The Spirit of Iron Eyes (9 page)

Iron Eyes blinked several times before he
managed to focus upon the two weeping fang marks.

Without a second thought, he stabbed the leg
with the point of the Bowie knife and watched as blood spurted out
from the gash. He slid the blade across his calf from one fang hole
to the next and then started to rip at the wound until he was
satisfied that blood was pouring from it.

How much poison would also flow from his
leg, he wondered.

His eyes suddenly went foggy. He stopped and
shook his head until his mind began to clear once more. When he
managed to focus on the wound again, Iron Eyes dropped his knife
and squeezed both sides of his leg hard. More blood gushed out of
the nasty knife wound. He could feel his chest tightening as the
poison raced through him.

‘
C’mon! Get this done!’ Iron Eyes snarled at
himself.

He picked up the bullet casing
and then poured the gunpowder into the deep gash. He felt the black
granules burn like branding irons but ignored it. This pain was
nothing compared to the agonizing turmoil the dead
rattler
’s
venom was still inflicting.

Iron Eyes plucked a burning fragment of his
shirt and dropped it on to the gunpowder-laced wound.

A white flash exploded and knocked the
bounty hunter flat on to his back. He lay there for several minutes
staring at the flickering light on the roof of the cave tunnel.

The smell of burning flesh filled his
nostrils after a few moments and forced him back up until he was
seated again. He fumbled in his coat pockets and found another
wanted poster and dropped that on to the small fire at his
side.

His eyes rolled in his head until they found
the gruesome sight of his charred calf muscle. The blackened flesh
was no longer bleeding.

Iron Eyes picked up the body of the snake
and shook it. The rattle still worked. He cut it free from the body
and pushed it into his deep coat pocket.

Even half-dead, the hunter in his Iron Eyes
soul still wanted a trophy of his kill.

‘
Gotta
get out of here,’ he told himself firmly. He rolled on to his knees
and tried to regain his thoughts amid the toxic confusion that
still tore through his head and every sinew. He clawed at the cave
wall and got to his feet.

He was upright for the first time in what
felt like an eternity and intended to remain that way. He knew that
now he had to walk out of this unholy place. If death wanted him,
it would have to claim him on his feet.

Every movement seemed to feel
like a thousand knives being thrust into his thin pitiful frame. He
used the last of the fire
’s light to pluck his long trail coat off the
blood-soaked ground. After putting it back on, he gathered up his
knife and guns and dropped them into his deep trail coat pockets.
He slid his foot into what was left of his right boot and then
scooped the water bag up and began to stagger down the sloping cave
tunnel.

He continued on his journey.

But this time he was using the cave walls to
support him as he fought with the demons that were filling his
thoughts.

The fire finally went out behind him.

The half-dead Iron Eyes was walking in total
darkness again.

He did not notice.

Matty Hume, Col Wall and Tanny Gibson had
been Texas Rangers for more than twenty years between them. Yet the
current mission that they had been sent on had nothing to do with
Texas, or any other civilized place for that matter. Captain Matty
Hume had been given the unenviable job of trying to trace the
whereabouts of Marshal Tom Quaid.

It seemed that the marshal had friends in
high places who knew that the grieving lawman was hell bent on
finding the notorious outlaw known only as Diamond Back Jones. It
seemed that there were powerful people who had political plans for
the veteran law officer Tom Quaid. To them he was a man who could
bridge the gap between the old and the new Texas.

The last thing the politicians wanted was
for those ambitions to be scuppered by Quaid himself breaking the
very laws that he had spent a lifetime upholding.

Tom
Quaid could simply not be allowed to
administer his own form of justice. Yet the three riders knew that
they would probably be driven by the same feelings of revenge if
someone had brutally murdered their daughters.

Matty Hume had been given one simple order.
He had to try and find Quaid before Quaid found Diamond Back Jones.
Find the lawman and bring him back to Waco.

It was not a job the seasoned Texas Ranger
had wanted but he knew that there were few others in his platoon
who could match his own tracking skills. He had also never been a
man to refuse any request from his superiors simply because there
was an element of danger attached to it.

Hume had known Quaid for more than a decade
and grown to admire the silver-haired marshal. The Texas Ranger
knew that this was out of character for the lawman, but he
understood it.

He also knew that Tom Quaid would never
forgive himself if he did kill the outlaw in cold blood.

Captain Hume had asked for
volunteers in the Texas Ranger outpost just west of Waco, but only
two men had responded to the lean man
’s request for help.

Col Wall was roughly five feet
nine inches in height with light-brown-
colored hair. His face was broad and
looked as though it had taken a lot of punches over its thirty
years but the green eyes sparkled with the joy of just being what
he was. He was a Texas Ranger and no man could ever have equaled
his pride in that simple fact.

Tanny Gibson was the least capable of the
trio. Yet he had worked hard to try and make himself worthy of the
badge he had been given thirteen months earlier. Gibson wanted to
be as good as the two riders he rode with. Few other Rangers could
equal his ambition and commitment.

Rangers Wall and Gibson were always willing
to follow their captain. They knew that he was one Texas Ranger
officer who never took risks with the lives of those in his company
and always led from the front. Matty Hume was no armchair general
like so many others of his rank. He would never ask his men to go
anywhere he was unwilling to go himself.

That one simple fact gave his men confidence
and trust, two key factors when you were riding into uncharted
terrain.

The three riders had trailed Tom Quaid
across the high border mountains and then down into the devilishly
hot prairie that led into the unmapped and unnamed territory west
of the sprawling Lone Star State.

Captain Matty Hume had few equals when it
came to following trails and had led his two followers across more
than a hundred miles of the most diverse land to be found anywhere
in the vast continent.

The three horsemen had visited
Dry Gulch and managed to leave its boundaries unscathed. They had
purchased enough provisions and water in the
stinking town to last them at
least two weeks for they had no idea of how big the arid prairie
that stretched out before them was.

Even the hours of night could not slow their
pace.

Hume stood in his stirrups and
took the weight off his mount
’s shoulders. His sharp eyesight studied the
moonlit hoof-tracks that led off into the distance before
them.

Gibson led their pack-mule whilst Wall sat
firmly on his saddle with his trusty scattergun across his waist.
He was the eyes and ears of the three horsemen. The heavily built
Texas Ranger looked out for any sign of danger that might arise and
strike at them from any direction.

The three horsemen had made good time since
leaving their Texan outpost. They had managed to get through more
than a dozen mounts between them on their long wearying quest.

A saddle-bag full of golden eagles had
ensured that the three men could buy as much fresh horseflesh as
they needed to hasten their pursuit of the lawman they sought. It
had proven an effective policy and the trio had managed to close
the distance between themselves and Quaid from days to mere
hours.

The soft sand beneath the hoofs of their
horses began to slow their progress. Hume pulled back on his reins
and stopped the tired mount beneath him. He slid off his saddle,
crouched down and ran his gloved hand back and forth through the
sand.

Wall and Gibson dismounted behind him and
walked to the silent Texas Ranger officer.

‘
What’s wrong, Cap?’ Tanny Gibson asked.

Hume glanced up at the younger
man and smiled.
‘No trouble, Tanny. I just thought we’d make better pace if
n we take the saddles off our horses and let the poor critters rest
for an hour.’

Gibson nodded and headed for their
pack-mule.

Col Wall leaned on his scattergun and stared
all around the moonlit landscape.

‘
We
eatin’, Matty?’ he asked.

Hume rose to his full height.

‘
Reckon so, Col.’

‘
Break
out some vittles, Tanny,’ Wall told Gibson. ‘We’re gonna
eat.’

Captain Hume exhaled heavily and rubbed his
rump with both his gloved hands. It had been a long hard ride, and
every bone in his body ached.

‘
You
ever think about anything else but grub, Col?’

Wall smiled. His eyes twinkled in the
moonlight.

‘
I
thinks about
females and beer! But most of all I thinks about
vittles.’

Hume nodded and smiled.

‘
I
don’t cotton to
being out on this damn prairie once the sun rises, Col. I figure
we’ll need every drop of our water just to survive this darn
place.’

‘
How
close do ya reckon we are to catching up with old Tom Quaid,
Matty?’ Wall asked, rubbing his belly.

‘
We’re
less than an hour or so behind the old-timer, Col.’

Wall leaned over and looked into the face of
his superior.

‘
I
f’n we is that close to old Quaid, how come we’re stoppin’
for grub? We ought to ride hard and catch the old
buzzard.’

Matty Hume pointed down at the tracks that
led off into the eerie distance.

‘
That’s why, Col.’

Col Wall removed his hat and scratched the
top of his head as he stared down at the tracks.

‘
Huh?
What ya trying to say, Matty?’

‘
Can’t
ya see it?’

‘
See
what?’ Wall shrugged.

Captain Hume shook his
head.
‘You’ll never make a tracker, Col. Can’t ya see the unshod
hoof-tracks that have cut in from over yonder?’

Col Wall raised both his eyebrows.

‘
Unshod hoof-tracks?’ he repeated. ‘Are ya trying to tell me
that them tracks are Injun pony-tracks?’

‘
Yep!’
Hume sighed.

Tanny Gibson dropped the bag of food he had
just pulled off the pack-mule on to the sand.

‘
Injuns?’

The Texas Ranger captain glanced at the
youngest member of their small group.

‘
That’s right, Tanny. We seem to have ourselves a whole
bunch of Apache tracks here. Ya ain’t worried, are ya?’

Tanny Gibson swallowed hard. He bent down
and picked up the bag. His hands were shaking as much as his
voice.

‘
Nope.
Injuns don’t bother me none, Cap,’ he said. He straightened up with
the bag in his arms again and walked towards the other two
men.

Col Wall grabbed hold of
Hume
’s
arm.

‘
Exactly how many Injuns are we talkin’ about, Matty? Ten?
Twenty?’

‘
I
figure that there
must be at least fifty of the critters by the way the ground’s all
churned up, Col,’ Hume replied, rubbing the back of his neck.
thoughtfully.

‘
Fifty?’ Wall gulped. ‘Fifty Apaches? That’s an awful lot of
Injuns. Are ya sure there’s fifty?’

‘
Nope.
I ain’t sure. There might be maybe twice that many of them for all
I know. It’s hard to tell. The ground is kinda roughed up a tad,’
Hume answered.

Tanny Gibson stopped in his tracks again and
dropped the bag once more.

‘
How
many?’

Wall spun on his heels and gazed around the
horizon with increased alertness.

‘
Then
how come we’re stoppin’ for vittles, Matty? We ought to be headin’
after them critters before they catches up with old
Quaid.’

‘
That’s a hundred Apaches, ain’t it?’ Tanny Gibson gasped in
utter disbelief as he finally managed to calculate what double
fifty was.

‘
Yep!
About a hundred sounds right, Tanny.’

‘
We
ain’t got time to waste, Matty. Them Injuns will catch up with
Marshal Quaid for sure. He needs our help. We can’t leave him to
get scalped,’ Col Wall said.

Captain Hume shook his head slowly and
pointed down at the sand again.

‘
They’re ahead of Tom Quaid. Look at the sand, Col. The shod
hoof-tracks are on top of the unshod ones. That means Quaid arrived
here after the Apache rode through here.’