In the dimly lit back room of the Silver Boot Saloon at Hunter’s Corners, three men huddled in conversation around a round wooden poker table. A cone of light from the lantern hanging from one of the roof rafter beams above the table breathed ominous shards of bare illumination, revealing the three faces, half in light and half in shadow.
“You’re sure about this man?” Simon Price asked, his rotund body shadow spread across the table top. “I can’t afford another slip up. I need to know I can trust this man not to turn on me.”
“I’m sure,” the man on the opposite side of the table said. Even sitting down one could tell that this man was tall and lean. He had a deep jagged scar over his left eye. A heavy crop of black stubble covered the man’s cheeks, hiding his somewhat youthful face. Although he was known as The Sonora Kid, his name was Rafael Price; Simon Price’s eldest son. He had left home years ago, having minimal contact with his father, and had garnered a reputation as a gunfighter and oft times outlaw.
Simon had never mentioned his son’s name to acquaintances since Rafe left home. He had been almost forgotten by folks back home and with his current appearance, he would probably not be recognized in his home town.
Simon had not wanted to meet his son in Fortune City for fear of him being recognized. He felt he was taking enough of a chance meeting him in Hunter’s Corners, in a secluded hideaway in the back of the saloon.
“I’ve been double crossed before and I can’t take that chance again,” Simon reiterated.
“This is the man who will get the job done,” Rafe assured his old man again. His tone showed his annoyance with Simon’s repeated rants.
“That’s what you said when you sent me that Dalton fella.” Simon grimaced.
“I know. I know. I didn’t know the dude was crazy, But, I know this man will get the job done. I spent two years in prison with him. I know him inside and out.”
“Don’t worry, Simon,” the third man at the table said. “Rafe knows his business.” He glanced toward Rafe with a sly smile. “Besides, Rafe knows what I’ll do to him if he’s wrong.”
“I know what you’d like to do, Peso. But, you can try.”
Peso Martin grinned, but a cold shiver had just trickled down his spine. Peso was also a tall man, but his strong chiseled features were completely void of facial hair. He had dark hair peeking out from under his black Stetson with a silver Concho hat band. He also, wore a Concho studded black Buscadero gun-belt that carried two holsters and matching black handled six shooters in each pouch that rode low on each thigh. He was Simon Price’s Segundo for The Big Dollar Ranch and his chief henchman.
“Shut up, Peso,” Simon ordered. “You two are going to get along and there’ll be none of this phony baloney posturing. You’ll be backing up Rafe and his man just as we planned.”
“Okay, boss,” Peso said, glad he had been taken off the hook with his bravado still intact.
“Now Rafe,” Simon Price said, leaning on his folded arms against the table top and leaning forward, hunching his shoulders. “Tell me, just how your man plans to get the job done?”
Rafe described in detail what the plan was and how Simon was to carry out his part. When he was done explaining, Simon leaned back in his chair and smiled broadly. “Yes. Yes,” he said with satisfaction. “I can see how that will work. In fact, I think it’s absolutely brilliant. I can’t wait to see it done.”
It was a bright sun shining day for early October. The leaves of the trees had started turning to various hues of red and gold. The gardens at the governor’s mansion was still a place of beauty, but the passing brilliance of summer had passed with colors beginning to fade into autumn gold.
Barbara Stanton had wanted a church wedding and had hoped to have the ceremony at the First Presbyterian Church of Phoenix.
Her father, Governor Hugh Stanton wanted a larger venue that could accommodate more guests. As governor, he was always seeking publicity, and this was a great occasion to take full political advantage of.
He had decided that the mansion gardens would be the perfect place for the wedding.
Barbara had conceded to her father’s request and had acquiesced, much to Matt Starr’s consternation. Matt really didn’t care where the wedding took place. What he took exception to, was Hugh Stanton calling the shots on every turn. Somehow, Matt felt that he had sold himself out; always bowing to Hugh Stanton’s whims and wishes. The fact of the matter was that he had sold himself out and he felt much less of a man for it.
But on this day of his marriage to Barbara Stanton, he stood there in the garden, with the sound of the rippling fountain behind him, with his best man, who had been provided by the governor, standing beside him, he had let those thoughts drift away.
At the strains of the hired orchestra heralding the entrance of the bride, Matt stood straight and tall; just under six feet and dressed in the first tuxedo, he had ever worn, His blue eyes roamed over the crowd of seated guests as he anticipated the arrival of his bride.
His heart leaped in his throat when Barbara first came into view. She was smiling and seemed to be floating on air as she proceeded down the aisle, on her father’s arm.
All of a sudden Matt Starr felt a strange sensation of excitement, happiness and fear all at once.
Was he doing the right thing? Of course, he told himself. He did want to marry Barbara, didn’t he? Of course he did, but he cursed himself for having a fleeting memory of a girl with auburn hair and a campfire burning low on a dark lonely trail.
He was about to force the memory away, but as Barbara on her father’s arm approached, the memory vanished as quickly as it had appeared. He smiled broadly as his bride stepped up beside him. They smiled to each other. Barbara was absolutely beaming and Matt felt the surge of pride and happiness.
As one, they both turned to face the officiating parson. Barbara’s father was a half-step behind his daughter. The best man, bride’s maid, and attendants stepped into place on each side of the groom, bride and father.
The reverend raised and lowered his right hand, signaling the guests to take their seats. The holy bible rested in the palm of his large hand.
The Reverend Paul Lynch was a young man. He was tall and while not lean he was well built with broad shoulders and trim waist that could be discerned beneath the black suit he wore in stark contrast to the white minister’s collar around his neck A full head of neatly combed light brown hair, parted on the right and combed back, highlighted his light blue eyes
He had been a last minute replacement for Pastor Larry Goodwin who had suddenly been called away on a mission of mercy. The governor and Barbara had both been upset by the sudden change, but when Barbara cast her eyes on the handsome young replacement, she was fully satisfied with the situation. And, since Barbara was satisfied, Governor Stanton was alright with it too.
In mellow tones and practiced rhetoric the parson began the ceremony. “Dearly beloved....” he began, followed by the usual opening regarding the sanctity of matrimony and the leaving and cleaving. He had just reached the part about, “If anyone here knows why these two should not be joined.....,” a sudden burst of noise and action arose.
From behind the rows of spectators a horse and rider roared into the aisle way. Two more horses and riders came from the sides, approaching the wedding party. One rider was leading a riderless horse; the iron shod hooves of the horses trampling flowers, plants and greenery in their wake.
Two more riders and horses flanked the seated guests, who were already panicking and starting to run, but were held in check by Jeremy Carlin to the right and Chief Henry Two Owls on their left..
They were all firing pistols into the air as they entered and skidded their mounts to a halt.
The rider in the center aisle was Wildcat Kitty; once again dressed in her red checkered shirt and blue jeans astride her black and white pinto.
“I have reason!” She shouted
The Cyclone Kid, once again wearing his long grey duster, battered hat, and polka dot b
andana; riding his big chestnut mare and Arapahoe Brown aboard his big gray stallion reined up on each side of the wedding party.
“Matt Starr!” Kitty continued. “You can’t marry this … this...” She couldn’t think of the word. “Rap’s got a horse for you. Get on it and come with us!”
“I can’t do that, Kitty,” Matt said. He eyed her levelly.
By now everyone had turned and was eyeing her.
“I’m going to marry Barbara, Kitty. That’s all there is to it.” Matt proclaimed.
“No you’re not. You’re getting on that horse.”
“No. I’m not.”
“I’ll shoot you, if you don’t.”
“No you won’t.”
“Well,” Kitty said with a pause, “Maybe not.” Then she thought of something. “You can’t get married without a parson,”
She shifted the muzzle of her pistol toward the parson and said, “You. Get on that horse. You’re going with us.”
“Don’t listen to her Reverend,” Matt said. “She can’t make you go.”
“I’ll...I’ll shoot him,” Kitty stammered, trying to make it sound convincing and knowing it didn’t.
“No you won’t. You won’t shoot him either.” Matt said.
“But I will,” Arapahoe Brown said, leaning from his saddle and placing the muzzle of his pistol against the parson’s head. The hammer of the pistol snicked back and there was a broad grin on his face.
A trickle of sweat suddenly beaded on The Reverend’s brow. His expression asked, “Will he?’ and he glanced to Matt Starr for direction.
“Yeah, he will.” Matt affirmed reluctantly, with a sigh.
The parson took the reins, swung up into the saddle and they all rode off in a clatter of hooves.
****
Chapter Thirteen
Wildcat Kitty and The Cyclone Kid Ride Again Page 14
