Wildcat Kitty and the Cyclone Kid

by Franklin D. Lincoln

“Don’t anybody move! Everyone, get your hands up!”

  The front door to the Thimble Creek Bank had burst open. A big man wearing a black duster and a polka dot bandana over his face had barged in first, shouting orders as he came. He was brandishing a pistol in his gnarled old hand. Three more bandits had followed him in. One was a tall man in a gray duster, one wore eagle feathers in his hatband and eye glasses encircled his eyes above his mask. The other one was of slight build. Long auburn hair hung shoulder length beneath a brown Stetson. They all had guns in their hands and pushed in close to the bank’s occupants.

  The teller, behind the caged window, threw his arms skyward, straight up. His normally pale mousy face turned even more pale. His dark eyes above his puny black mustache were round as saucers.

  The three customers twisted around. The man currently at the window, clutched at his wallet as he backed up against the wall. A thin middle aged lady swooned into her husband’s arms. He struggled to hold her up.

  A door bearing the words ’Simon Price, President’ behind the teller’s cage opened and a middle aged, balding, gray haired man emerged. “What’s going on……….?” He was saying as he came up short, taking in the scene before him. A buxom blond had followed him through the door. Her big round eyes filled with shock and surprise.

  The man with the eagle feathered hat swung the muzzle toward him. The hammer of his Colt clicked into place. “No movum, paleface,” he ordered. “Hands reachum sky.”

  The bank president did as ordered, but blurted out, “You…….you’re the Wildcat Gang, aren’t you?”

  The tall man in the gray duster snapped, “Shut up, mister.”

  “You’ll never get away with this, Kitty Carlin,” the banker directed toward the auburn haired bandit.

  The big man in the polka dot mask turned his attention to the banker. “Rap told you to shut your pie hole.” He tossed a gunny sack to the teller, “Fill it! And be quick about it!” He ordered.

  Wildcat Kitty, The Cyclone Kid and their companions reined their horses to a halt on the outskirts of town, where the main street was just beginning. Dust swirled up around them as their mounts skidded to a halt. They had been traveling fast and their horses needed a breather. Besides, they would cause less attention if they rode slowly and nonchalantly down the street.

  As their mounts rested, they checked out the activity in town. It was a fairly quiet day in Thimble Creek. From the livery and blacksmith shop, the clanging of a hammer on an anvil drifted on the still late morning air. A few people were wandering in and out of business establishments along the street. There didn’t appear to be any lawmen in sight. All looked peaceful and normal. Except for one thing.

  There were five horses in front of the bank, but they weren‘t tethered to a hitch rail. A young man stood with his back toward the street. He held the reins of all five horses in his hand. There was something very familiar about the horses; especially the big grey and the pinto.

  “Look Cy,” Rap Brown said. He was a bit groggy from too much whiskey. “We’re already here. We must still be inside. Jeremy‘s holdin‘ the horses.”

  “You consarned idjit,” Cyclone retorted. “We’re not there. We’s here.”

  Rap squinted his eyes as if they pained him and gazed at his companions. “Sure looks like our horses though,” he said.

  “Grampa,” Kitty said in a low voice filled with apprehension and concern. “I don’t like the looks of this.”

  “Neither do I, Kitty,” Cy said. “Neither do I.” He drew his pistol from his holster.

  Just as it cleared leather, shots rang out inside the bank. The front door swung open and bandits poured through it, rushing to the waiting horses.

  “Well, I’ll be a ring tailed horny toad,” Cyclone muttered as he watched an auburn haired girl swing into the saddle of the pinto. The other bandits also looked familiar as they mounted up.

  “I told you it was us,” Rap said triumphantly. “How much you think we got?”

  “You idjit! We didn’t get nothin’. They got it. And they’re makin’ it look like we did it.”

  The fake Wildcat Gang was already heading out of town; galloping their horses and shooting wildly at nothing.

  The door to the sheriff’s office swung open and a stocky man wearing a star ran out into the middle of the street. His sixgun was in hand and he unloaded it in a roaring barrage at the fleeing bandits.

  They disappeared unscathed, out of town in a cloud of dust.

  “What are we going to do, Grampa?” Kitty said, panicky.

  “We’re not gonna be cheated out of that payroll again,” the old man said. “We’re gonna get it back. But we’d better circle the town in order to get after them. The law already thinks we done the stickup. If we’re seen, they’ll be on us like fleas on a hound dog.” He sheathed his pistol, lifted the reins, turned his Chestnut’s head and gigged her forward. “Come on! Let’s get movin‘.”

  They rode out in pursuit.

  The six up team barreled into Thimble Creek at a full gallop; the Concord stagecoach’s iron wheels clattering and churning up a cloud of dust. The street was already busy, filled with men and horses gathered around the sheriff’s office. They quickly moved to the side of the street as the coach came roaring in and sliding to a halt in front of the express office.

  Matt Starr was sitting up top on the boot next to the driver. Dandy Jim Butler was sitting cross legged on the top of the stage next to the luggage. Each of his wrists was handcuffed to a rail on each side of the roof.

  Matt and Butler were riding outside in order to make room inside the coach for the wounded shotgun guard. Matt had ordered the driver to turn around and return to Thimble Creek as fast as possible. The guard needed immediate medical attention and Matt needed to head off The Wildcat Gang from robbing the bank of the army payroll that they failed to get in the stage holdup.

  These were the main things on his mind as he jumped down from the boot to land in the dusty street below. He had not yet thought about the men and horses already cluttering up the street. But, the others were not so single minded.

  Several townsmen were hustling toward the stage as Matt opened the coach door. “Someone, give us a hand,” Matt shouted absently at the approaching men.

  “Stage was held up,” he didn’t bother to say by whom. “Guard’s been shot. Need to get him to a doctor.” He stepped aside as several men leaned into the coach, filling the doorway. They started pulling the wounded man out.

  “Careful,” one man said in warning. “We don’t want to hurt him when we move him.”

  Matt stood to the side, making room for the men to work. They quickly pulled the shotgun guard out and carried him away. Chester and Hortense then disembarked and Matt could hear the two of them arguing as they got their luggage and trudged off down the street toward the hotel.

  “Hey! What about me, Mister Marshal?” Dandy Jim Butler called down to him from his perch.

  “You just sit tight,” Matt answered with annoyance. “You’re not going anywhere.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know,” Butler chided sarcastically.

  Matt ignored him. A man with a star on his vest was approaching.

  “What happened, Marshal?” Sheriff Harvey Trask demanded.

  “Holdup, a few miles out of town. The outlaws got away with one of the passengers‘ cash. The stage wasn‘t carrying anything else but the mail. Guess they didn’t want that.”

  As he spoke, Matt finally became aware of the activity that had been going on when they rode into town. He changed the conversation. “Looks like something going on here too. What’s happening?” He was almost afraid to ask.

  “Bank’s been robbed,” Trask said. “The Wildcat Gang.”

  “The Wildcat Gang?” Matt exclaimed. How could that be? Matt thought to himself. How could they have gotten here so fast? “Are you sure?” He asked.

  “Sure as shootin’,” the lawman said. “Rode in and out of here in plain sight. Just as
bold as you please. Got away before we knew it. Just now getting up a posse to go after them.”

  “Anybody get hurt?” Matt asked.

  “No. But, Simon, Flo, his teller and the customers were pretty shook up.”

  Matt felt a little relief. At least Kitty and her gang hadn’t racked up any more serious charges than robbery. He feared that it was only a matter of time before somebody got hurt and they would be facing possible murder charges.

  He knew his duty was to bring Kitty to justice, but he hoped on hope that he would never have to bring her in to face a rope

  “Did they get the army payroll?” Starr asked.

  “The army payroll?” Trask seemed surprised

  “Why,no,” the sheriff said. “It was at the express office. I don’t think the Wildcats knew about it. We kept it all hush, hush. How did you know about it?”

  “I just thought I heard something about it, is all,” Matt said. Something seemed awfully wrong here. Kitty and her gang certainly knew about the payroll.

  “How much did they get?” Matt asked, quickly directing the conversation away from the army funds.

  “Twenty thousand,” Trask said much too quickly.

  Matt nodded and asked, “How soon are you pulling out sheriff?”

  “We ought to be hitting the trail in about fifteen minutes. I need to finish up outfitting the crew with weapons and I need to check in on Simon too. Why?” There was a hint of apprehension in the sheriff’s voice.

  “I’d like to go along,” Matt stated flatly.

  “But don’t you have to get your prisoner to Tucson right away?” There was something in Trask’s eyes that Matt didn’t like.

  “Blaise Turner’s trial doesn’t get started until a week from Thursday. As long as I can get Butler there in time, I think I can spare the time for a little while, at least. ”

  Blaise Turner was going on trial for a land swindle, involving a phony dam and fraudulent water rights. Dandy Jim Butler was a con man, swindler and cheating gambler. He had been implicated in Turner’s scheme as an accomplice and Butler’s testimony would put Turner behind bars and maybe save the gambler from doing time himself.

  The sheriff thought for a moment, then agreed. “If you can get outfitted with a horse and be ready. Sure. If not, well I suppose you could always catch up if you’re a mind to.”

  “Fine,” Matt said. “I’ll have to board my prisoner in your jail again, until we get back.” He hooked a thumb over his shoulder pointing to the dandy on the coach roof.

  “Sure, but I’ll have to leave a couple of deputies behind to watch him. That might prove to be a mistake. We may need every man we can if we catch up with The Wildcats.” He was trying to act acquiescent, but he was definitely being discouraging.

  “I’ll be making up for one of them, at least,” Matt said. “Besides if we have to trail them out of your jurisdiction, my badge will give us authority to keep on.”

  Trask rubbed his chin, as if thoughtful. “Maybe you got a point there, Marshal,” he said.

  Matt knew the lawman wasn’t pleased with the situation.

  “Then it’s settled, Sheriff,” Matt said. “I’ll rustle up a horse and be right back.” He turned and strode away toward the livery stable.

  Trask watched him go for a moment. His lips tightened into a hard line beneath his graying bushy mustache. Then he turned to head off toward the bank.

  “Hey! What about me?” Dandy Jim Butler called from his perch.

  Both Matt and Sheriff Trask paused in stride and half turned.

  Trask nodded to Matt. Matt reached into his shirt pocket and tossed the handcuffs key to the sheriff and continued his quest for a horse.

  To no one in particular Trask shouted to the waiting possemen, “Somebody come get this jasper off the coach and lock him up.”

  Chapter Three