“I feel like a durn fool in this thing,” Cyclone complained. His voice had risen to a whine in his protests.
“It’ll only take a few seconds, Cy,” Dandy Jim Butler said as he buttoned the stiff white collar to the neckline of Cyclone’s new white shirt. The shirt hung loose on him and draped nicely over his protruding middle.
He was standing in front of the full length mirror in Sir Gillian’s Men’s Wear Store. The home of fine men’s wear for the distinguished man; it had said on the storefront window, just below the name of Sir Gillian’s.
Cy craned his neck higher as Jim finished fastening the collar to the shirt. Cyclone started to breathe with relief, but then as Jim pulled the two ends of the collar together to fasten it against the old man’s large neck, Cyclone took another deep breath and held it in.
“There,” Jim said as he adjusted the collar, released it, and stood back to admire his handiwork.
“You can breathe now, Cy,” he said. “Take a look at yourself the mirror.”
Cyclone breathed out in relief. The collar felt tight around his throat. He inserted the index finger of his right hand behind the edge of the collar and ran it back and forth, stretching his neck higher and loosening it a bit.
He lowered his head and gazed into the mirror. What he saw was quite striking and he almost smiled in satisfaction, but after all his complaints and catter walling, he dared not let on his approval.
Before him now he saw a quite different looking man. Gone was the long trail duster, the checkered bandana, he always wore. The old worn out denim britches and worn leather boots with run down heels were gone.
In their place, Cy Carlin now sported neat black trousers with narrow gray pin stripes; blended just enough to give a look of quality. Matching suspenders held the trousers in place just a little below his middle, and went well with the new white shirt. He stood in stocking feet with new socks. They were of a silky, nylon fabric and felt very smooth. They were ankle high beneath his neatly pressed and sharply creased trousers.
He now looked like a new man, or rather, the man he used to be in his youth.
“Now all you need is a nice vest, string tie and some shoes,” Jim said, watching Cyclone in the full length mirror.
Cyclone was pleased with the look. He just didn’t want anyone to know it.
Jim smiled knowingly to himself as he handed Cy a matching pinstripe vest. “Here try this on,” he said.
Cy took it, held it up in front of him, noticing the fine workmanship of the vest and feeling the smoothness of the material.
He put it on without a comment. He buttoned it and gazed at himself in the mirror. He stood up straighter, pushing himself taller in his stocking feet.
He nodded approvingly to himself. Danged, if he didn’t look spiffy, he thought to himself.
Arapahoe, Chief, and Jeremy were in the changing rooms, trying on clothes. Chief and Jeremy didn’t need any help. They were both eager to get into fine new clothes.
It had been a long time since Chief had worn anything but his trail duster, flowered shirt and the flat brimmed hat with three feathers in the hatband. With new clothes he could once again be Henry Tolliver instead of that fake Indian he portrayed.
Arapahoe had been a different situation. Although, he was excited like a child, to be getting new clothes, he had no idea how to go about picking them out. He had quickly gone for mismatched articles of clothing that were outlandishly on the loud side.
Dandy Jim picked out what he thought would be suitable for Rap. Rap was happy with the choices. Actually, he would have been happy with anything. He had never had store bought clothes in his life. He hurried into the trousers and shirt and jumped out of the dressing room like a child ready to display himself for mommy and daddy to see.
By mid-afternoon, the entire male members of the Wildcat Gang, now dressed in fine suits, shiny new shoes and top hats had been transformed, at least outwardly to the world, into debonair city gentlemen.
Jim was well satisfied with his handiwork and was still admiring the transformation when Kitty Carlin came breezing into the store. She held several packages under her arms and in her hands. She had been shopping for the first time, in what seemed like ages ago.
Jim smiled approvingly and Cy’s, Henry’s and Rap’s jaws dropped at the sight of Kitty wearing a stunning, pale yellow gown with lace at the hem and around the bodice.
On seeing their reaction, she set her packages down on the floor and spun around on her heel to show the gown off. Her recent, neatly coiffed hair flew about her with the motion. It draped, framing her face as she came to a standing halt. “You like?” Kitty smiled coyly.
“Yes. I like,” Dandy Jim said admiringly. “I like very much.”
“She was talkin’ to us,” Cyclone growled at Jim. “Don’t matter what you like. And I know what you’re likin’, so put them eyes back in your head where they belong.”
“Well I like it, too, Cy. And my eyes are in my head. Where else would they be?’ Rap commented.
Cyclone groaned.
After their altercation with Manuel and his bandits, down in New Mexico, Kitty and the others headed for Denver to catch the eastbound train to Kansas City. From there, they would take a riverboat on the Missouri River to St. Louis.
Kitty’s mother had been ailing for quite some time. After the death of Kitty’s father, which Kitty was sure that the dangerously mean banker, Simon Price had caused, Kitty had sent her mother off to a nursing home in St. Louis, Missouri. She had sent the family’s long-time friend, Paco, with her to watch over her and see that she got the best of care.
Kitty had then begun her vendetta against Simon Price, Fortune City’s leading citizen, banker, judge, mayor and everything else of power in the community. The money she stole from him would go to support her mother.
Kitty had received word from Paco that her mother had taken a turn for the worse and would need to be transported to a better facility.
She now wanted to go to St. Louis to visit her mother and see that she got the care she needed.
Kitty and the others had acquired forty thousand dollars in silver, but because they were wanted outlaws, the only means of obtaining cash was to fence it off for half its value.
They had traded with a nefarious character along the New Mexico border, named Snake Gunderson, for half of the silver’s value. Gunderson was a big, burly man with a full black beard and a matching black eye patch over his left eye.
He was a shifty man and couldn’t be trusted, so Cyclone had arranged to make the trade with him in a desolate arroyo near the edge of the desert. Cyclone had demanded that the exchange would be made, one on one; man to man.
Cyclone would deliver the wagon of silver to Gunderson. He would leave the wagon and team with Gunderson and he would receive the money, in Gunderson’s saddle bags, climb on his chestnut mare, that he had brought along, and ride off. The sight of anyone else in the area would queer the whole deal.
Manuel and Gunderson had always been thick as thieves, which they were. They would work together and also against each other if the price was right. Wherever one of them was, the other could surely be found, not far away.
Cyclone knew better than to trust anyone, and he was sure that neither Gunderson nor Manuel would let him get far with the money. So he had already made up bundles to look like cash with bills on the outsides and plain paper inside. When he once again caught up with Kitty and the rest he switched the contents of the saddlebags.
He had anticipated Manuel’s attempt to steal the money and had anticipated just how and when the Mexican bandit would hit them and steer them into the canyon and a waiting trap.
Cyclone might have outsmarted himself if it had not been for Kitty getting help from Dandy Jim Butler; which Cyclone was sure would turn out to be a mistake that they would all regret, later on.
Now with the money in hand, the Wildcats had ridden into Denver. They were a dusty lot as they rode into town. Actually, it was not a town at all, but a city; a
thriving metropolis.
The streets were paved with cobble and their horses’ hooves clanked loudly against the stone as they trod along.
There were people hustling and bustling everywhere. More people than any of them had ever seen in one place. That is, everyone except Dandy Jim Butler, who had been in Denver before, as well as other large cities, such as St. Louis and New Orleans.
“You all stand out like sore thumbs,” Dandy Jim had said as they rode side by side down a side street. Jim had been trying to take them on a route avoiding the main centers of town. “In those get ups and the guns you’re wearing, you’ll be noticed,”
They all looked about them as they rode. They noticed people were staring at them. They also noticed that everyone was well dressed. Men wore suits and top hats. Women wore nice gowns and hats. “Somebody might even recognize you,” Jim had continued.
They noticed a uniformed policeman standing on a corner. His eyes drifted toward the riders.
A chugging vehicle whipped around the corner up ahead and turned toward the riders. it whizzed by them at a top speed of fifteen miles per hour.
The horses shrieked with fright and stamped about in a frenzy. The riders had to fight at the reins to pull them under control.
“What the blazes was that thing?’ Arapahoe exclaimed. “Looked like a runaway wagon without any horses.”
They were all now sitting their horses at a standstill in the middle of the street.
Dandy Jim laughed. “That’s the future, Rap,” he said. “That’s what’s called an automobile.”
“That’s too big of a word for me,” Rap moaned. “I’ll just call it a tin horse.”
“Call it what you want, Rap, but, they are here to stay and you’ll be seeing a lot more of them if you’re in the cities long. I’m sure you’ll see them in Kansas City and Saint Louis, too.”
Just then another automobile appeared from down the street. They all held their horses tight to prevent them from floundering out of control again.
The horses snorted and shuffled about; wide eyed, as the vehicle passed them by.
“Best, we get these horses stabled,” Jim said. “And get you all some decent clothes. You’ll blend in better. Besides you’re all going to need new clothes for St.Louis, anyways.”
Kitty perked up at the suggestion. The thought of new clothes appealed to her and with twenty thousand dollars in her poke, she knew they could well afford them.
****
Chapter Three
Wildcat Kitty and The Cyclone Kid Ride Again Page 2
