The Spurs of Iron Eyes (Iron Eyes Western #3) by Rory Black Page A

the golden crucifix and how he had told the bounty
hunter of how Jesus Christ had given His life willingly to save
others. A cold chill came over him.
    ‘ What’s wrong, Father Jose?’ Bass asked, as he noticed the
color draining from the priest’s face.
    ‘ Nothing, my son. I just remembered something.’
    ‘ Something important?’ Bass enquired.
    The holy man did not know what
the answer to the simple question was. All he knew for certain was he had
told Iron Eyes of one brave man’s sacrifice and perhaps the bounty
hunter might have willingly ridden to his own death because of
those words.
    It was still early when they
began walking back toward the small town and the aroma of cooking
breakfasts which filled the morning air. The trouble was, neither
man was hungry.
    The pair of riders who passed
the sheriff ’s office and headed their mounts to the hitching rail
outside the hotel caused little interest to the citizens of Rio
Vista. They looked ordinary enough to be about anything, except
hard-working cowboys. Only one man gave them a second look as they
dismounted and quietly entered the hotel.
    Sheriff Bass bit his lower lip
as he stood beside the window of his office sipping at a cup of
coffee. He had not seen the two men since Iron Eyes had shown an
interest in them. After they had left the saloon that hot
afternoon, they had vanished into thin air. Glancing at the pile of
posters piled high upon his untidy desk, Bass knew it was pointless
searching through them to find out who these men were. The bounty
hunter had done that and taken the two incriminating scraps of
paper with him for future reference. They were wanted dead or alive,
that much was certain. Iron Eyes never wasted a second look upon
wanted posters which did not give him the option of killing his
prey.
    Bass wondered why they had
chosen to return to his small town, knowing the bounty hunter might
still be around. Only damn stupid outlaws would be so foolhardy
unless they had something up their sleeves.
    Could there be something in
Rio Vista worth risking their lives for? Bass pondered the question
as he finished the black beverage. He had never been a man to seek
out trouble and yet he knew something just did not
figure.
    Bass checked his shotgun
and placed a few extra cartridges in his vest pockets before
donning his Stetson and walking out into the blazing sunshine. As
he locked the door, he heard his office wall clock striking twelve
noon.
    The streets were as quiet as
usual. It seemed hotter than a normal afternoon to the law officer
as he strolled along the boardwalk toward the small cafe, situated
on the corner. Entering the building he sat down beside a window
and watched the hotel opposite. His mind was filled with a thousand
thoughts as he studied the street and the few souls who walked up
and down its single thoroughfare. The small bank which lay two buildings away
from the hotel caught his attention.
    ‘ Usual, Sheriff?’ the waitress asked.
    ‘ Yep,’
Bass replied, resting the heavy shotgun across the checkered
tablecloth.
    ‘ You
expecting trouble?’ she enquired.
    Bass smiled up at her and
winked. She smiled and went to the rear of the cafe, as he leaned
forward in his chair and looked at the bank once more. Would anyone
even consider robbing the Rio Vista Bank? Nobody ever
had.
    Yet these two men were
outlaws. They knew they were taking a risk returning to town with
the possibility of Iron Eyes still being around, and yet they had
returned all the same. Bass knew the bank had always done good
business.
    It had to be the bank which
had drawn them back.
    The sheriff began to wonder
what he ought to do for the best - considering he might just be
wrong.
    Then he saw them walking back
out from the hotel and pausing on the boardwalk. Iron Eyes had been
right about these two men. He had seen the way they dressed; the
way they always kept their gun grips clear by pushing their jackets
over their holsters. For a moment the sheriff felt