EVEN DARKNESS COULD not hide the massive whitewashed hacienda which Don Miguel Sanchez had erected as a monument and proof of his unparalleled power. It seemed to all who approached it to fill the very sky, looming over the southern end of the valley as a warning to anyone who dared enter the lands claimed by Sanchez.
Blazing torches were perched along its high walls and to either side of its well-fortified entrance. Their flickering light illuminated the trail which led to its solitary entrance.
Luis Fernandez had made good time back to the imposing edifice considering the weight of the lifeless body which was tied behind his high cantle. It had taken barely five hours to negotiate the long ride through the valley but every stride of his stallion had brought fear to the vaquero.
Fernandez slowed his mount and then called out across the darkness to the sentries who he knew would be guarding their leader and all those who dwelled behind the high walls. There were always at least half a dozen well-armed men on duty throughout the night.
The rider reined in and waited a hundred yards from the sturdy drawbridge until he heard the chains begin to lower the heavy wooden gangway to the ground.
Only when he saw two of the guards venture out and signal to him did Fernandez jab his spurs into the sides of the muscular stallion beneath him. The horse responded and rode across the clearing and over the wooden drawbridge. He had no sooner entered the courtyard than he heard the sturdy chains raising the drawbridge back up again.
The sound of hoofs on wood had echoed all around the area and alerted those within the hacienda that someone had arrived. He rode to the impressive tiled steps and pulled back on his reins. The stallion halted and snorted at the ground. For hours the thoroughbred animal had vainly attempted to outrun the smell of death it carried on its back.
‘Don Miguel! Don Miguel!’ Fernandez bellowed out below the tiled steps which led from the courtyard up to where Sanchez had his own private quarters. For a few moments the vaquero saw nothing above him. Then he saw light race across the glass of the windows as one lamp after another was lit.
Fernandez was nervous.
He had good reason.
Even though he had done nothing wrong, he knew the murderous proclivities of his leader. Those who brought bad news to Sanchez often paid with their lives. The vaquero dismounted as the guards surrounded his horse and the lifeless body tied across its saddle cantle. Then they all looked up at the fearsome man who was walking barefooted down the tiled steps towards them.
Don Miguel Sanchez was draped in the finest silk dressing-gown and held a cocked .45 in his left hand. He said nothing as he descended to the men and the horse.
There was a fire in the eyes of Sanchez. A fire which all who saw it knew would not be easily extinguished.
‘What is this, you pathetic dog?’ Don Miguel Sanchez shouted at the man who held on to the reins of the stallion. ‘What have you done? Why is Pedro dead?’
Fernandez bowed fearfully.
‘No, Don Miguel, we found the body of poor Pedro at the end of the valley. He was slain by someone, Don Miguel. Pepe told me to bring it to you. This I have done.’
Sanchez walked to the side of the stallion and signaled to one of his men to lift the head of the dead vaquero.
The nearest man obeyed and grabbed the hair of the body and raised it away from the saddle blanket. For what seemed like an eternity, Sanchez studied the face of Ruiz. He then gestured to the vaquero to lower the head back. He then returned to Fernandez.
‘Who did this, Luis? What stinking animal had the nerve to kill our beloved Pedro?’
Fernandez shrugged. ‘We do not know, Don Miguel. Pedro was miles ahead of us when we heard two shots. It took hours for us to reach him. He was already dead when we reached him.’ Sanchez gave a heavy sigh.
‘What of Pepe and the others?’
‘They are following the trail left by the killer. They will hunt him down and make him pay for this violation.’
‘Killer? Do you not mean killers, Luis?’ Sanchez stared at the body of the man he had thought invincible. ‘It would take more than one man to have killed Pedro. It must be the vermin who have infested the valley. The settlers did this.’
Fernandez nodded in agreement. ‘You are right, Don Miguel. It must have been the settlers. They must have ambushed Pedro like the cowards they are.’
Sanchez looked at the guards and waved the gun at them. ‘Bury him and then prepare our horses. We shall join the hunt for the killers. They will pay with their lives.’
Fernandez made as though to follow the others.
‘Where are you going, Luis?’ Sanchez enquired.
The vaquero was about to reply when the barrel of the .45 was smashed across his face with brutal force. The sound of cracking teeth filled the courtyard as Fernandez’s head was jerked backwards. He fell on to his knees and stared through blurred eyes down at the fragments of teeth on the sand as blood poured from his mouth.
Don Miguel Sanchez smiled.
It was dawn. The brilliant rays of the sun swept across the valley and brought an end to the lingering frost which had only just started to take hold. Mist rose from the valley to the blue heavens above. The two other dirt farmers and their families had gathered together outside Landon’s cabin when they had become aware of the stranger who had ridden into their midst. Stan James chewed on a handful of grain as his wife and daughters talked and played with Jose Garcia’s large brood. The Mexican sat on the tree stump with a pipe in his mouth and silently stared at the Landon’s cabin door.
‘Little Billy said that his pa was tending to a real ugly varmint, Jose,’ James muttered for the umpteenth time. ‘Ugliest critter ever to walk on two legs, the boy reckoned.’
Garcia nodded. ‘The boy said that the man looked real mean OK.’
James leaned back and looked up to the chimney and the smoke which still flowed from it. He rubbed his neck and then kicked at the dirt.
‘Dan told us not to light our fires ’coz it’ll bring them vaqueros down on us,’ James grumbled. ‘How come he’s got his lit, Jose? How come? Damn! I’ve bin eating cold vittles for a week or more and my guts is plumb hurting. What’s Dan thinking about to have smoke rising up like that?’
Garcia nodded. ‘I too have a bad belly.’
‘Shut the hell up, Jose. Don’t you understand that smoke could bring all of them vaqueros down on us and our families?’
‘I understand, Stan.’ Garcia sighed. ‘I still have a bad belly though.’
Angrily James raised his arm and was about to hammer on the door with his fist. Then he changed his mind and decided to wait a little longer. Dan Landon was too big to make angry.
‘When’s he coming out to tell us what’s going on?’
‘I do not know.’ Garcia shrugged as some of his children started to chase chickens around the Landon’s milk cow. ‘I would like to be able to have some nice hot food. I feel so weak.’ Olive James moved to the side of her man. ‘Is anything happening, Stan? I’m getting mighty troubled.’
‘I don’t know, woman,’ James snapped. Garcia rose to his feet and touched the arm of the taller James before pointing to the side of the small cabin. ‘Look, Stan. Do you see what I see?’ James turned to where his friend was indicating. His eyes screwed up when he saw the tall palomino tied up beneath a canvas sheet spread out from the building and tied to a couple of saplings.
‘Sweet Lord. That’s one hell of a horse, Jose.’
Both men moved closer to the powerful creature. Garcia was first to notice the saddle on the ground.
‘Look at this,’ he said leaning over and touching the hand-tooled saddle. ‘I think this is the saddle of a vaquero, not a cowboy.’
‘What’s that?’ James moved closer to the stallion and saw the brand on the animal’s flank. He touched it and then looked at his pal. ‘Ain’t that the same brand we seen on them other vaqueros’ nags, Jose? Ain’t that the Sanchez mark?’
Garcia stared and then nodded.
‘You are right, amigo. That is one of Don Miguel’s horses.’
James swung on his boots. ‘Who in tarnation has Dan got in there? I sure hope it ain’t one of Sanchez’s murderous riders.’
‘Me too.’
James looked angry. ‘I’m gonna ask Dan about this.’
Garcia trailed his irate friend back to the door of the cabin like a hound tracking a bowl of innards. He watched as James raised his arm and was about to hit the solid wooden door when it suddenly opened.
Both men took a step backwards.
Dan Landon was far bigger than either of his neighbors and cast a longer shadow as he stepped out into the morning light. He sighed and then yawned.
‘What you two making such a ruckus about? I ain’t had me a wink of shuteye all night.’
James tried to look around the side of the well-built man but Landon was far too wide. His eyes looked up into the face of the younger man.
‘Who in tarnation you got in there, Dan? And how come you got that fire lit? That smoke’ll bring them Mex bastards right down on us.’
‘How’d you know we have someone in there, Stan?’
‘Little Billy told us when he come over to play with my gals, Dan,’ James answered.
‘Who is it, Dan?’ Garcia asked in a whisper.
‘A bounty hunter,’ Landon replied.
Both men seemed to freeze. They stood like statues as the words drilled their way into their minds.
‘A bounty hunter?’ James eventually managed to repeat the unexpected words. ‘Them hombres are natural born killers, Dan.’
‘I too have heard of these men,’ Garcia nodded. ‘They kill people for money.’
‘Outlaws mostly,’ Landon added with a smile as he made his way to a water barrel. He scooped two handfuls and splashed it over his face.
Stan James felt himself start to shake. ‘You bin tending him, Dan?’
‘Yep.’ Landon sighed. ‘He had a couple of ribs sticking out of his side and I fixed them.’
James looked at Garcia. ‘He tended a bloodthirsty killer, Jose. A critter who’ll probably kill us all in our sleep.’
Landon walked to the two men and rested his large hands on their shoulders. He leaned down until his head was between theirs and then spoke quietly so that only they could hear his words.
‘This man might be our salvation,’ he declared.
‘Bounty hunters only work for money, Dan.’
‘We have no money, amigo.’
Landon looked at the children playing happily. ‘I reckon this man will help us. He’s already killed one of them vaqueros. That’s how he got that palomino.’
Stan James moved to the open doorway and stared into the dark interior. He could not see anything. ‘This critter got a handle?’
‘He calls himself Iron Eyes,’ Landon replied.
James spun on his heels and stared open-mouthed at the big smiling man beside him. He moved to Landon and looked up into the face.
‘Iron Eyes?’
Landon nodded. ‘Yep. Why? You heard of him?’
James sat down on the tree stump. ‘Ain’t you heard of him, Dan? I thought everyone knew the name of Iron Eyes.’
‘Nope. What’s wrong? You look like you just seen a ghost, Stan.’
‘I also have heard of this Iron Eyes,’ Garcia managed to whisper. ‘He has visited my country many times. They say he is the most dangerous of men. Some say that he is already dead.’ Unable to grasp the fear his fellow farmers displayed, Dan Landon rubbed his neck. He was about to speak when he saw the thin emaciated figure in the frame of the cabin doorway. Iron Eyes had a cigar gripped between his teeth. He struck a match and then raised the flame to the black weed. A trail of smoke drifted from his mouth.
‘I ain’t dead, amigos. I make other folks dead,’ Iron Eyes drawled.