Wildcat Kitty and the Cyclone Kid

by Franklin D. Lincoln

The little house was warm and cozy with the fire blazing away in the hearth. Green wood that had not fully dried out snapped from time to time, sending scattered sparks up the chimney. Buckets of water had been placed on the cook stove. A blazing fire raged inside. The water was boiling and steam drifted throughout the cabin filling it with thick humidity. Kitty sat in a rocker with the baby, next to the stove, where the baby could breathe the fresh moist air.

  The baby was quiet and sleeping comfortably in Kitty’s arms. Kitty leaned her head back against the high back of the rocking chair, closed her eyes and drifted into a half awake and half asleep state. A contented glow had spread over her face as she rested, holding the precious bundle close to her.

  Cyclone, Matt Starr and the homesteader were sitting at the kitchen table a few feet away from her. Matt gazed thoughtfully at Kitty and the baby. Kitty was a wanted outlaw, notorious for her deeds. It just wasn’t right, Matt thought to himself. She belonged in a home with a husband and family of her own. He tried to push the thought from his mind, but couldn’t. He knew he desperately wished he could be that husband and provide the home and family Kitty needed. But, that was not to be. His duty was to bring her to justice, whether it be a jail sentence or a rope. He could not bear the thought of either. What was he to do? Just look the other way? Not do his duty? No. He was a lawman, sworn to justice. But if he was so dedicated to the cause, why was he here with these outlaws and not have them in tow?

  Jeremy, Arapahoe and Chief Henry had each placed a kitchen chair in front of the fireplace and were absorbing the heat up close and personal. Arapahoe slouched in his chair; leaning back and stretching his long legs out in front of him. He had an opened flask in his big hand. It was two thirds full; having been full and uncorked, just minutes ago. His lean cheeks sagged with contentment. Chief Henry was looking on with envy. His gaze was firmly fixed on the remaining golden liquid in the bottle. He licked his lips in hopeless anticipation of an unlikely proffer.

  “Looks good,” Chief said soulfully.

  Rap lowered the bottle from his lips and said, “You’re not hinting that you want a swig of this, are you Chief?”

  “Well, now that you mention it, I’d be right obliged.” He reached for the bottle.

  Rap pulled it back, quickly, holding it tight against his chest. “Now just hold on there, Chief,” he said. “As much as I’d like to give you a swaller of this, I can’t.”

  Chief’s arms were still outstretched. “Why not?” It sounded like a whine.

  “’Cause I can’t give no firewater to an Injun. It’s against the law.”

  “You know I ain’t no real Injun,” Chief said.

  “You call yourself Chief Two Owls and you talk that Injun lingo. That makes you an Indian.”

  “You know that’s just an act. I put that stuff on.”

  “I dunno. You’re always speakin’ that Injun talk. No. You’re an Injun alright.” He lifted his flask and took another swig, then another, and another. When he finally pulled the bottle away from his lips he sighed loudly. “Aaah… That’s mighty fine stuff.”

  Chief grimaced. Slouched back in his chair, folding his arms and sulking.

  The homesteader, at the table had identified himself to Matt Starr as Larry Madden. He was young, not quite thirty. His wife’s name was Eva, four years younger than he, and their four month old baby was named Beth. He explained that he and his wife had been returning from town when the rain started. They had been in town to see the doctor, for little Beth had been sick of late and they were worried. The doctor had said she had a cold and had prescribed a tonic for her. They should give it to her every four hours daily and watch carefully that she didn’t develop pneumonia.

  When the rain started, he had feared that it could make the baby sicker. He panicked and had hurried the team to get home as quickly as possible. He didn’t see the riders on the trail ahead of him.

  “It had been clouding up for some time, this afternoon. Why didn’t you stay in town until the threat of rain was over?” Matt asked.

  “I thought I could beat it,” Madden said. “We’re new to this country out here. I guess I haven’t developed a feel for change in the weather, like you western people do.”

  “You from back east?” Matt asked.

  “Baltimore, Maryland.”

  “What brings you out here?”

  “I didn’t like working in the big city. I saw an ad for good land out here, cheap. I thought maybe we could make a go of it. Have a new life, but……”

  “It didn’t turn out like that, did it?” Matt finished.

  “No. It didn’t,” Madden said. “If it hadn’t been so dark when we got here, you might have seen what this land is like.”

  “I saw it earlier, today,” Matt said. “I passed by here and saw horses in your corral. On my way back, I was in need of a horse and I was on my way here to see if I could borrow one.”

  “Borrow?” Madden stiffened upright in his chair. His eyes grew dark. “Or steal?”

  Matt grinned. “Like I said, borrow.” He pulled the now dried, borrowed duster open revealing the badge pinned to his shirt. “I’m Matt Starr, United States Deputy Marshal. I was bringing in a prisoner and he was short a horse.”

  “Prisoner?” He glanced around the room. “Which one of these fellow is your man, Marshal?” He was suddenly distressed.

  Immediately, Matt realized he had made a mistake. How could he tell the man that his prisoner was attending to his injured wife? He would obviously freak out if he told him. He glanced from Madden to Cyclone sitting across the table from him. He could see the amusement in the old outlaw’s eyes.

  “Uh… none,” Matt almost stammered, but continued glibly. “He got away from me earlier, today before we met up with you.”

  Cyclone chuckled. He was enjoying watching Matt Starr squirm.

  Madden noticed the chuckle and said, “And these men, with you. They’re your posse.”

  Rap, in the process of taking another swig, almost spit it out with a stifled laugh. Cyclone slapped the table and laughed. “You got that figured out just right, son. We’re his gol’ durned posse.”

  Matt glared at him, wishing he could strangle the old man right then. Ah, wishful thinking, he thought.

  “We were talking about your land,” Matt said diverting the conversation back on track. “You didn’t know how bad the land was when you bought it, then?”

  “No. Like I said, I answered an ad. But when we got here, the land was nothing like it was described.”

  “You couldn’t get your money back?”

  “No. The old skinflint said all sales were final.”

  “Just who is this old skinflint?” Matt asked.

  “Simon Price, that’s who. Mister moneybags, banker himself.”

  Kitty, from across the room, brought her head erect, her eyes opened at the sound of Price’s name. She was suddenly listening intently to the conversation.

  Matt noticed her sudden movement and interest. He wasn’t surprised.

  “We spent all the money we had on the land and getting out here,” Madden said. “We wanted to turn around and go back home, but we couldn’t afford to. All we could do was try to work the land and see if we could scrape up enough to go home. We were prepared to abandon the land. It’s no good anyways.”

  “I gather you aren’t having any luck earning anything.”

  “No. We’ve just gotten in deeper. Price has given us loans for seed and tools and now we’re in so deep we can’t pay it off. Price is taking the land back at the end of the month. We’ve got to go someplace, but I don’t know where.”

  Dandy Jim Butler emerged from the bed room. He was unrolling the sleeves of his white shirt and was fastening the cuffs around his wrists.

  All conversation ceased and everyone looked up expectantly at the gambler.

  “She’s awake and she seems to be fine,” Butler said answering the unsaid questions.

  Larry Madden jumped to his feet and rushed into t
he bedroom.

  “Kitty,” Dandy Jim said. “Mrs. Madden is asking for her baby. It’s feeding time. Will you take the baby to her?’

  “Sure,” Kitty said quietly. She gazed down at the sleeping baby. She brushed her hair back from her brow and shook her gently. The baby squirmed, yawned and seemed to stretch as much as possible within the constraints of her wrappings.

  Kitty carried the baby into the bedroom. Dandy Jim followed, said something to Larry Madden and presently he emerged from the bedroom. Butler closed the curtain closed behind him. Matt Starr’s eyes were fixed on the closed drape as if he could still see the gambler and Kitty in there together.

  The baby was lying contented in Eva Madden’s arms and had drifted back to sleep. She had had her fill and medication had lulled her back to deep sleep. Her mother smiled lovingly at her little girl.

  Kitty, standing by the bed and gazing down at mother and baby, could not help but feel jealous. Oh, how she wished something like this for her life. Trying not to think about it, she turned to Dandy Jim. “Mister Madden asked you earlier if you were a doctor. You didn’t answer him.”

  Jim took a deep breath, blew it out and said, “No. I didn’t, did I?” He looked away.

  “Well?” Kitty asked.

  “Well, what?”

  “Are you?”

  “Am I what?” This evasiveness was going nowhere.

  “A doctor. Are you a doctor or something?”

  “Something,” Jim conceded.

  “You certainly act like a doctor,” Kitty pursued.

  “A man who moves around a lot is bound to pick up a few tricks along the way,” he admitted.

  “You seem to have picked up a lot of tricks,” Kitty said.

  “Oh, yes. Lots of tricks. I’ve got them up my sleeve. In my hat. In my boots. I’ve got a whole bag of tricks.”

  “You sound like a man with a lot of regrets over those tricks.”

  “Oh, yes.” He kept his eyes away from hers.

  “From what I’ve seen here today. Some of those tricks look pretty good.”

  “You just haven’t seen them all,” Dandy sighed.

  “Some how, I just can’t believe you’re as bad as you seem to think you are.”

  “Don’t fool yourself, lady,” Butler said flatly. “I’m not just a pretty face.” He smiled wryly.

  “Just what did you do that has you in Matt’s custody?”

  “Matt, is it?” Dandy raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t he a Marshal? And don’t I get the impression that you’re not exactly right with the law?”

  “It’s complicated,” Kitty said. “Real complicated.”

  “With me too, Kitty. It’s real complicated for me too. Why don’t we just leave it at that.”

  Chapter Twelve