Iron Eyes awoke suddenly. Even seriously wounded, his instincts were razor sharp. His head turned and vainly he attempted to see through the hay which was piled over him. There was someone climbing up the wooden ladder from the floor of the livery stable to the loft. The bounty hunter remained motionless under the hay and listened to the heavy footsteps as they drew closer and closer to his hiding-place. The boards creaked under the weight of the unseen visitor.
His backbone could feel every step.
Whoever it was, Iron Eyes told himself, he was getting closer with every beat of his pounding heart. A hundred thoughts raced through the mind of the wounded man.
How long had he been asleep up here? The sun still filtered through the cracks in the wooden loft door, but was this the same day?
The boards groaned beneath him.
Who was it?
Who had climbed up here?
Had someone eventually found the trail of blood he had left in his wake?
Maybe it was the deputy he had seen crawl into the shadows below him before he had fallen asleep. Perhaps the man with the star pinned to his shirt had become curious to know what was up in the stable loft.
So many questions. So few answers.
Iron Eyes went to turn over, and failed. He was starved of strength. He had never felt so weakened in all his days. It made no sense to him. He had been hurt far worse than this in the past and still managed to summon the dregs of his spirit to help him fight.
Where had it gone?
His head fell back on to the boards. Sweat poured from his skin like raindrops. He tried to fight the clouds which fogged his mind. Then he recalled the bullet in his shoulder. His eyes glanced to the wound. It had stopped bleeding but was hot. A thousand branding-irons could not have created such heat.
His mind drifted back to the man who was still approaching.
Was it the deputy?
Maybe it was someone whom he had not even thought of yet.
If it were one of the deputies or the town’s menfolk whom they had enlisted to help them in their search for the bounty hunter, could he risk shooting him?
To fire his gun inside the livery would be fatal! A shot would alert every man in Rio Concho where he was hiding, Iron Eyes thought.
The fever filled his mind once again. The Bowie knife! That was the answer. He had to use the lethal Bowie knife! That was the silent way to kill one’s prey! Iron Eyes tried to reach down to his boot, but it was impossible. His fingers clawed at his pants’ leg but there was no way he could find the handle of his deadly Bowie knife.
Then he felt the boards under his spine bend. The unknown man’s legs came into sight beside the head of the prostrate figure.
He stopped walking.
Twenty inches separated them.
Iron Eyes stared at the footwear of the man. The boots were well worn. The heel was off the left boot and had not been repaired. These were not the polished boots of the deputies who had thrown him into jail, he thought. Iron Eyes remained perfectly still. Only his eyes moved.
He strained to see more, but could not.
Whoever this man was, he was standing directly above the pile of hay that Iron Eyes was beneath.
Iron Eyes moved his right hand slowly. His bony fingers searched for one of his lethal guns. Inch by inch he dared to lower his hand towards one of his deep trail-coat pockets.
It seemed as if he would never locate the gun. Then, as he felt the cold handle of one of his Navy Colts in the palm of his hand, the right leg of the mysterious man was raised.
Before Iron Eyes could do anything, the boot was pressed down hard on to his throat. Then suddenly the sharp twin prongs of a pitchfork pushed the hay aside and were pressed into his chest.
‘Just stay nice and quiet, boy!’ a voice whispered over him. ‘Don’t make a sound! We don’t want to let them varmints know where you’re hiding, do we?’
The eyes of the bounty hunter flashed up at the face of the man who had him pinned down. He was old-looking by usual standards, but well built. He was bearded and strong enough to make Iron Eyes helpless.
‘Who are ya?’ the bounty hunter managed to say.
‘The name’s Hanney. Duke Hanney.’
‘Who are you, Hanney?’
‘I’m the stableman.’ Hanney continued to whisper. ‘This is my livery.’
‘What ya want of me? Rent?’ Iron Eyes croaked.
‘You got a smart mouth for someone hurt as bad as you are. We got us some talking to do, boy!’ Hanney said in a hushed tone. ‘There’s a few things that you ought to know. Things that might put the fire back in ya belly.’
Hanney eased his boot off his victim’s windpipe. It was just enough to allow Iron Eyes to speak more clearly.
‘What kinda things do I need to know, old-timer? I already know that I killed the sheriff of this damn town. What else have I gotta learn?’
‘Them men running around with stars pinned to their vests ain’t really the law!’ the old man said. ‘You ain’t killed the sheriff!’
‘What?’ Iron Eyes blinked hard.
‘They ain’t lawmen!’ the man repeated slowly. ‘They’re trail trash!’
‘Are you sure?’
‘They killed the real law!’ Hanney sighed. ‘Then they took their place. The critter who called himself the sheriff was just the leader of these outlaws!’
‘Can you prove that?’
The man nodded.
‘I could show you the graves, boy!’
Iron Eyes stared at Hanney. The old-timer leaned over him with the sharp pitchfork in his weathered hands. The bounty hunter did not know whether he could or should believe him. Was this a trap thought up by the deputies to get him down from the hay loft and into the sights of their guns?
‘Are you tellin’ me the truth, amigo?’ the bounty hunter asked in a low drawl. ‘I’m too darn sick to be lied to.’
The man leaned closer to his helpless victim.
‘I ain’t lying to ya, Iron Eyes! There ain’t no call for me to lie. You gotta understand one thing, I’m probably the only friend you got in this here town!’
The bounty hunter felt as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. If these men were outlaws, as Hanney said, then they were fair game for his lethal talents.
‘Is that deputy still down there hiding in the horse-stall, Hanney?’
‘Yep. That’s why I’m whisperin’!’
‘Why would you go against these hombres and help me?’ Iron Eyes studied the face as the older man absorbed his question. ‘Why?’
‘My brother Tom was the real sheriff in this town!’ the man replied. ‘Until Payne and his cronies rode into Rio Concho, that is!’
Iron Eyes knew pain when he saw it. Pain had been with him for most of his life. He recognized it in the wrinkled face above him.
‘I believe ya!’ he said.
The pitchfork was pulled away from his flesh. Iron Eyes struggled into a seated position and rested his back against the wooden wall. The man knelt down beside him and moved his lips close to Iron Eyes’ left ear.
‘I can help ya, Iron Eyes,’ Hanney said. ‘I can help ya get the better of these back-shooting varmints.’
‘I’m grateful, Hanney. Right now I need all the help I can get. I’m hurt bad.’
Hanney pulled the torn bloodstained coat and shirt away from the bullet hole in the bounty hunter’s shoulder. He gritted what was left of his teeth.
‘That bullet has gotta be cut out, boy! The wound’s infected.’
Iron Eyes raised his leg and pulled the Bowie knife from the neck of his boot. He smiled when he saw the expression of the man seated next to him alter.
‘Don’t fret none, Hanney!’ Iron Eyes said. He handed the weapon to the livery man.
‘What ya giving me ya knife for?’
‘Dig that bullet out!’ Iron Eyes muttered under his breath.
‘You serious?’
Iron Eyes nodded.
‘Dead serious! Cut that lead out of me!’
‘B . . . but.’
‘Now!’
Duke Hanney held the knife in his shaking hands and tried to change the subject.
‘You reckon you could get the better of them bastards?’
Iron Eyes sighed.
‘On a good day, Hanney! Is this a good day?’
‘With me helpin’ ya, it could be.’
‘You say that they’re all outlaws?’
‘Not the townsfolk. Just the sheriff and the deputies,’ the livery stable man corrected. ‘They come in here about two months back and killed the real law. Buried them out on the prairie.’
‘Why?’
‘Beats me,’ Hanney admitted. ‘They must have their reasons though. Maybe they needs this town. Maybe they have to have some kinda control over it.’
‘How far is the Mexican border from here?’
‘Five miles or so.’
‘How come the town’s menfolk are helping them?’
‘Money!’ Hanney shrugged. ‘Payne and his boys seemed to have a lot of it somehow. They bought up all the town scum easy. The honest men don’t stick their noses out of their homes much.’
The bounty hunter turned and looked straight at the man beside him.
‘Why didn’t ya wire somebody and tell them what was going on here, Hanney?’
‘The telegraph don’t work, Iron Eyes. They cut all the wires before they killed Tom and his deputies. They knew what they were doing OK. Had it all planned out. There ain’t no way to contact anyone. This town’s a long ways from anywhere.’
‘Does the stage come through here?’
‘Every Friday around noon.’ The livery man shrugged. ‘Payne always made sure he and his deputies were waiting at the depot when it arrived. None of the honest townsfolk have dared to open their mouths to the stagecoach drivers or guards.’
The picture painted by the words of the older man was not a pretty one. Iron Eyes rubbed his face and pushed his long limp hair off his scarred features.
‘This is gonna be a tough one.’
‘But you’re Iron Eyes, boy! There ain’t no man who can stand up to you! I’ve heard all them stories about you. They say that every outlaw in the West fears Iron Eyes! Besides, you’re the only hope the decent folks in Rio Concho got left, son!’
‘I’m that good, huh?’
‘No. Not good, Iron Eyes,’ the man corrected. ‘Bad! You’re that bad!’
Iron Eyes gritted his teeth and almost smiled.
‘Reckon ya right! Now dig that lead out of me and I’ll get to work.’
Hanney swallowed hard and moved the pointed tip of the Bowie knife close to the inflamed bullet wound. His hand shook. Their eyes met.
‘I ain’t never cut a man open before, Iron Eyes,’ he admitted. ‘What if I makes a mistake? I could do a lotta damage with this big old knife.’
‘You ain’t gonna make no mistakes, Hanney,’ Iron Eyes said confidently. ‘I trust ya.’
‘I wish I trusted me,’ the old man whispered.
‘Do it for ya brother!’ the bounty hunter said. ‘I ain’t gonna be able to get justice for Tom with this lump of lead in me!’
Duke Hanney inhaled deeply and mustered every ounce of his nerve.
‘This’ll hurt darn bad, Iron Eyes. If n ya scream out, them critters will swarm all over us like flies on an outhouse within seconds!’ he warned.
‘I ain’t gonna make one sound! Now start digging!’
True to his word, Iron Eyes did not move a muscle. He remained perfectly still. Even as Hanney pushed the tip of the sharp blade into the inflamed bullet wound, Iron Eyes made no noise.
He glanced at Hanney and nodded. The relief was evident in every scar upon his hideous face.
Like an erupting volcano, green poison squirted out as the stableman continued to search with the Bowie knife for the small lead bullet.
The throbbing pain had suddenly stopped.
Iron Eyes continued to stare straight ahead until the livery man sat back and pushed the bullet under his nose. The bounty hunter looked at it, then at his shoulder and lastly into the bearded face.
‘I’d have thought there’d be more blood, old-timer.’
Hanney dropped the small piece of lead into Iron Eyes’ palm.
‘Reckon all that poison kinda used up most of ya blood, boy!’
‘Dig out every bit of that poison, Hanney!’ Iron Eyes growled. ‘I don’t cotton to this thing flaring up again when I’m killing.’
Duke Hanney pushed the knife in again and scraped at the injured flesh.
‘I reckon it’s done, Iron Eyes,’ he said.
The bounty hunter nodded.
‘Got any whiskey to pour into this hole?’
‘Nope.’
‘Salt?’ Iron Eyes pressed.
The livery stableman rubbed his neck and then pointed at a box near the loft door.
‘I got me a lump of salt I use on the horses over there.’
‘Good enough.’ Iron Eyes gritted his teeth. ‘Cut a pellet of it to fit this hole, Hanney. This wound needs pluggin’.’
‘It’ll burn like crazy.’
Iron Eyes nodded again as he took the knife from the hand of the older man and looked at its smeared blade. He rubbed the knife clean on his pants’ leg.
‘Good! The hotter the better. I need to be in a killin’ frame of mind, old-timer!’