The Curse of Iron Eyes Read Online Free PDF

and then teased
back on his reins. He had done the same thing countless times
before on previous patrols, but for some reason, he knew that this
mission was different from all the others. He could sense it.
    The
two horses walked side by side for more than five minutes before
the officer glanced across at the red-faced Hanks. He had known the
man with the mutton-chop side-whiskers for his entire time at Fort
Dixon. They had been on so many patrols together that they seemed
to be able to read each other’s minds.
    ‘ What’s wrong,
Hanks?’ Wallis eventually asked the sergeant.
    Hanks looked up at the
captain.
    ‘ I reckon you
ought to know what’s eatin’ at my craw, Captain.’
    Wallis
nodded. ‘After all these years, I think I do.’
    Hanks kept staring at
the dusty trail before them. It was so bright that it hurt his
eyes. It seemed that every mile that they travelled into this
unholy place, the hotter it got. Sweat streamed down from beneath
his hatband, burning his eyes.
    ‘ What was in
them orders, sir?’
    Captain Wallis raised
his head and laughed.
    ‘ Curiosity
killed the cat, Hanks.’
    ‘ What cat,
Captain?’ Hanks scratched his whiskers.
    Wallis
patted his breast pocket. ‘My orders are for my eyes
only.’
    Hanks
shrugged. ‘Must be pretty important for us to ride into this
place.’
    The
officer nodded. ‘Damn important, Hanks.’
    ‘ We got Apache
trouble?’
    Wallis glanced at the
trail ahead but did not respond to the question.
    Hanks
tried again. ‘Outlaw trouble?’
    Wallis glanced at the
inquisitive soldier and smiled.
    ‘ Quit while
you’re ahead, Hanks.’
    ‘ How far are we
going into Devil’s Pass, sir?’
    ‘ All the way
through and then some,’ Wallis replied.
    Hanks
felt his throat suddenly go drier than it had already been as the
thought of travelling all the way through Devil’s Pass filled his
mind. He looked up at the face of the man who, he knew, never
joked. If Wallis said that they were going straight through Devil’s
Pass, then that was what they were going to do.
    The question was:
why?

CHAPTER
SEVEN
    Time
was against him. He had to find a place where he could see to all
the bleeding knife-wounds before he could fight again. Iron Eyes
hauled the near-full bottle of whiskey from his saddlebags and
swilled a mouthful around his mouth before swallowing it. Then he
poured the fiery liquor over the back of his gashed right hand and
chest and stomach. The whiskey burned but he knew that it might
help to slow down the blood-loss from his already emaciated body.
His eyes darted all around him as if still not convinced that he
had triumphed over the dead Apaches. Iron Eyes put the bottle to
his lips again and then swallowed hard until only an inch of the
amber liquid remained in the clear-glass bottle. He rammed the cork
back into its neck and slid it into the bag that was tied behind
the cantle of his saddle.
    The
weary ghostlike figure tightened and secured the cinch straps, then
dropped the leather fender and stirrup back into place. He gripped
on to the saddle horn, thrust his left boot into the stirrup and
hauled himself up on to the back of the Indian pony. Its eyes
flashed as the wounded bounty hunter slid his other boot-toe into
the right stirrup.
    Iron Eyes gritted his
teeth and then looked down at his still-bleeding wounds. He knew
that he would have either to find a doctor in this wilderness or
try to sew up the knife wounds himself. He had a long needle and
ball of catgut somewhere in one of the satchels of his bags, which
he used to repair his saddle and tack with.
    Then his mind drifted
to the Bowie knife in his boot. He knew that if he made a campfire
and heated up its blade, he could burn all the injuries into
submission.
    But there was no time
right now. It had taken him far longer than he had expected to
remove his saddle and bags from his dead mount and transfer it to
the skittish Indian pony.
    Holding tightly on to his reins, he spurred the pony and