Wildcat Kitty and the Cyclone Kid

by Franklin D. Lincoln

“There he is!” Frankie the Kid shouted as they entered the mouth of the basin. His pistol was still in his hand as they had been riding. He lifted it and fired without bothering to aim. The shot went wild, not even coming close as Butler wheeled his horse around in retreat.

  He guided the gray to the nearest large boulder which was just off to his left, and rode in behind it, leaving the saddle while the horse was still coming to a halt. Bullets pounded the boulder, spanging in wild ricochets and sending rock chips spewing into the air like hail stones.

  The gambler hugged close to the rear of the rock, holding the gray close behind him with the reins pulled short and tight. He knew the boulder didn’t fully cover the horse and he hoped a bullet wouldn’t clip him.

  The four young, so called bad men, leaped from their horses, guns blazing away at the rock, as they each ran for cover behind separate boulders. The horses roamed free and shied away from the gunfire, snorting and pawing at the loose gravel floor of the basin as they drifted away, reins dragging beneath them.

  Frankie had already emptied his gun and dropped it into his right hand empty holster, pulled his left hand gun and border shuffled it to his right. He cocked and fired in rapid succession, still chipping away the rock, that was protecting the gambler. There had been a lull in the firing from his companions and he suddenly realized they had to be reloading. In the somewhat quieting of the fusillade, he also realized that there had been no return fire from the gambler. Perhaps, he didn’t have a gun. Frankie grinned to himself. He hefted his pistol with satisfaction, glad that he hadn’t emptied this one completely.

  “Hold you fire, boys!” he called to his companions. “ I don’t think he’s armed.”

  Then to Butler, he shouted. “Am I right, dandy man? Come on out. You don’t have a gun. Do you?”

  Always the gambler and ready with a bluff, Butler answered. “If that’s the way you’re calling it, son. Come on out and get me.” His voice had a threatening edge to it.

  Frankie hesitated a moment. A chill suddenly dripped down his spine. The smug grin disappeared from his boyish face. “If you had a gun, you would have used it by now,” he called back.

  “You’re sure about that, son?” Butler answered. His voice was strong and confident.

  Frankie was beginning to worry now. What if the man really did have a gun and was just waiting to draw them out in the open? “I’m sure, gambling man, And I ain‘t your son.”

  “Then, why don’t you just come and get me?” Butler’s words were spaced out and deliberate with a hint of menace. Frankie’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he gulped and swallowed hard. Perspiration was beading on his forehead.

  “All right, gambler. I’m calling you. We’re coming to get you.”

  “We are?” Bud Gorman said almost in a whisper, but loud enough for Frankie to hear. He was peeking out from behind his rock, with wide eyes bulging. His pistol moved slightly in trembling hands, “What if he does have a gun? He’ll shoot us down if we come out in the open.”

  “You’re right, Bud,” Frankie answered. “It is best if we don’t all go out after him.”

  Bud was momentarily relieved until Frankie added. “You go get him, Bud. We’ll cover you.”

  “Me? Why me?” Bud retorted, shock on his face.

  “Because I said so,” Frankie answered.

  “I’m suppose to go out there and get killed, just because you said so?” Bud shook his head. “ I don’t think so.”

  “You’ll do as I tell you. Now get out there and get him.”

  “But…..but he’ll kill me.”

  “No he won’t,” The Kid said. “He’s unarmed.

  “How…how do you know?”

  “Because I know. He’s a gambler. Gambler’s bluff. He’s just running a bluff.”

  “What if you’re wrong?” Bud choked it out.

  “I’m not.” Frankie assured him.

  “But…but what if you are?”

  “Then when he pokes his head out to shoot at you, we’ll fill him full of lead.”

  “That’s supposed to make me feel better?”

  “Quit your whining, Bud. I’m telling you to go get him. Now, do it or I just might shoot you myself, you moron.”

  “All right. All right,” Bud growled and started to slide out from behind his cover. He held his pistol tight in his hand, but his hand was shaking. Under his breath he muttered to himself. “One of these times, Francis, you’re going to call me a moron, once too often.”

  On shaky legs, Bud stepped out from his hiding place and walked forward three paces. He halted.

  “Keep going,” Frankie urged in almost a whisper.

  Bud glanced back at him, his jaw set with anger and fear. His palms were sweaty. He sighed with resolve and continued forward.

  “Come on out, gambler.” Frankie shouted. “I’ve called your bluff. You lose. If you don’t come out now, my man has orders to shoot you when he gets there.”

  Bud was about a third of the way toward the gambler’s hideout when he heard Frankie’s warning. He was supposed to shoot the gambler? He didn’t want that any more than he wanted to be shot himself. “Oh…, Francis. You’re going to pay for this,” he thought to himself.

  Behind the boulder, Dandy Jim Butler knew he had lost. His bluff was called. He dropped the gray’s reins leaving him ground hitched behind the rock. He raised his hands and stepped out into the open. “You win,” he said forcing a slight smile.

  Frankie’s lips spread in a beaming smile as he came running out from behind his cover holding his pistol level at Butler. Garth and Pete slid out from their hiding places and flanked Frankie on both sides. They each had a pistol trained on the gambler.

  “You’re just a two bit bluffer after all, aren’t you dandy man?” Frankie chided as they stepped forward, coming abreast of Bud Gorman and all four continuing to converge on Butler.

  “Well, I guess I’ve certainly have been outclassed today.” Jim half chuckled to himself as he saw the pride welling up inside the young outlaw leader. The Kid totally missed his sarcasm.

  “Any time anyone braces Frankie the Kid he’s out classed,” Frankie boasted.

  “I can see that,” Butler said. “But why are you picking on me? You can see what a bad gambler I am. I’m full flushed out. I’m dead broke.”

  “Now you’re telling your own future,” Frankie grinned. “In just a little while you’re going to be both dead and broke.”

  “You mean, you’re going to murder me, just like that.” There was a hint of disappointment in Butler’s words. “I thought you were a bigger man than that.”

  “I am,” Frankie answered. “Frankie the Kid is the fastest gun in the west and doesn’t have to murder anyone. I’m going to give you a chance to outdraw me.” He reached his left hand across his body and pulled the empty six shooter from its holster. He stepped forward and stuffed the weapon, barrel first, into the top of the gambler’s trousers. He was taking no chances, and his friends didn’t need to know the gun was empty.

  Butler stared warily at the revolver, in his waistband. “I don’t know, Kid,” he said with a faux tremble in his voice. “Someone as good as you…..” He pursed his lips and shook his head. “Seems to me, that’s the same thing as murder. Why… I wouldn’t have a chance against the likes of you. If you want to give me a sporting chance, why don’t you let me try my luck with one of your friends here?”

  Garth, Pete, and Bud looked from one to the other. It was obvious, they didn’t like that idea at all.

  “No matter,” Frankie smirked. “you’re all out of luck, any way you slice it.”

  Butler smiled broadly, his eyes squinting from the brightness of the sun as he gazed upward and past his captors. “Think so? Maybe you ought to reconsider that, boys.”

  Six riders sat their mounts, spread out along the ridge above the basin watching the scene playing out before them.

  “Maybe we oughta just ride down there and shoot ‘em all,” Cyclone growled
in his throat. “None of them are worth a hill of beans. Seems to me, this world would better off without that gambler and those snot nosed kids.”

  “Maybe so,“ Matt Starr said. He was sitting his horse on Cyclone’s right. Kitty was to the left. The others were spread out on both sides. “But, I still need Butler’s testimony at the trial.”

  “You and your dad burned trial and legal goin’s ons. I tell ya, the onliest justice we need out here, is this.” He pulled his Colt from its sheath. “Best we get down there and get’em afore they see us. Let‘s do it.” He gigged his horse forward and started down the incline. The others followed. Except for Matt, they all pulled iron at he same time. He held back a little and followed behind the others.

  “You talk big, gambler,” Frankie said. “I suggest you take a good look at your situation here. I say you‘re out of luck”

  “And I suggest you take a good look to your right. I believe you’re out of luck too.”

  “He’s right!” Garth shouted as he turned to see the riders coming down the hill. “There’s a million of them.” He turned and ran.

  “What the……?” Frankie started, first reacting to Garth and then seeing the oncoming Wildcats.

  Pete and Bud were already diving for cover in the rocks. Frankie forgot all about the gambler. He twisted and fired wildly at the oncoming riders. They were half way down the slope now and he could see them clearly. Duster’s flapped in the wind and sunlight glinted on the pistols in the riders’ hands. Butler dived behind the boulder where the big gray still stood.

  Frankie had opened the play and now the Wildcats began to fire as they rode. Bullets kicked up stones around Frankie’s running feet and spanged off the rock that he dived behind. He landed on his side and rolled up against the rock. He scrambled to the side and peered out, pushing his pistol forward.

  The Wildcats were in the basin now, their mounts thundering onward at a full gallop, guns blazing, peppering the rocks and keeping the young outlaws in their hiding places.

  Frankie fired again indiscriminately without aiming and without hitting anyone. He was so scared, he wouldn’t have known it, if he had. He fired again and squeezed the trigger a third time. This time, the weapon clicked on an empty chamber. Damn! Frankie cringed back behind the rock. Why oh why hadn’t he reloaded before and why hadn’t he kept the other gun that he had given to the gambler?.

  His eyes were wide with fear. He dropped his useless pistol, jumped to his feet and started running away from the oncoming riders. Everything was just a blur of light and flashing images that didn’t seem to register a coherent vision. His heart pounded in his head and perspiration poured down his face as he ran randomly, going nowhere in particular: just away…anywhere.

  The sound of pounding horse’s hoofs on the stone gravel, fast approaching behind him was a jumbled roar in his brain. His legs were buckling beneath him and he couldn’t seem to will them to move. The crushing thud of a weight against his back drove him face downward onto the stony ground. His face and hands, sliding across the gravel, were badly scraped.

  Kitty had been the closest to Frankie when he ran out from behind his cover. She angled her pinto to the right and rode him down. When she was close enough to the running outlaw, she had leaned out of the saddle, throwing herself into him, striking him in mid back and forcing him to the ground. With her knee firmly planted into his spine, she pushed hard. At the same time, she drove her fingers into the boy’s matted hair and pulled his head up, arching his back until a disc or two snapped. She shoved his face back into the gravel. Then placing her foot against the outlaw’s back, she pushed herself to her feet. Frankie yelped in pain. She planted her pistol against the back of his head, pulled the hammer back until it clicked to full cock. “Don‘t move. Don’t even make a sound you whining little piece of dung or I‘ll blow your freaking head off, right here and now.”

  Meanwhile Frankie’s three companions had turned tail and were running across the basin with Cyclone, Rap, Jeremy and Chief in pursuit.

  Matt Starr had held back, watching Butler jump back behind the big boulder where the gray stood waiting. Starr urged his sorrel down the slope just as he saw the gambler on Rap’s horse galloping away off to the left.

  As Matt reached the bottom of the hill, his heels drummed against his mount’s ribs, urging him into full stride. The gambler had a good head start and a good horse, but he was not a great horseman and Matt quickly gained on him and closed the gap.

  Jeremy had closed in on Garth, his lariat twirling just above his head until he was almost on top of the boy. The rope snaked out and the loop settled over the young outlaw’s shoulders and arms, pinning him tightly. The rope went taught as Jeremy brought his horse to a sudden stop, iron shod hoofs slipping and sliding in the loose earth. Garth flew off his feet and landed with a thud on his back. The wind was knocked out of him and he writhed in pain as he rolled over. Jeremy wrapped the rope around the saddle horn and leaped to the ground to take charge of his captive.

  Rap had by now caught up with Bud and as he rode abreast of the running outlaw, he kicked out with his right foot, catching the young man with a swift kick in the back of his head. Bud dropped to the ground like a sack of potatoes and lay motionless as Rap’s horse carried him on by. Rap pulled sharply on the reins trying to draw his horse to a halt.

  Cyclone and Chief slid their horses to a halt, converging in front of Pete and blocking his path. The young man covered his head and threw himself to the ground rolling away from the stomping horses’ hoofs that were churning up the ground around him. His shoulders shook as he sobbed and cried like a baby,

  Matt Starr had rapidly closed the distance between himself and Jim Butler. They were two thirds of the way across the basin, when Matt pulled his sorrel up behind and moving along side of the gambler. Butler was lashing the gray’s neck, savagely with the ends of the reins and kicking wildly at the big horse’s ribs and flanks. Rap’s horse was not used to this kind of abuse and did not respond the way the gambler had hoped. Instead of the horse increasing his speed, he faltered and his stride diminished.

  The slackened pace of the big gray was just enough now for Matt Starr to come fully abreast of the gambler. He stretched his body out, dropped the reins, stood in his stirrups and leaned out of the saddle; his arms spread wide as he leaped after his quarry.

  Butler wasn’t looking back or sideways. He was too intent on his escape and didn’t realize that the lawman was that close until Starr’s arms encircled his shoulders The momentum of Starr‘s flying body crashing into him, spilled him from the saddle. Both men fell heavily to the ground and rolled over together, their bodies entwined. The sorrel and the gray both raced on past their fallen riders and slowed to a halt several yards beyond them.

  Starr and Butler rolled several times before momentum ceased. Matt managed to roll on top first and pinned the gambler beneath him. He quickly, jumped to his feet, grasping the gambler by his collar with his left hand and pulled him upward with himself. Butler was still stunned and wobbly on his legs when Matt’s right arm swung wide, smashing his clenched fist into Butler’s jaw. The dandy’s eyes crossed and glazed over dully.

  Matt loosed his grip on Butler’s collar. Butler’s knees buckled and he sank limply to the ground, unconscious.

  Matt was breathing hard from the exertion as he stood spread legged over the still form beneath him. At first all he could hear was the sound of his own heavy breathing in his heaving chest and then suddenly he had become aware that all hell had just broken loose.

  The rim of the basin had come alive with a hoard of riders descending the slope. Guns were blazing and thick clouds of powder smoke partially covered the onslaught. Sunlight glinted off Harvey Trask’s sheriff’s star. The posse had finally tracked them down, but the posse was larger now than it had been the day before and the members were mostly Simon Price’s ranch hands. Peso Martin was riding out front with Trask.

  Cyclone had spun his horse about and was retur
ning fire. He was waving at his companions and shouting. Matt couldn’t hear him above the din of the gunfire, but obviously Cy was rallying the others to take flight.

  Arapahoe and Chief Henry had backed their mounts away from their prisoner. They also were firing back at the oncoming posse. The air was filled with the thunder and crashing of gunfire, but somehow no one had been hit yet. Saddles were still filled.

  Kitty had turned her attention away from Frankie the Kid and was firing at the charging posse as she raced to her pinto and swung Indian style into the saddle with one sweeping smooth motion without touching a stirrup. She wheeled her mount around, facing the posse and still firing without taking time to aim and not knowing if she had hit anyone, but one of the riders had taken a slug in the shoulder, slumped in his saddle and fell from his horse. He rolled onto the ground with the rest of the riders trying to avoid riding over him. The posse spread out wider as they rode into the basin.

  Cyclone was wheeling his big chestnut away from the attackers, firing behind him. Lead zinged through the air around him. Bullets kicked up stones and dirt beneath the chestnut’s hoofs. Ricochets spanged off the boulders and rocks. “We gottta get out of here!” He was shouting to the rest of the Wildcats. He spurred his horse into a gallop away from the posse.

  Kitty swung her pinto alongside Cyclone as he raced by. Rap and Chief Two Owls, veered away from the cringing boy on the ground, turned their mounts and headed off to follow Cyclone and Kitty. By now, none of the gang was taking time to fire back at the pursuing lawmen. They just spurred their horses, racing hell bent for leather across the basin heading for the trail out on the other side.

  Jeremy had abandoned his captive, mounted up and followed after his four companions. They were already far ahead of him and he lagged far behind. The plug horse he had borrowed from Larry Madden had no speed and no stamina. Bullets were whizzing close by and one burned across the plug’s right flank. The animal stumbled and fell to the ground as Jeremy tried to shake himself loose from the stirrup and jump free. But this was to no avail. His left foot was still caught in the stirrup as the animal fell pinning his leg to the ground. He writhed, trying to pull free as the horse struggled to regain his feet. His right leg dangled over the plug‘s round belly on the other side. He fell backward onto the ground; his foot still caught in the stirrup. The horse dragged him a short distance before his boot finally slipped free.

  By now the posse had caught up to him, sliding to a halt with guns aimed and surrounding him. Jeremy had lost his gun in the fall and knew there was no escape for him. He lifted himself to a sitting position on the ground with his arms raised and palms facing upward.

  Trask shouted to no one in particular, “Three or four of you men take charge of this mangy critter. We’ll get the others.” He led off after Kitty and the others.

  Four men lagged behind, guns still trained on Jeremy. Jeremy looked away from his captors and watched the rest of the posse ride off out of the basin. Cyclone, Kitty, Rap and Chief had already disappeared from view.

  Chapter Fifteen