Devil’s Pass was virtually silent as the man reined in his lathered-up mount. It had taken the cautious rider with the buffalo gun perched on his hip nearly twenty minutes to reach the spot where he could see the huge boulder jutting out of the soft sand.
Something was seriously wrong and the horseman was alert enough to sense it.
But what?
Every sinew in his aching body told him that this was not going to be as simple as he had first thought when he had trailed Iron Eyes into Devil’s Pass. He ran the back of his hand across his dry mouth.
The brilliant sun was no longer directly over the pass and shadows bathed one side of the high canyon walls as the horseman steadied his restless mount. For the first time since he had started following the tall bounty hunter, he was nervous.
His mind raced.
Was this a trap?
Had Iron Eyes lured him to this place to bushwhack him? The rider sat silently in his saddle as his suspicious eyes weighed up the situation before him.
To the naive observer, it would have seemed that there was nothing wrong. But this rider was far from naive. He could feel the danger that lurked a couple of hundred yards ahead of him in the shimmering heat and taunting shadows.
Iron Eyes was not a man who would be easily killed, and the horseman was well aware of that chilling fact.
His finger continually stroked the large trigger of the buffalo gun as his eyes sought out the bounty hunter. The rider’s attention kept returning to the huge boulder and he wondered whether his prey was behind its granite bulk. He tapped his spurs gently and allowed his horse to move forward slowly.
Then he reined in again and listened.
He was scared.
All he required was a mere glimpse of Iron Eyes and he would unleash the fury of the deadly rifle. He knew that not even the legendary bounty hunter could survive being hit by one of the buffalo gun’s bullets.
He focused on the boulder, which was now half in shadow.
Was Iron Eyes hiding behind it?
Cautiously, the rider lifted his right leg over the neck of his mount and slid to the ground. The sand was soft beneath his high-heeled boots.
He held the huge weapon in both hands and walked beside his horse towards the boulder. Every few steps, the man stopped and tried to see if his quarry was hiding behind the big chunk of rock.
The shimmering heat haze that rose off the soft white sand, together with the lengthening shadows, began to play tricks on his tired eyes.
He held the buffalo gun ahead of him and carefully edged his way closer and closer to the boulder.
Sweat was now pouring down the hunter’s spine beneath his shirt. This was a game that he had no experience of. This was not the way he had planned it.
This was getting complicated.
Was this a cunning trick created by the devilish Iron Eyes, or was he allowing his own vivid imagination to get the better of him?
One mistake now could prove fatal.
He was determined not to make that mistake. All he wanted to do was get one clean shot at the infamous Iron Eyes and cut him in half with his lethal weapon.
For revenge was the one thing that had driven the man onward for the previous three years in his relentless search for the man who was known as the living ghost. It was all the rider had thought about since his outlaw brother had fallen victim to the bounty hunter’s deadly Navy Colts.
Vengeance meant an eye for an eye in this man’s mind, and he had travelled a long way to claim this God-given right. Yet he could not take his eyes off the towering boulder before him, for he knew that death might be waiting just behind it.
His death!
This was not the way he had thought it would be. With every step, he began to feel that he had somehow stumbled into a web of Iron Eyes’ design.
And he was the fly in that web.
He knew that he was still way beyond the range of Iron Eyes’ Navy Colts and he intended to keep that advantage if possible.
He moved to his right and crouched against the canyon wall. He caught a glimpse of something moving behind the boulder through a two-foot gap at its base. Then he heard the distinctive sound of spurs softly echoing off the canyon walls beyond the massive rock.
‘Iron Eyes!’ the man whispered excitedly to himself as he felt a sense of relief filling him. The bounty hunter was lying in wait for him. He had been right to be cautious.
His right thumb pulled back on the hammer of the hefty weapon until it locked fully into position. He knew that he had to try and make the bounty hunter show himself if he were going to be able to blast him into Hell.
Then the unmistakable jangling of spurs rang out again around the canyon, sending a chill up his spine. Every muscle in his body told him that the elusive Iron Eyes was there OK. Just beyond that lump of taunting rock.
He had to outwit the bounty hunter, even if it were only for a split second. All he needed was the time it would take to aim and fire. The buffalo gun would do the rest.
The man looked at his horse and then back at the boulder. An idea began to hatch in his fevered brain.
Could Iron Eyes be distracted if he were to send his horse galloping down the canyon past the boulder? Would the ruthless bounty hunter be drawn out from the impenetrable cover of the large rock just long enough for the gunman to get a target?
There was only one way to find out.
He stood to his full height and then kicked the rear of the animal as hard as he could. The horse raced down the narrow canyon towards the boulder, making an awful lot of noise as it did so.
Without a moment’s hesitation, the man ran behind his spooked horse with the primed buffalo gun gripped firmly in his hands. The dust that kicked up by the hoofs of his mount gave him a little cover and he intended to use that to his advantage. As he got closer to the huge boulder his eyes were locked on to the gap between it and the rock face.
His squinting eyes could clearly see movement beyond its huge bulk. Shadows danced on the canyon wall.
The low-life Iron Eyes was hiding there, waiting to ambush him, he thought.
His horse had only just passed the boulder when it slowed to a halt, then turned to look at whatever was hiding behind the large rock. It too had seen something behind the boulder, the man told himself.
The man was now within the range of the Navy Colts. He had to act quickly if he were to survive a showdown with such a devious and skilled enemy. He would have to get a clean shot with his buffalo gun to finish the bounty hunter off with one bullet. The man knew that he would have little time to reload the mighty single-shot rifle in his hands if he missed his target.
It was a thought too awesome to even dwell upon.
This had to be done swiftly.
He crouched into the floating dust and then ran to the opposite rock face. He could see the Apache pony clearly just behind the rock as it vainly fought against its bonds.
Where was Iron Eyes?
Knowing that he was risking walking into the deadly sights of Iron Eyes’ Navy Colts, he trained the barrel of his buffalo gun in the direction of the skittish pony and cautiously edged forward.
Inch by inch, his boots moved along the canyon wall through the soft sand.
Sweat poured from beneath his Stetson hatband and ran unchecked down his weathered face.
Then he caught sight of the bounty hunter’s long trail coat against the boulder and the distinctive blue gun resting by its frayed sleeve-cuff halfway up the jagged rock.
A sense of panic suddenly overwhelmed him.
The long trail coat was covered in blood and Iron Eyes was motionless. A thousand questions raced unanswered inside the sniper’s brain. Had Iron Eyes died from the shot that had brought him off his pony earlier?
With a speed that defied the heat of Devil’s Pass, he ran forward and squeezed the trigger. The buffalo gun blasted its deafening charge. The bullet hit the coat dead center and the boulder exploded into a thousand pieces.
The man watched it fall to the ground.
His eyes widened when he realized that the trail coat had been carefully placed against the side of the boulder. There was no one inside its already blood-soaked fabric.
Where was Iron Eyes? His mind screamed as his fingers desperately pulled another bullet from the belt hanging over his shoulder. He opened the chamber of the weapon, pulled out the still-smoking brass casing, then slid the fresh shell into the chamber. He locked it into place.
Then he heard the sound of spurs again.
He hauled the hefty weapon around and stared at the spurs hanging on the saddle horn of the terrified Indian pony.
‘What the hell?’ he muttered as the thought that he had been well and truly tricked sank at last into his fevered brain.
He stared at the coat on the ground, then searched the area behind the boulder for the man he was hunting. There was no sign of Iron Eyes anywhere.
Had the bounty hunter somehow disappeared into thin air?
That was the way it seemed to the confused man as he lowered the rifle and moved towards the tethered Indian pony and the long sharp spurs that had been deliberately left hanging on the saddle horn.
Before he had time to think, he heard a sudden noise behind him. He twisted on his heels and fired his buffalo gun again.
Blood splattered all over him.
He watched in horror as his horse was nearly cut in half by the shot from his own smoking weapon. The pitiful creature was knocked backwards and crumpled heavily into the blood-covered sand.
His startled gaze darted away from the body of the stricken animal and began searching the canyon for the bounty hunter, who had disappeared.
Would Iron Eyes have abandoned his mount and chosen to flee this deadly place on foot? The large water bag was still hanging from the saddle horn next to the spurs. It seemed ridiculous to even consider that any sane man would choose to leave his pony and the bag full of precious water, but was the bounty hunter sane?
The frightened man knew little of the prey whom he had hunted for so many years, except that Iron Eyes killed mercilessly, and without regret.
Before he could move a muscle he caught sight of something out of the corner of his eye on the white sand. At first he thought that it might be a sidewinder or a lizard. His head turned and his jaw dropped as he focused on the sand to his left.
He began to shake.
Slowly, Iron Eyes rose out of the soft white sand with one of his Navy Colts gripped firmly in his bony right hand.
‘Lookin’ for me, mister?’ the bounty hunter asked.
The man stared at the ghostly apparition as the voice echoed all about him. He had heard many voices in his lifetime but none that sounded like this one.
His wrinkled eyes widened at the startling sight of the figure that rose out of the shallow sandy grave before him with the cocked pistol in his hand. He had not even considered that the bounty hunter would use the long blade of his Bowie knife to dig a shallow trench in which to bury himself, to wait patiently for the hunter to get within the range of his pistol.
For a moment the man could not believe the gruesome vision that he was witnessing. For the white sand had stuck to the blood-soaked bounty hunter, making him appear like a zombie rising from its grave.
‘What the hell?’ he croaked as he hastily reloaded the buffalo gun in his shaking hands.
Iron Eyes did not wait for the man to aim the buffalo gun once more. He fired the Navy Colt, then cocked its hammer again and fired again.
The wide-eyed man went flying backwards and hit the canyon wall hard. He slid slowly down its smooth surface leaving a trail of crimson gore behind him until he stopped in a sitting position a score of feet from the smoking barrel of the Navy Colt.
Iron Eyes staggered to his feet. He walked towards the body and kicked the rifle out of its lifeless hands. He then tore the hat from the head and looked hard at the unseeing face.
He did not recognize his pursuer.
The bony fingers searched the pockets of the dead man but they could not find anything that gave a clue as to his identity. All Iron Eyes knew for sure was that this man had hurt him real bad. He knew that there were many men like this one, who wanted to settle a score with the ruthless bounty hunter who had so cold-bloodedly claimed the lives of their loved ones.
Iron Eyes lifted his other Navy Colt off the boulder, tucked it into his belt next to its still-hot twin and spat at the body at his feet. He then paused and stared at the dead face again.
The eyes of the dead man were still wide open.
Iron Eyes lifted what was left of his trail coat off the sand and studied the damage the buffalo gun had done to it. It was the worse for wear and full of holes of various sizes but there was still enough of it left to wear, he thought.
He slipped it on.
As he pulled his mount away from the corpse, Iron Eyes hauled the whiskey bottle from the saddlebag, swilled what was left of the liquor around his teeth, then swallowed. He tossed the bottle away, grabbed the head of the pony and whispered into its ear.
‘He looks as if he seen a ghost,’ he said, looking at the open eyes of the dead man.
The bounty hunter mounted and tapped his mule-ear boots into the flesh of the still nervous pony. It responded and began to canter. A few yards beyond the dead horse he saw the hoof-tracks left in the sand by Harve Calhoon.
Iron Eyes continued tracking the outlaw.