As midnight approached, the night air took a sharp chill, and dampness set in. Campfires burned low and complete darkness settled over the camp.
Streams of dark clouds gathered and spread across the western sky blotting out all starlight and almost all moonlight except when wisps of cloud broke apart and left thin threads of darkness across what was left of a last quarter moon. Bits of gold light would peek through and then disappear as quickly as they had appeared when the threads of clouds would regroup and reform thick masses once again, leaving everything on the earth down below in almost virtual darkness.
All was quiet in the camp, save for the occasional tossing or turning in blankets and snoring which didn’t seem to bother anyone, for everyone was asleep, including Pete Garvey, whose turn it was to stand guard.
The chill of the night and the boredom was conducive to sleep and as he wrapped himself tighter in his blanket, he eventually had succumbed to sleep, unaware that beyond the darkness, in the bushes, watchful eyes waited for the right opportunity to target its prey.
Frankie, Bud and Garth had spread their blankets beneath the wagon. Rap and Chief had found places in the bushes and had settled down. The Beattie brothers, as usual, had separated themselves from the rest of the campers and had formed their own circle on the far side of the camp where they could whisper among themselves and plan how they were going to get the real silver away from the others.
They had talked at great lengths before going to sleep; boasting to each other how they were going to accomplish the feat, but as they finally drifted off to sleep, they still hadn’t come up with a concrete plan. So far, they had only come up with pipe dreams. Such had been their lot in life. They had always dreamed of riches, but lacked the ability to work for it and the brains to actually steal it successfully.
Kip and Kitty had chosen a spot next to the fire to spread their bed rolls. They rolled up close together and were about to cuddle together when they thought the better of it as they were under the watchful eye of The Cyclone Kid.
Cyclone had chosen a place for his bed roll near the fire. His old bones were becoming more and more sensitive to the cold and when he could, he always sought out the warmest place in camp. The hard ground was also getting harder and harder for him these days. Some day he was going to have to give up the trail. His old back just wasn’t going to take it any longer. But, where was he going to put that old body? Except for Old Pop Dawson’s hideout, Cyclone hadn’t slept inside in years. Maybe, he was just going to have to retire to Robin’s Roost and let it go at that. But, he didn’t think so. One day he would probably rest forever out here where he wouldn’t hurt no more.
He kept his hat tilted a bit over his face so he could keep his granddaughter and her newfound beau in sight. He watched them roll together and as they discovered his peeking out from under his hat at them, they both smiled sheepishly at each other and rolled apart; just enough to be discreet.
Cyclone smiled victoriously to himself and soon drifted off to sleep.
After a couple of hours, the fire had burned out and Cyclone was cold in his sleep. He rolled tighter in his blanket. He tossed fitfully and fought to stay off his back, rolling first from one side to the other, half in and half out of sleep. Finally he settled on his right side and went back into deep sleep until he felt a hard pressing pain behind his ear. He came half awake and brushed at it. It didn’t go away. The pressure only increased and the pain intensified.
He brushed at it again. He felt something. It was hard and cold. His fingers touched at it. It was slick and smooth. His eyes came open. They danced back and forth as his thoughts began to race. He began to imagine what it was. Then he heard the loud deafening click as the hammer of a pistol was drawn back into place.
Slowly, Cyclone began to turn his head toward the pistol barrel that was pressed into his neck. It moved with him; no pressure being released as they moved in tandem.
Cyclone’s eyes squinted into the darkness, trying to see who was there. He didn’t need a lot of light to know. He knew without seeing, but enough light filtered through the darkness that the shadowed face could be discerned.
“Sam,” Cyclone almost croaked it out in a whisper.
Her eyes were large and round, the whites showing wildly in the darkness.
“You shouldn’t have left me, like that Cyclone,” she said. “After all we been to each other.” There was sadness and anger at the same time in her voice and Cyclone was scared.
“You’re right, Sam,” Cyclone said. His voice was a bit shaky. “I was wrong. I Promise you. I’ll make it up to you.”
All the while the pressure of the pistol barrel was drilling harder and harder into his neck. The pain was pulsating up into his temples and his vision was starting to blur.
“Damn right, you will,” Sam Bell said through gritted teeth. “You’re going with me and you ain’t gettin’ away again. You try it or any of your friends try gettin’ you away again and I’ll blow your head off. You understand me Cyclone.”
“I surely do, Sam, I surely do.”
She stood up dragging Cyclone to his feet, but with his lack of agility and his bulk it was a difficult task. As Cyclone lurched forward, stumbling and trying to gain his footing, it was difficult to maintain silence.
Pete Garvey suddenly came awake and shouted. “What the....? What’s going on....?” He fell out of his blanket and his rifle went off. The round went harmlessly skyward, but the rest of the camp came awake and came to their feet, guns in hand.
Frankie, Bud and Garth were only half out from under the wagon. The Beatties were still struggling to stand on their feet and Rap and Chief weren’t yet visible from the brush. Kip and Kitty were fully on their feet. Kip had his Pistol up and aimed at the hulking shadow of Sam Bell holding Cyclone as a shield before her.
“Don’t anybody move,” Sam Bell shouted. “Or I’ll kill this old man.” She was holding Cyclone erect now. The pistol barrel was still against his head.
“What’ll we do?” Kitty whispered to Kip
Kip whispered back to Kitty, “Keep her talking. Distract her. I’ll try something.”
“You harm him and you’re dead,” Kitty warned her.
“So what?” Sam Bell answered.
“Who’ll take care of your son, if you’re dead.”
“The old man will still be dead,” she repeated, avoiding answering the question.
“You didn’t answer the question,” Kitty persisted.
Kip stepped a little to the side away from Kitty into deeper shadow. He held his sixgun straight down at his side out of sight.
“Who’s going to take care of your son, if you are dead?” Kitty repeated.
“What....? Wha.......?” The woman seemed a bit flustered by the question. Confused. Just then a bit of cloud slid off the slice of moon and the brief light revealed Kip Dalton standing with arm straight out and pistol aimed directly at Sam Bell.
She saw him out of the corner of her eye. She turned, pointing her weapon at him. “You!” She shouted.
Kip pulled the trigger. Flame stabbed the darkness just as the sliver of moon disappeared again. The thundering sound of the shot echoed off into the darkness as if dying a slow death and fading out into the distance miles away.
The impact of the bullet had lifted Sam Bell off her feet and had thrown her backward, several feet.
Cyclone ran to her, disregarding his aching bones, and knelt beside her. There was a big red splotch of blood spreading on her chest. He lifted her head and cradled it in his arms. “Aw, Sam,” he said, sadly. She was dying rapidly.
“Cy,” she said, reaching up and grasping the loose part of his shirt sleeve. “Am I dying?”
“I... I’m afraid so, Sam,” Cy choked. A tear welled in his old eye.
“Funny,” she said. “It doesn’t feel like it. It... it doesn’t even hurt.”
The blood was gushing down her shirt. Her life was draining fast.
“Dub,” she croaked, finally thinking about what Kitt
y had reminded her. “Where’s Dub?”
“Right here,” Rap Brown said, bringing the boy with him. He had found him hiding in the brush. After the shooting, the boy had crept closer and Rap had spotted him. The boy had fought at him as Rap disarmed him of the old shotgun he was carrying and had dragged him kicking and screaming into the clearing.
When he saw his mother lying on the ground, he pulled free from Rap, as well as Rap letting loose of him. He ran forward and fell on his mother’s frame. Tears were streaming down his round face and he sobbed loudly.
“Don’t cry for me, son,” Sam Bell choked as she pushed his battered hat off the back of his head and brushed his long hair with her rough hand.
“But.... but, ma,” Dub said, pulling back from her and gazing into her paling face. “What will happen to me? Who will take care of me?”
“Don’t you worry none, son,” she said. She coughed and her shoulders shook. Cyclone held her tight. She gazed up at his sad face. Then to Dub she said, “Your Pa will take care of you. You do what he tells you. He’s a good man.”
“My pa? I have a pa?”
“Yes, you do son,” she said and coughed again. “Doesn’t he, Cy?”
Cy swallowed hard. The end was close now. “Sure, Sam,” he agreed. “Sure.” He took a long look at the boy. He swallowed hard again. “Sure,” he repeated softly.
She stared up at him intently, “You really did love me, didn’t you, Cyclone?”
Cyclone swallowed hard. It was hard to say it and he couldn’t look at anyone around him. “Yes, Sam,” he lied. “I did.”
“And we really were married weren’t we?”
“Yes, Sam, we were.”
“Imagine that,” she said with a smile “Mrs. Cyclone Kid.” She closed her eyes and died.
Cyclone let her head down gently. He pursed his lips and swallowed hard. Then, he pushed himself to his feet. Somehow he didn’t feel the pain as usual. He didn’t look at anyone; just turned to walk away.
Kip put his hand on Cyclone’s shoulder and halted him. Cyclone half turned to face him. “I’m sorry, Cy,” Kip said. “She didn’t give me much choice.”
“I know you did what you had to do son,” Cyclone said. “I just wish you hadn’t done it.” He turned and walked off into the darkness alone.
Kip stepped back into the darkness. A sadness came over him that he had never felt before. These people he had been riding with of late were unlike anyone he had come across in a long, long time. Perhaps in another time and in another place, they could have changed the course of his life. Right now, he just wished it wasn’t too late.
“I’d better go with him,” Kitty said as she watched her grandfather walk off into the darkness.
“No,” Chief Henry said clamping his hand on her shoulder and pulling her back.
“He needs to be alone.”
“Why? Was he really married to that woman?”
“No. He wasn’t. She just thought so in her deranged mind.”
“What about.... about that... that thing,” she pointed to the boy that Rap had led away from the body. “Is … is he my grampa’s son?” Tears were streaming down her face.
“No missy,” Chief said, grasping her arms and pulling her to him. He hugged her and said. “He was just making a woman’s last minutes easy and giving hope to a helpless boy.”
“Then that woman didn’t mean anything to Grampa?” Kitty sobbed.
“A lot of people mean something to your grandfather. That’s the kind of man he is. But if you’re asking if there was something else, no. Your grandmother was all there was for your grandfather.” Chief pushed Kitty back so he could look her directly in the face, “One more thing, girl,” Chief added. “Don’t let your grandpa hear you refer to that boy as a thing. He wouldn’t like it.”
Kitty smiled and brushed away her tears, “I understand, Henry,” she said. She paused a moment and then added. “She said she loved him, but she said she would kill him. That doesn’t make sense. Would she have killed him?”
“Yes, missy. Deader than a door nail. Deader than a door nail.”
When Cyclone returned he had thought through a change of plan.
They stoked up the fire and gathered around. Sam Bell had been buried and Dub had been put to bed and had long since gone to sleep
“With the boy to take care of,” Cyclone said. “I’ve decided on a change of plans.” He gazed at Kitty. “Now, girl, I ain’t takin’ the lead here. I still recognize, you’re the leader of this here gang and the decisions are up to you. These are just my suggestions, you understand.”
“Oh Grampa, you know, you’re every bit the leader here. What would I ever do without you? Go ahead. Tell us what you think we ought to do.”
“You’re too good to your old grampa,” Cyclone said and continued on.
Kip sat back, silent and subdued.
“As I was sayin’, we need to take care of the kid. Now, we don’t have time to do nothin’ before tomorrow, so we’re gonna have to take him with us. Now, only Kip, Jeremy and the Beattie brothers will be meeting the cavalry detail. The rest of us will be hiding out in the brush. We’ll have to watch out for the boy there. Kitty, I’ll depend on you to take care of the boy, you bein’ a female and all.”
Kitty cringed at the thought and Cyclone noticed the disdain. “‘Course Rap, Chief and I and the boys will be there to help if need be.” Kitty’s expression brightened a little. “But we’re also going to be watching out to make sure nothing goes wrong with the transfer too.”
“What could go wrong?” Red Beattie asked. “You sayin’ you don’t trust us?”
“That’s exactly what I’m sayin’,” Cyclone answered. “But as long as you fellas behave yourselves and do as you’re told, you’ll come out of this with everything you got comin’ to ya.”
“Oh, yeah. Well, I don’t trust you either old man,” Red sneered.
Rap stood and slipped his sixshooter from its leather pouch smoothly. “Maybe you trust this,” he said, cocking the hammer.
Red clamped his mouth shut and looked down at his crossed legs.
“That’s what I thought.” Rap chuckled. He sheathed his weapon and squatted back down next to Cy.
“As I was sayin’,” Cy continued. “Jeremy will hightail it with the wagon. The rest of us are headin’ out to Hunter’s Corners.”
“Hunter’s Corners? Why?” Kitty exclaimed.
Kip suddenly sat erect. A faint look of surprise was on his face. He said nothing.
“Yes,” Cyclone said, “There a stage heading west to Apache Wells. At Apache Wells a connection can be made to go north to Junction Flats and then transfer west to Leadville.”
“You mean we’re going back to Leadville?” Chief asked.
“Whoa. Whoa, Hold on. Just wait a minute. I never said nothin’ about us goin’ back to Leadville. What I’m sayin’ is, we’re sendin’ Dub to Leadville. We’ll send a letter with him addressed to Reverend Peter Thomas. He’ll know what to do with the boy.”
Kitty brightened. Good. It would be good to get rid of that thing. Oh, she’d better not let Cyclone know what she was thinking. Then she thought. “Is he going to be smart enough to make all those transfers?” Then she thought of Chief’s warning and was afraid she was saying the wrong thing. “I... I mean.......” she started to explain herself.
“I know what you mean, girl,” Cyclone said. “Of course he isn’t. His name may be Dub Bell but it might as well be Dumb Bell.”
Kitty smiled with a little chagrin.
“He needs someone to escort him,” Cyclone said with a smile, looking at the four boys. “That’s where you boys come in.”
“Oh, no, no, no,” they all said almost as one, raising their hands in protest and leaning back away from the circle.
Chapter Twenty One
The Return of Wildcat Kitty and the Cyclone Kid Page 27
