teeth of a giant. He had made it. He dismounted, filled his hat with water from his canteen, and allowed the horse to drink as he checked his old Colt .45. It was fully loaded and greased. When the horse had finished the last drop of the precious liquid, Hardin scooped up the Stetson and placed it back on his head. The droplets of water on his balding scalp felt good as he stepped back into the stirrup and hauled his bulk back on to the saddle. The sheriff of Cripple Creek urged the sorrel down the sand-covered incline and rode directly at the white buildings with renewed vigor. With every stride that the robust horse took across the soft, sandy terrain, the law officer wondered whether the bounty hunter would still be in Sanora. He had a fear that, just as after his cold-blooded dispatch of outlaw Ben Drake back at Cripple Creek, Iron Eyes might have headed off in search of his next victim. Then as the sorrel entered the maze of white buildings and the sound of the Mexican townspeople enjoying the slightly cooler temperature that darkness always brought filled the air, he spotted the dapple-gray horse tied up outside a cantina. Tom Hardin slowed the horse to a walk as he approached the busy building. Light cascaded out into the street as he slowly got off his mount and gathered up the long reins. He rubbed the dust from his face and tied the sorrel to the hitching pole next to Iron Eyes’ gray. A hundred thoughts went through the mind of the sheriff as he pushed the beaded curtains apart and stared into the busy cantina. Would Iron Eyes help him find Rosie Smith? What if he had continued to drink whiskey at the same rate as he had done in Cripple Creek and was now lying in a drunken stupor? A few steps inside the cantina answered most of the questions that had burned their way into the mind of the sheriff during the hours that he had spent in the saddle riding here. The unmistakable figure of Iron Eyes was sitting next to Black Ben Tucker at a filthy table with a bowl of half-eaten chili before him. Iron Eyes looked even paler than when Hardin had last seen him. There were corpses buried in Boot Hill that looked more alive than the bounty hunter. Tom Hardin removed his hat and made his way through the cantina’s customers until he reached the table and then stared down at Iron Eyes. He spotted the left leg which was covered in iodine and crude catgut stitches. ‘ What the hell happened to you, son?’ the sheriff asked in a tone that displayed his utter shock at the sight before him. Tucker looked at the sheriff and focused on the star. He felt uneasy once more. ‘ Iron Eyes got himself into a little trouble with a bunch of Apache’s, Sheriff.’ ‘ Black Ben Tucker?’ Hardin said the name he had read on the Wanted poster so many times. ‘ Sit down, Sheriff,’ Iron eyes said bluntly. ‘Join me and my friend in a little supper.’ Hardin’s mouth fell open. ‘ Your friend? I thought you was hunting this man’s bounty, Iron Eyes.’ Iron Eyes glanced at the train-robber and then back at the sheriff. A smile crawled over his thin cracked lips.
Chapter Seventeen The sound of the water as it fell unceasingly into the deep lake outside the mouth of the large cave filled the ears of all the bandits. Normally it would have helped them fall asleep, but not on this night. This night it was different. Malverez had never been so close to what could only be described as a mutiny before. For a decade he had controlled his followers and they had obeyed his every order because they knew that his was a brain that calculated everything methodically and without any hint of emotion. He had made them a fortune but this night there was something the bandits valued far more than the wooden chests filled with gold and silver coins. The bandit leader had been lying beside the silent Rosie Smith for hours and yet he had done nothing. The eyes of the five other bandits had not closed since he had made his