hours to go before reaching directly over their heads.

‘
Are you in a hurry, John?’
Major Roberts stared into the face of the big man.

Walker rubbed the sweat off
his brow and gazed along the valley ahead of them at the countless
tree-covered mountainous peaks.

‘
I reckon I understand,
sir.’

‘
Good. I’m in no hurry to
reach our destination because once we do, I think we’ll have a
fight on our hands.’ Roberts gave the miners a sly look. He had
nothing but contempt for the rough, evil-smelling men he was
escorting.

‘Where do you figure the
Cheyenne
camp is?’ Walker asked.

Major Thomas Roberts did
not reply, but stared down the long valley of lush swaying grass.
Somewhere down there in the heart of this forbidden land, at least
five thousand unsuspecting Cheyenne were going about their daily
rituals.

How long would it be before
they spotted them?

Bob Creedy sucked on his
pipe and watched the street from within the relative safety of the
quiet cafe as his brothers ate. He was nervous and, even behind the
veil of smoke which cascaded from his mouth, looked so.

‘
Ease up, Bob,’ Frankie
Creedy said as he chewed the last of his breakfast before washing
it down his throat with a mouthful of black coffee.

‘
The boy’s right, Bob. Take
it easy,’ Treat Creedy said as he rubbed his mouth along the back
of his sleeve before rising to his feet.

Bob Creedy said nothing as
he puffed frantically on the stem of his hot pipe. He knew this was
not a place where their sort could relax for even an instant.
Tequila Flats was dangerous.

The small, aged waitress stood
watching her three
customers with a terror she had never felt before. The
woman knew that these men were unlike any she had served before in
the small cafe. Yet they had done nothing which gave her reason to
do anything except continue refilling their cups with the strong
black beverage.

Treat Creedy walked around
the small table and moved to the side of his older brother. He knew
Bob was the one member of his family who worried. Maybe that was
why he looked so drained of color.

‘
You eat and I’ll watch out
for trouble, Bob.’

Bob Creedy dragged the pipe
from his lips and then glanced at the face of his
brother.

‘
I ain’t hungry. I got me a
knot in my guts.’

‘
Then have some coffee for
heaven’s sake,’ Treat urged.

Bob nodded
reluctantly.

‘Okay.
Bring me a cup.’

As Frankie began to get up from
the table with the coffee pot in his hand, he
noticed the faces of his two
brothers suddenly alter as they spotted something out in the busy
street.

‘
What is it? What ya seen?’
Frankie asked as he rushed to the side of the two taller
men.

‘
Trouble, I reckon,’ Bob
Creedy muttered as he stuffed the pipe into his pocket and flicked
the safety loops off his pistols.

Treat Creedy gave the
interior of the cafe a fast inspection before returning his
attention to the pair of men walking down the boardwalk in their
direction. They were tall, well-fed men and both wore gleaming tin
stars on their shirts.

‘
The law!’

‘
We’ll have to shoot our
way back to the horses,’ Frankie whispered into the ear of
Bob.

Bob Creedy rubbed his face
with his fingers as his brain raced.

‘
Nope. We ain’t gonna do
nothing dumb. We are going to bluff our way out of this
pickle.’

Treat felt his mouth drying as
the
two men
drew closer to the cafe. They were flanked by dozens of the town’s
residents — mostly women, all talking continuously to the law
officers.

‘
I figure them folks went
and told them deputies of our arrival, boys,’ Bob Creedy said
quietly as he stared out through the clean windowpanes at the
Winchester-toting pair of deputies.

‘
This looks bad,’ Treat
panted heavily as he peered over his older brother’s
shoulder.

‘
Stop fretting,’ Bob
ordered. ‘Let me do all the talking and we’ll get out of this
without a scratch.’

‘
Are you sure?’ Frankie
gulped.

Bob Creedy inhaled deeply
and then tossed a couple of silver dollars on to the top of the
table and touched his hat brim at the waitress. Then he led his two
younger brothers out into the street and smiled at the approaching
crowd.

The two deputies stopped in
their tracks. The crowd stopped several paces behind them. It was
as if they had never seen three men quite so trail-weary in
appearance as the
Creedy brothers.

‘
Didn’t you boys see the
sign outside town?’ one of the deputies asked as he clutched his
carbine across his belly.

‘
We seen it, deputy.’ Bob
Creedy forced the widest smile he had ever mustered and stepped one
place closer to the two nervous lawmen.

‘
We don’t cotton to scum in
Tequila Flats,’ the second deputy added.

Bob Creedy
nodded.

‘
Neither do we. That’s why
we’re here. Me and the boys are bounty hunters on the trail of a
mighty bad piece of work called Dan Creedy.’

‘
Bounty hunters?’ The two
law officers seemed to repeat the word at exactly the same
time.

‘
Sorry we look a tad dirty,
but it has been a long haul getting to this place. We ain’t had no
time to wash up and put on our Sunday best,’ Bob Creedy continued
to add to his story.

‘
What’s your name?’ one of
the men asked.

‘I’m Bob Custer and this is Joe
and
Jim
Smith.’ Bob somehow managed to smile as the curious eyes kept
burning into them.

‘
How come you came to
Tequila Flats?’ The question seemed to come from the crowd behind
the two deputies.

‘
We lost the trail of this
Creedy character a couple of days back. I figured it would make
sense to come here and check out the newspapers and send a few
wires,’ Bob retorted quickly.

‘
That’s damn smart,’ the
first deputy grinned. ‘It sure pays to be a real professional and
know all them kinda tricks. You send a few wires to other towns and
you can find out where this Creedy bastard is.’

‘You boys sure know your
business,
okay,’ the second deputy agreed.

There was no mistaking the
image that tore across what remained of the prairie towards the
tree-covered hills and distant mountains. The horse was new, paid
for out of the
thousand-dollar reward money, but the rider was
unmistakable.

No one who had ever seen
this ghost-like rider could or would ever mistake him for any
other. With his black hair whipping the back of his bloodstained
long coat, like the flapping wings of a vulture, Iron Eyes drove
mercilessly on and on.

There was no longer anything in
Bonny for the bounty hunter now that he had the silver and gold
coins of his latest slaying filling the saddlebags behind his
saddle cantle. Iron Eyes could have remained for another few days
and allowed his severe head injuries
to heal, but something had forced him to
discard the old horse and hit the trail with a new one.