Iron Eyes Must Die Read Online Free

small group of buildings.
    The riders, like the distant
mountains behind them, appeared grey. There seemed to be no
actual color
on any of them or their mounts. They all wore long, dark,
dust-coats which covered most of their clothing. Each sported dark
hats with low crowns and narrow brims.
    Hoot Dawson knew that it was a
style favored by people who lived far to the north where the
winds were even more powerful than those that ceaselessly swept
across the plain.
    But it was not these small details that put
the fear into the men who watched the seven horsemen approach.
    Each of them held
long- barreled rifles which pointed straight up. Their wooden
stocks rested on their thighs and the gloved hands were wrapped
around the trigger guards.
    The light of the rising sun glanced across
each of the metal barrels in turn. It was like staring at a swarm
of fireflies dancing in the air.
    But these riders were no harmless
fireflies.
    These were men on a mission.
    The residents of
Deadman ’s
Flats would soon discover how deadly that mission was.
    Hoot Dawson looked at his friends outside his
saloon. Only a third of them had anything resembling firearms. None
looked as if he had any idea of how to use them.
    ‘ What
we gonna do, Hoot?’ Mason asked, trying to hold his gun in hands
which refused to stop shaking.
    ‘ C’mon! Let’s go and greet these strangers!’ Dawson stepped
down from the boardwalk, moved through the nervous townsfolk and
started to walk to where the seven horsemen were headed. ‘They
might be just harmless drifters.’
    Hoot Dawson was wrong. These were not
drifters who had accidentally stumbled upon the remote train-stop.
They were here on purpose.
    The seven riders drew back on
their reins below the water-tower and stepped down on to the wooden
platform. The seven dust-caked horses soon surrounded the large
water-trough below the tower. A solitary pump next to the trough
was used to quench the riders’ thirst as their leader watched the
approaching townspeople.
    ‘ Looks
like we just drew us a crowd, boys!’ Snake Adams said coldly at the
sight of Hoot Dawson and the rest of the men from Deadman’s Flats.
He slid his Winchester into his saddle scabbard and moved away from
his men.
    The other six horsemen all turned and looked
to where Adams was staring. They had faced many similar crowds over
the years they had ridden together.
    ‘ Fat
old men!’ Buck Harris laughed as he chewed on a toothpick. ‘Just a
bunch of fat old men, Snake.’
    ‘ I
sure hate fat old folks.’ Adams slid his right hand into the loose
pocket of his dust-coat. The pockets of the lightweight garment
gave easy access to the wearer’s trail gear. His hand found the
grip of his gun sitting in its holster. He flicked the leather
safety loop off the hammer.
    The five other riders walked to either side
of their lean leader with their rifles in their gloved hands. Adams
glanced to his right.
    Coop Starr, Ferdy Mayne and
George ‘One
Ear’ Brewster gazed in amusement at the men who were walking
towards them.
    Snake Adams then looked to his left.
    Ben Lynch and Kyle Parker cranked the
mechanisms of their rifles and stared ahead of them with
unemotional eyes.
    Hoot Dawson ’s step slowed to a halt when
he was able to focus on the seven unexpected visitors to their
small community. His worst fears had been realized. These men were
every inch the sort that no honest community desired to appear
within their midst.
    Dawson cleared his throat.
    ‘ You
boys here to drink?’
    Snake Adams smiled.
    ‘ We’re
here on business, old man!’
    ‘ What
kinda business could Dead-man’s Flats possibly have for your kind?’
Dawson demanded.
    Adams lowered his head. His eyes burned
across the distance between himself and the twenty men.
    ‘ I
don’t like your tone, you fat old man!’
    Dawson ’s shirt was soaked in sweat as he
gripped on to his scattergun. Yet he was a man that would not back
down.
    ‘ We
own this town! We don’t cotton to