Wildcat Kitty and the Cyclone Kid

by Franklin D. Lincoln

They were a tired and dusty bunch when the posse returned to Thistle Creek late in the afternoon. Townspeople were stopping to gape at the parade of beleaguered riders as they proceeded slowly along main street and angling their exhausted mounts to the side and pulling up in front of the sheriff’s office. Merchants had rushed to the windows of their establishments to peer out at the returning posse. Many of them rushed out onto the board walk in front of their business to gawk. The sheriff’s office door opened wide and a deputy came out to greet them. He was an older man with graying hair and gray stubble beard. He was rail thin and stoop shouldered. His name was Burt Sims.

  Trask and Peso Martin reined up at the hitch rail directly in front of the jail. The others spread out along the street on each side and behind them.

  One of the possemen had been wounded and had a makeshift bandage about his shoulder. Six men appeared to be in tow as prisoners and Matt Starr sat his sorrel just behind them. He had a six gun in his hand and it was trained on the prisoners. One of the prisoners was the dandy that had been in jail before and had escaped. The others were mere boys, not much out of their teens, if that. Four of them were strangers but the fifth one was instantly recognized as Jeremy Carlin, who had lived and grown up near Thistle Creek and was now a notorious outlaw and part of his sister’s gang; The Wildcats.

  Trask, Martin and most of the posse had trailed the gang for several hours before they had completely lost the trail and were forced to return to the basin. “Simon ain’t going to like this,” Peso had warned Trask.

  “I know. I know.” The sheriff’s voice was pitched to a nervous whine. “What else could we do? They vanished like ghosts. Besides, they’re gonna come back for Jeremy Carlin. We‘ll get them then.”

  Peso smiled. “Maybe you’re not so dumb after all, Harvey.”

  Trask didn’t indicate that he heard the slur nor taken offense to it. “Maybe that’s why I’m the Sheriff,” Trask said.

  Peso refrained from saying it, but he thought to himself, “I doubt it.”

  The posse members that had been left behind to take charge of Jeremy had also rounded up Frankie the Kid and his three companions while Matt Starr revived Jim Butler and saddled him on the gray. He had transferred the saddle bags from the gray to his own horse. He could feel the bundles of cash inside, but had not taken time to check the contents. Something bothered him about those saddle bags. They seemed way to light to contain twenty thousand dollars, but there would be time enough to count the money when he returned it to the bank.

  “All right, you men,” Trask addressed the riders who were still mounted. “That’s all for today. I’ll let you know if I need you again. Peso will get your pay for today for you.”

  Shouts and yippees rang out amongst the riders as they pulled their horses away and raced on down the street to pull up in front of the saloon. Two of the riders accompanied the wounded man further down the street toward the doctor’s office.

  “We’d better make this quick, Sheriff,” Peso said. He had just finished tying his horse to the hitch rail and had stepped up onto the board walk next to Trask. “I don’t want those boys liquored up too much before we go back to the ranch.”

  Matt Starr had dismounted, retrieved the saddle bag from the sorrel and with his pistol still trained on his prisoners, he motioned to them to get off their horses. He followed them up onto the board walk where the deputy took charge and ushered them inside.

  The light was dim inside the sheriff’s office and the sharp contrast from the bright sunlight outside made Trask, Peso, and Matt squint as their eyes adjusted.

  The cell doors were clanging shut at the back of the jail as Trask went behind his desk, tossed his sweat stained hat on the ink pad, half covering his desk, and dropped wearily into his battle scarred wooden swivel chair.

  Matt tossed the saddle bags on the desk in front of the lawman. They landed with a thud. Trask jerked his eyes up and wide open. “What’s that?”

  “The bank money,” Matt said.

  Harvey glanced from Matt to the saddle bags, then to Peso. Peso smirked. Trask felt a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach. Price wasn’t going to like this at all. Sure, he wanted the money back, but he didn’t want anyone to know it. Now that the money was back, Price’s plan wasn’t going to work.

  “But.. But, The Wildcats stole it. How… how did you get it?”

  “Don’t tell me you let The Wildcats get away, Marshal,” Peso said mockingly. “I heard rumors about you and Kitty Carlin.”

  Matt shot a furtive glance of disgust toward Peso Martin. He chose to ignore the remark and said to Trask, “I took this off Dandy Jim Butler. Maybe he can tell you where he got it from.”

  “Obviously, he was in with them.”

  “You forget, Sheriff. When the bank was robbed, Butler was in my custody.”

  “He might have joined up with them later,” Trask said. “Owlhoots tend to flock together.”

  Matt glanced suspiciously from Trask to Peso Martin. “Yes, Sheriff. I believe that is true,” he said icily.

  He picked the saddle bags back up and draped them over his shoulder “I best be getting this over to the bank. I’m sure Mister Price will be glad to get it back and I think we should count it together just to make sure there are no discrepancies.”

  “There…there’s no need for you to trouble yourself about that, Marshal,” Trask stammered nervously. “I can take care of it for you. You know what I mean.?” He stood up, arms outreached, palms open.

  “That’s all right, Sheriff,” Matt said. “I want to take care of this myself. Personally. You know what I mean?” He turned, strode across the office floor, his boots thudding against the planks, opened the door, stepped through and closed it behind him.

  Trask sank back into his chair. Sweat beaded on his brow, ran down his face and dripped off his chin. His eyes darkened with worry.

  Peso Martin grinned with self satisfaction.

  “There’s no need for you to trouble yourself, Marshal,” Simon Price said. “My clerk and I can manage the count. I’m sure it is all there and I am truly indebted to you, sir, for getting this back to us. The people of Thistle Creek all owe you a vote of thanks.”

  “No . No trouble at all, Mr. Price.” Matt smiled. “It’ll only take a few minutes.” He started unbuckling the saddle bags that he had already placed on Price’s mahogany desk. “How much was it, they stole?” he answered his own question as he half lifted the bags to spill the contents out. “Twenty thousand I believe it was.”

  Price swallowed hard. Worry etched across his face. How was he going to explain this?

  The bundles of cash fell out onto the desk top. “Must be big bills,” Matt said. “Not that many bundles.” He picked one up and leafed though it.

  Price’s face flushed red and suddenly his collar felt very tight.

  “No. They’re not large denominations,” Matt muttered almost to himself, but loud enough for Price to hear. He tossed the bundle back onto the desk, picked up another bundle and flipped through it. “Not this one either.” He tossed it down, picked up another bundle without looking at Price.

  “I don’t think there’s twenty thousand dollars her, Mister Price,.” He glanced back up at the nervous banker. He tried to show a hint of accusation. Not too much but just enough to rattle the banker.

  “There…there’s not?” Price was trying not to stammer. “How, how can that be?”

  “I don’t know,” Matt said absentmindedly as he rummaged through the remaining bundles. “But, there’s probably no more that eight thousand here?”

  “But…but, where’s the rest of it?” Price blurted as if he really didn’t know.”

  “You tell me,” Matt said flatly.

  “How would I know?”

  “Just a rhetorical question,” Matt said. “Of course you wouldn’t know.”

  “Of course not.” Price waited a beat, then said, “They must have split it up already and this was Butler’s share.”

 
; “You’re probably right,” Matt said. He could see the banker begin to relax as he agreed with him. “But why did Butler get a share? And why didn’t Jeremy Carlin have a share on him?”

  “That’s easy,” Price smiled with satisfaction. The flush in his face was diminishing now. “The gambler must have taken it away from the Carlin kid.”

  Matt acted liked he was thinking it over, then said, “You know, I’ll bet you’re right. I don‘t know why I didn‘t think of that myself.”

  The banker smiled broadly. “Don’t feel bad, Marshal, you can’t think of everything.”

  “No, I guess not. I’ll have to try to do better in the future.”

  “I’m sure you will, Marshal,” the banker said. “And I’m sure you will get the rest of the money back for me. You will bring in the rest of that awful Wildcat gang, won‘t you?”

  “If they’ve got it, Mister Price, I would bring them in, and the money too, if I could, but I don’t have the time. I have, a prisoner that I have to get to Tucson. I’m afraid I will have to be leaving tomorrow.”

  “That’s too bad,” Price said, trying to sound convincing. He did notice, however, the tinge of doubt in the marshal’s words. “If The Wildcats had the money.” Getting this damned marshal out of his hair or lack of it, so to speak, would be the best thing he could hope for right now. There would still be time for his plan to work. “I’m sure Sheriff Trask will get the job you want done, taken care of.”

  “You think, he’s all right, Grampa,” Kitty said wistfully. They were sitting under a rock outcropping far up in the hills on what used to be the northern portion of the Carlin ranch. This was a favorite place Kitty had often come to as a kid when she wanted to be alone. It had always been peaceful up here. There was a great view of the valley below and the mountains beyond. It was peaceful here and cool breezes were a comfort. There was a stream nearby and good grass beneath a stand of trees that provided cover and grazing for horses.

  Chief was sleeping in the shade of one of the trees. Arapahoe sat with his back against the trunk of another tree. He had a half empty flask in his hand and his eyes drooped in a stupor.

  “”Now, you don’t go worryin’ your head about Jeremy, girl,” Cyclone said reassuringly. “Jeremy can take care of hisself. He’ll be all right.”

  “Not if Simon Price has anything to say about it. Who knows what he’s liable to do to Jeremy.”

  Earlier in the day after eluding the posse, The Wildcats had doubled back behind the posse. Keeping to high ground and out of sight they had managed to find a good lookout point above the trail that the posse had taken back to town.

  They had seen that Jeremy was not hurt. He didn’t appear so. At least not anymore so than Frankie the Kid and his three companions who were also being held as prisoners along with Dandy Jim Butler.

  “I’m telling’ ya not to worry, girl. As long as Matt’s with them, nothing’s gonna happen to him.”

  “Matt. Is it now, Grampa? I swear I’ll never figure you out when it comes to Matt.”

  “Well, when I figure you and him out, I’ll tell you.”

  Kitty was silent for a moment, letting the conversation pass. Then she said, “Grampa?”

  “Yeah, girl.”

  “Matt has to take that gambler fellow to Tucson. What happens when he’s gone? About Jeremy, I mean?”

  “Nothin’, ‘cause we’re ridin’ in there tonight, before Matt has to leave and we’re gonna bust Jeremy out.”

  “But won’t they be expecting us to do just that.?”

  “Of course. But, they’ll think we’re smart enough to think they would be expecting us, that we wouldn’t.”

  “Huh? I don’t follow you Grampa.”

  “Don’t try, Kitty. You’ll see. Besides, you can bet Price and Trask are gonna make the first move anyhow.”

  “That’s supposed to make me feel better?’ Kitty said.

  “No, you’re supposed to feel better when we get Jeremy back.”

  Chapter Sixteen