The Spirit of Iron Eyes Read Online Free PDF Page B

except his life. But that was the one thing he had never truly
valued.
    Quaid pulled the front of his Stetson down
until its brim was at eye-level. He knew that when facing his
enemies it paid to be able to see their eyes without them being
able to focus upon his. For the first to blink was usually also the
first to die.
    It had been a trick that had
never let him down. He had managed to outdraw more than forty men
in his long career and not lost a second ’s sleep over any of them.
    For the vermin that tasted the lead of men
like Tom Quaid were bad and death was their just reward for the
pain they inflicted upon others. Lawmen like Quaid were the only
upholders of justice available for the innocent in the West.
    He pulled back on his reins and slowed the
tall black gelding as he entered the wide main street. He had heard
tales of this town and its acrid aroma told him that every one of
the stories must be true.
    The sound of a million flies
alerted the marshal that something other than stinking outhouses
had excited them during the hot day. As he allowed his horse to
pass the crude open-fronted funeral parlor, he realized what that something
was. Blood-soaked bodies were stacked on top of one another. They
spilled out on to the boardwalk. The sound of hammering echoed out
from the rear of the building as coffins were being hastily
assembled.
    Tom Quaid inhaled through his gritted teeth
and narrowed his eyes and continued on.
    He knew that there had been a real big gun
battle in Dry Gulch and wondered if Diamond Back Jones had anything
to do with it.
    There was no fear in Quaid. Others in his
occupation might have hidden their gleaming star in a town such as
Dry Gulch, but not him. He pushed the tails of his topcoat over the
ivory grips of his Remingtons and allowed the star to catch the low
red rays that indicated that the day was almost done. He aimed the
head of his young horse towards the saloon and tapped his spurs
gently to encourage it to reach the hitching rail.
    His wrinkled eyes noticed the bloodstained
sand and the walls that had been damaged by what could only have
been a gun battle.
    Quaid eased back in his saddle and stopped
his mount. He sat looking all around at the nervous faces that
peered at him from countless doorways and corners.
    He dismounted and led the horse to a trough,
then wrapped the reins around a pole. He stood defiant as his horse
drank its fill.
    ‘ You
lookin’ for somebody, Marshal?’ a large woman asked as she carried
a bucket and mop along the boardwalk past the saloon
front.
    Quaid looked at her. He could see that this
was one resident of Dry Gulch who actually worked honestly to make
ends meet.
    ‘ Yep.
I’m looking for a low-down critter named Diamond Back Jones, ma’am.
You happen to know his whereabouts?’
    She paused for a moment and pushed a long
loose strand of hair off her face.
    ‘ Is he
kinda dark?’
    ‘ Yep.
He’s a full-blood Apache.’ Quaid nodded. ‘Although he pretends to
be white. A dangerous killer.’
    Her face altered. It was obvious that she
did not like Apaches.
    ‘ He’s
an Indian? Damn! I hate redskins and no mistake. He was in Dry
Gulch ‘til that bounty hunter came a-callin’. I figure that he got
scared.’
    ‘ Bounty hunter?’ The marshal stepped up on to the boardwalk
and looked down into her face.
    ‘ Yeah.
He was tall and mean and as thin as a beanpole,’ she informed him.
‘I never seen such a man before. His hair was long and kinda dirty.
The word is that he wanted the bounty on Diamond Back. He sure got
things all fired-up around here.’
    ‘ I’ve
heard of a bounty hunter like that.’ Quaid sighed, rubbing his
chin. ‘I think they call him Iron Eyes.’
    She smiled broadly. ‘That’s his name
OK. I heard the boys saying so. Iron Eyes. What kinda name is that?
Is he an Indian too?’
    ‘ I don’t think he is.
What actually happened around here, ma’am?’ Quaid inhaled again and
stared into the low sun down the street towards