Wildcat Kitty and the Cyclone Kid

by Franklin D. Lincoln

“Looks like your pals forgot to leave you a horse,” Matt Starr said with a chuckle.

  “How many times do I have to tell you? They weren’t my pals.”

  “I guess not,” Matt acquiesced. “I’d say they left you with a mighty big problem.”

  “How so?”

  They were standing outside of the shack now and Matt had just untied his horse, readying to mount. The sun was halfway behind the far horizon, now. A cool breeze was beginning to blow in and large dark clouds were forming overhead.

  “You don’t have a horse. Maybe you haven’t noticed.”

  “Yeah. So what? You’ve got a horse. We can ride double.”

  “Now that poses a problem,” Matt said. “I can’t trust you to ride up behind me. Now can I?”

  “So I ride up front?”

  “And let you have the comfy saddle? I don’t think so.”

  Dandy Jim stared at him quizzically. “You’re saying I walk and you ride?”

  “By golly, Jim, old boy. I really do think you’re starting to catch onto things.”

  “It’s a long way back to town. It’ll take hours at walking speed. I thought you was in a hurry to get to Tucson. Besides it looks like there‘s rain coming. At walking speed we‘ll get caught in it for sure.”

  “We’ll have time,” Matt smiled. “I passed a homesteaders spread on the way up here. I noticed a couple of horses in a corral. I’m hoping to get the loan of one. We may have to stay there awhile if it‘s raining too bad.”

  He hoisted himself into the saddle, lifted the reins and gazed down on his prisoner. “Best we get started now. Lead off, James.”

  Butler grimaced, shook his head, turned and started walking. He didn’t bother to glance back and see if his captor was following. He knew darned well he was. But it was still a ways before getting back to town. He would just wait for his chance to make a break.

  “Looks like rain,” The Cyclone Kid mused, gazing up a the gathering dark clouds overhead. He wasn’t making an observation. He was merely saying something to get his granddaughter’s attention. Kitty Carlin, riding her pinto, beside him had not said a word for several miles.

  She seemed lost in thought, just staring at the trail before and beneath her and unaware of anyone or anything around her. Even the steady clip clop of horses hooves on the hard packed trail, failed to stir her from her reverie.

  Cyclone knew what was bothering her, but he still wanted her to talk about it. Again he tried to break her silence.

  “You been awful quiet, Kitty,” he said. “We’ve been riding a long time and you haven’t said a word for miles.”

  It had been over an hour since leaving the bank robbers behind and they had put several miles behind them. Although, they had no intention of leaving the territory soon, it was comforting to know that if need be, they had a place to hide out, but it would be a considerable ride to get there for they were still a long way from the New Mexico border and Pop Dawson’s haven for outlaws called Robin’s Roost. Why Pop had named it that, Cyclone never knew and he never asked. Outlaws learned early that one man never pries into another man’s business. It was an unwritten law. And, even among outlaws, there were some laws that they all obeyed.

  Pop had ridden the outlaw trail twenty years ago. He was known then as Big Quint Dawson, and he had found a hideaway deep in the mountains. The law had never been able to find it and Pop had managed to elude posses and lawmen for years. As the outlaw life often does, it imprisons a man just as securely as the strongest jail. Pop had built a small settlement there in the stronghold and as the years passed and he ventured out less and less, he began to provide a home for other outlaws on the run. It was here that Cyclone, Kitty and the rest of the gang would hide out when it was necessary to let things cool off for them

  “You worried about Price’s men?” Cyclone said, once again, trying to urge Kitty into conversation. He knew better than that.

  Kitty shook her head, still remaining silent.

  “No, I guess not,” Cyclone said almost as if he were talking to himself, or no one at all. He answered the question himself. “Simon Price never worries you. But I’ll bet you sure worry him aplenty.”

  “Oh, Grampa,” She finally broke the silence. “Why does it have to be like this?”

  “Seems to me, you made your choice.”

  “I know, Grampa. But what choice did I have? I couldn’t let Simon Price get away with what he did to us. He’s got to pay.”

  “Seems to me, you’re paying a big price too, Kitty. This is no life for a pretty young girl like you. You should be having a home and family instead of riding the owl hoot trail. Being chased down like a common criminal.” They had had this conversation a hundred times before. There was never any resolution. There could never be.

  “Maybe someday,” Kitty said wistfully. “After I’ve gotten even with Price.”

  “Just robbin’ him ain’t gonna do it girl. You know how I’d do it. Me and Rap would just ride in and shoot the miserable horny toad and that‘d be the end of it.”

  “Yes, but then you’d be no better than him. And the end could be the end of rope for both of you. No thanks, I’ll just have to keep doing it my way.”

  “Meanwhile, you’re just going to eat your heart out over that young marshal. I know’d that’s what you’ve been so gol’ darned quiet over.”

  “Oh, Grampa. You know he’d put me in jail if he could.”

  “Yeah, I know. That pup got a huge misguided sense of duty. Nothin’ stands in the way of enforcing’ the law. Even if it breaks his heart takin’ you in. But I guess that’s a big reason you love that little whippersnapper. I don’t think you’d want him if he were any other way.”

  “Why Grampa. You sound as if you almost like Matt Starr,” Kitty said.

  “Like him? He’s a lawman. We’re on opposite sides, but I’ll tell you one thing; that puppy’s all man. Got a lot of grit.” Then he chuckled. “Kind of reminds me of myself.”

  He hauled on the reins and drew to a halt. He raised his arm, palm up as signal for the rest behind them to follow suit.

  Rap Brown pulled up alongside. “What’s up? Why’re we stopping’?”

  “Just noticing’ the trail up ahead. See how it cuts through that draw. Banks are high on both sides. Plenty of rock cover and the trail’s mighty narrow. We’ll have to ride through single file. Could be a good spot for an ambush.”

  “You don’t think the posse could’ve gotten ahead of us, do you Cy.”

  He shook his head. “No. they gotta be a long ways behind. If’n they’re there at all.

  But I did see some movement along our back trail, back a ways.”

  “I noticed a couple of dust balls, myself,” Rap said. “Not enough to be a posse and I only seen it once. Looked back a couple of times. Didn’t see it again, then figured it was nothing.”

  “Maybe not,” Cyclone said. “But I don‘t like the looks of the trail up ahead, neither.”

  “You want me to check it out?”

  “No. I’ll have Henry do it.”

  “That blind bat? He wouldn’t see anything, if there was something’.”

  “I know. I know,” Cyclone said. “But he is our scout. It’ll hurt his feelings if don’t let him do it.”

  “I’d rather hurt his feelings than get hurt myself,” Arapahoe griped.

  “We ain’t gonna get hurt. And, I have faith in the old chief. After all he’s been my partner for years. And he ain‘t never let me down yet.”

  “You’re just believin’ those dime novel stories they writ about you two,” Rap said. “Come on Cy, none of that ever really happened. Now did it?”

  Cyclone ignored him, turned in the saddle and shouted, “Chief! Up here!.”

  Henry brought his horse up alongside. Cyclone said. “Check out the trail up through that draw. Make sure it’s clear to ride through.”

  “You betchum,” Chief Henry said and prodded his mount forward along the trail.

  “Just speak
plain,” Rap called after him. “We know you ain’t no Injun. You’re not still in that blasted medicine show.”

  Jeremy rode forward came abreast of the others. “What’s going on?”

  “Cy’s havin’ The Chief scout out the trail ahead.”

  “But he’s blind as a bat,” Jeremy declared.

  “Never mind,” Cy said. “He’s a good man.”

  “I know that, Grampa,” Jeremy said. “He just can’t see anymore.”

  Before Cyclone could retort, Chief Henry returned from the draw, pulled his horse up short and waved, motioning his friends to follow him.

  “All clear,” Cy said and gigged his horse forward. The others followed suit.

  Chief Henry turned his mount as they approached and rode back into the draw. The others fell in behind strung out in a single file.

  They rode on into the draw. The banks on both sides hemmed them in as they traveled deeper into the shadowy chasm. They were completely inside when it happened. Gunshots rang out in the close quarters. Bullets kicked up dust around their horses’ hooves and the animals skittered in panic; thrashing about, whinnying shrilly. The riders, taken by surprise, first had to deal with the frightened horses; trying to bring them under control. This delayed their attention to grasping for their weapons.

  Rap and Cy were the first to bring their mounts under some control and were reaching for their guns when a voice rang out. “Hold it right there! Don’t go for your guns or you’re all dead!”

  On each side of the trail, high on each bank, two young men stood spread legged; guns in hand and pointing at the riders below. The two on the right bank each held one pistol. On the left bank, one of them held one gun. He stood a little behind the one before him. This one had a fancy two holster rig and held two pistols; one in each hand. This one was clearly the boss. He had been the one to shout the order.

  “Get your hands up!” He ordered. Yep. He was the boss, all right, Cyclone told himself. Young whippersnapper. What in hell did he think he was doing?

  Cy let his pistol slide back into the holster and raised his hands high; still holding the reins. He motioned to the others to follow suit.

  “Just what is it you fellas want from us,” Cyclone said calmly. “I don’t recollect ever doin’ you men,” he refrained from saying boys. “..no harm.”

  “Shut up, old man,” the two gun bandit ordered. “You‘ve done plenty. Now it’s our turn. And just in case you’re too stupid to know it, we’re robbing you. So just throw down your weapons. Carefully. Don‘t make any sudden moves.”

  Cyclone tossed his pistol into the dust. “Do like he says,” he instructed the others. They griped about it, but followed the old man’s order.

  “Well, I’m afraid you’re barkin’ up the wrong tree there, feller. We ain’t got nothing’ worth takin’” Cyclone said to the bandit leader.

  “Don’t give me that old man,” Frankie said. “We know what you got.”

  “I got aches and pains, son. When you get to be my age you’ll be welcome to them. But if I was you, I wouldn’t want to hurry that along none.”

  “Shut your pie hole, old man. You’re wasting my time. Just give us the loot and we’ll be on our way. No one will get hurt.”

  “I’m sorry, but I don’t know what loot you’re talkin’ about.”.

  “I’m getting impatient and mighty mad, old man.” Frankie tried to make it sound like a snarl, but it came off a little high pitched. “We want that loot you took off the stage.”

  “Off the stage?” Cy exclaimed. “Why there warn’t………. Wait a minute, are you telling’ me you’re the fellas we run off, that was tryin’ to rob the stage this morning’?”

  “We were after the stage alright, but you didn’t run us off. We just changed our minds.” Frankie was indignant.

  “Shore, shore,” Cyclone said. “I could see that. And I‘m sure glad you did. Once we messed into the fray, I could see we made a big mistake. I could see you were a dangerous lot. Boy we was relieved when you fellas rode away and left us alone.”

  “What are you saying, Cy?” Rap interrupted. “We………”

  “We was scared, Rap. That’s what I’m sayin.’” Cyclone cut him off sharply before he could make matters worse.

  Rap looked confused. Thought about it a moment. “We was?” He mumbled.

  “Sure, we was. Don’t you know who these fellas are?”

  “No.”

  “They’re mighty dangerous fellas, that’s who. Recognized them right off.”

  Frankie seemed a bit confused. How could any one know who he was? Maybe someone in a town somewhere had seen him, believed his brag and told others about him. How this old man had heard about him was not important. He felt flattered and hoped his friends were impressed.

  “That’s right. I’m real dangerous.” He emphasized ‘I‘. No mention of ‘we’ to include his friends. “I’m Frankie the Kid.” He boasted as if that would mean something.

  “You hear, Rap,” Cy said. “He’s Frankie the Kid You’ve heard of him.” Who the hell was Frankie the Kid?

  “Really,” Rap said, sounding a bit awed. Then said indignantly, “Of course I heard of him. Killed all those men up in Arizony.” He thought a moment, his eyes pinching together. “I thought that sheriff, Pat Garrett shot him, some time back.”

  “No you idiot,” Cy said. “That was Billy the Kid. This here’s Frankie the Kid. He’s ten times worse than Billy ever was. You know that.”

  “Of course I do,” Rap said, straightening in the saddle, looking proud of his knowledge,

  “Now Mister Kid,“ Cy said. “We don’t got no quarrel with you and if you just let us go, we won’t be no more bother to you. We really is sorry about breakin’ up that holdup this morning.”

  “Then just hand over the loot and you can go,” Frankie said.

  “Well, you see, Mister Frankie the Kid, it’s like this. We didn’t get nothin’ off that stage.”

  “Don’t give me that old man,” Frankie said, irritated.

  “It’s true son,” Cyclone said. “There warn’t nothin’ on that stage. Looks like we was both fooled.”

  “If there wasn’t any loot,” Frankie said. “What’s in those saddle bags you got hanging on your horse‘s neck?”

  “Just the usual things you need on the trail.”

  “How come you got another set of saddle bags behind your saddle?”

  “I’m an old man,” Cy said. “I need a lot of stuff. Medicine and such. Got me a terrible touch of rheumatiz.”

  “Well then, I think I can use your medicine too. Just drop those bags on the ground and you can all ride away.”

  “Alright, Mister Kid,” Cy said, lifting the saddle bags from his horses’ neck and dropping them to the ground. His horse shied a bit as the bags thudded close to his hooves.

  “Now back your horses away from the bags,” Frankie ordered.

  The riders did so and Frankie nodded to the two outlaws on the other bank. “Bud. Garth. You two go down there and check those bags,” he ordered. Giving orders was fun. His chest puffed out proudly.

  The two bandits nodded back, then descended the bank. It was steep and gravelly. They half slid to the bottom, but managed to keep control of the weapons in their hands and their eyes on their captors.

  When they reached the bottom, Bud held his gun on the captives while Garth lifted the saddle bags off the ground. He was just starting to open them when a voice rang out from above.

  “Don’t anyone move,” the voice ordered.

  Chapter Nine