The Fury of Iron Eyes (An Iron Eyes Western #4) by Rory Black Page B

ground, he was
not an Indian.
    Throwing a leg over the
neck of his grey pony, Silent Wolf slid to the ground and began
advancing towards the motionless figure.
    With each step he took, Silent
Wolf felt
his heart beating faster. As he stood a few feet from the
stretched-out figure, he noticed the terrible wound which appeared
to go from the front of the man’s skull to the crown. Silent Wolf
had never seen such a wound, not such an example of the white man’s
medicine. The stitches still held Iron Eyes’ scalp together, but
were seeping blood.
    The Indian drew his long
knife from his belt and held it tightly as he knelt down beside the
crumpled body. With his free hand he touched Iron Eyes. There was
no reaction.
    Silent Wolf had met few
white men during his life, but none of them had looked anything
like Iron Eyes. The mane of black hair confused the Cheyenne as he
moved around the figure trying to work out whether he was still
alive.
    He had no knowledge of
white men having hair as long as his own. As he turned the face
away from the ground, Silent Wolf studied the scarred
features.
    The face looked like none
he had ever seen before. It did not look like that of any Indian he
had heard of, and yet it did not look like a white man’s either.
Neither did it look like the face of someone of mixed
race.
    What had he discovered?
What breed of man was this lying on the ground beside
him?
    Silent Wolf was curious yet
nervous. He, like the rest of his people, had a thousand legends,
and the warrior’s brain raced as he wondered if this strange
manifestation fitted any of the tales he had been told.
    Then Iron Eyes grunted. The
young Cheyenne recoiled backwards in shock as he realized who or
whatever this man was, he was still alive. It seemed impossible to
the skilled Indian hunter that anyone in such condition could be
anything but dead, yet the man was now groaning.
    Silent Wolf jumped to his feet
and stared hard at Iron Eyes, as the bounty hunter rolled over on
to his side and finally opened his eyes.
    The two men looked fixedly
at one another. The sky had gone red above them as the sun set, and
filled the small clearing in a haunting crimson light.
    Neither seemed very sure of
what they were looking at.

Chapter Twelve
    Darkness had come only a
few minutes after the three riders had reached the forest and
entered following the trail left by Iron Eyes’ horse. There was a
chilling terror in this place which over-whelmed the three
Creedys.
    They halted their mounts
and waited for a sign. There was none. Bob Creedy seemed first to
be able to see what surrounded them and dismounted. Faint echoes of
a large moon somehow managed to penetrate the canopy of branches
above them and filtered into the forest interior. Its eerie light
chilled their bones.
    ‘ What you doing, Bob?’
Treat Creedy asked his brother as the older man walked slowly
around their horses, studying the ground.
    ‘ Looking for tracks,’ Bob
replied.
    ‘It’s kinda dark to see any tracks, Bob,’
Frankie snapped angrily as he watched the shimmering moonlight
creating horrific images all around them — images he knew were
simply tricks of the poor light, yet made the hair on the nape of
his neck stand on end.
    ‘ I can see good enough,’
Bob replied as he knelt down on the moist ground. ‘Iron Eyes headed
up that way.’
    Treat and Frankie stared in
the direction their older brother was pointing, at the trail which
rose up through the tall, black tree trunks.
    ‘ Are you sure?’ Treat asked
as he watched Bob stepping into his stirrup and mounting his
horse.
    Gathering his reins in his
hands, Bob nodded and gently spurred his horse. As he slowly
allowed the creature to walk up the narrow trail he called back,
‘You coming?’
    The two riders spurred
their own horses and followed.
     
    Iron Eyes sat curiously in
the dirt watching the young Cheyenne brave. Silent Wolf watched him
with equal intensity. Even after the sunlight had made way for the
bright