Wildcat Kitty and the Cyclone Kid

by Franklin D. Lincoln

Jeremy hadn’t waited long when he heard the sound of more horses approaching. They were also coming at a fast pace just as the riders before them, had. Was this the rest of the posse? Would they ride on past him too?

  As the riders came into view, Jeremy’s heart leaped into his throat. “By God!” He exclaimed jubilantly. He jumped to his feet and ran out into the open, waving both hands wildly in the air, and standing in their path..

  “Kitty! Grampa! Rap! Chief! It’s me.”

  The riders reined up sharply, sliding to a halt.

  “Are you all right, son?” Cyclone asked. His horse was still stamping about, but the old outlaw held him in control.

  “Yeah, but part of the posse just rode by. There may be others still around,” Jeremy said as if he couldn’t get the words out fast enough.

  “Well, we kinda thinned them out some, boy. That’s all they is.”

  “What are you doing out here alone?” Kitty asked. “What happened to the others?”

  “They didn’t want to cut me in on a share of the ransom money. They left me behind. I hid out and the posse passed me by. Then you came along.”

  “Those boys are going to be sorry,“ Kitty said. “They don’t know what they’ve let themselves in for. Trask wants to get Price’s money back, real bad and it won‘t bother him if he has to kill them all to get it.”

  “But we ain’t gonna let that happen,” Rap said with a grin.

  “You’re dad burned right, we ain’t.” Cyclone affirmed. “Jeremy, climb on with Rap. We’re going on after them.”

  “Climb on with me?” Arapahoe groaned. “Why with me? Why not Henry?”

  “Because you’re riding Jeremy’s dad burned horse that’s why. Besides, we need Chief for trackin’.”

  “He can’t do that ridin’ double?”

  “Hell, no He might fall out of the saddle, leanin‘ out to look at the ground. You know he can‘t see worth a hoot.”

  “Then, why do we need him?” Rap whined.

  “’Cause me greatest tracker in the west,” Chief Henry reminded him.

  “Lawdy. Lawdy,” Rap groaned.

  The bullet craned off the rock, chipping off splinters of granite. Frankie the Kid ducked lower behind the large boulder where he had taken cover. Two more bullets followed in rapid succession. He cringed tight against the back of the rock. Tears were filling his eyes and his entire body shook uncontrollably. He had never been so scared in all his life. Not even when Wildcat Kitty had taken him down the day before. At least she wasn’t trying to kill him. The men who had him and his friends pinned down had no reservations about that. They meant to kill them all.

  Frankie and his companions had failed to check their back trail and the sheriff’s posse was on them before they knew it. Lead was flying all about them and there was no outrunning the posse. They had abandoned their mounts and taken refuge behind what rock cover they could find. Bud Geary was a short distance to his right and a little behind him. Pete and Garth had each found cover to his left.

  Knowing he was caught in the middle and could get shot by either side, Andrew Wharton also left his saddle. Rap’s big gray, used to battle, ran off out of the line of fire and lingered, while Andrew sought cover behind a large boulder. Wharton pressed close to the ground and covered his head with both arms.

  As Frankie and company had sought refuge, Trask and his deputies had also left their saddles and took up cover behind rocks. With rifles blazing, they set down a rapid, field of fire.

  Although, occasionally, one of the young outlaws had managed to get off a shot or two once in a while, for the most part, they were pinned down.

  “Bud!” Frankie shouted frantically. “You’ve got to help me. I don’t want to die!”

  “Neither do I, Francis,” Bud shouted back. “There’s nothing I can do. They’re gonna kill us all. It’s every man for himself.” He popped up over the top of the boulder and loosed another round without taking time to aim, then diving back down to cover. Another fusillade of bullets sprayed against the face of the boulder.

  “Don’t say that!” Then appealing to his other friends, Frankie shouted, “Pete, Garth, you’ve got to save me!”

  “Hell, we can’t even save ourselves,” Pete called back. He stayed low, not even trying to fire back. Bullets were peppering his cover without let up.

  For a split second, the firing from the lawmen seemed to stop, but it immediately resumed. It took a few moments before the young outlaws finally realized that bullets were no longer flying near them, Moments later the firing ceased altogether.

  From behind their cover, the lawmen had been so intent on their targets and with the sound of gunfire so loud in their ears that they were not aware of the riders approaching from behind them.

  It was only when two of Trask’s men went down with bullets in their shoulders, that the sheriff twisted around and saw the oncoming riders. “Damn! Wildcats!” He shouted.

  The deputy next to him turned to look and caught a rifle bullet high in his chest. He went down, leaking blood onto the dirt.

  The remaining deputy, turning and realizing they were at a disadvantage, threw down his rifle and thrust his arms skyward in surrender.

  “What are you doing?” Trask shouted at him. “They’ll kill us!”

  “They will for sure, if we don’t give up,” the deputy said.

  “Oh, Hell!” Trask muttered and threw his rifle to the ground angrily. He raised his hands.

  The Wildcats rode up, reining their mounts to a sliding halt. They all had rifles trained on the lawmen.

  “Lookee, lookee,” Cyclone chided. “Look what we got here. The big brave law dog hisself. How you doin’, Mister Trask? I’ll bet you ain’t feelin’ so hot now. I guess, this ain‘t quite the same thing as shootin’ at a bunch of wet nosed kids, is it?“

  “I suppose you’re going to shoot me now,” Trask said trying to control his trembling.

  “Naw, I ain’t gonna shoot you,” Cyclone raised his rifle barrel to point at the sky.

  Trask sighed with relief and his chest sagged.

  “I am,” Rap said grimly, leveling his rifle at the badge on Trask’s shirt.

  Trask jumped with a startle. His eyes bulged wide with fear. Tears welled up and started to stream down his cheeks. “Please, please don’t shoot me.”

  Rap laughed and lifted his rifle. “Just playin’ with you, Sheriff.”

  Trask’s knees sagged and he fell to his knees, sobbing “Thank you! Thank you!”

  “Don‘t thank us,” Kitty said. “We‘re not doing you any favors here. We’re not killers. We just prefer to see you go back to face Simon Price with your failure. Now get your men and your horses and go.”

  “’Course you’re leaving all your guns with us, you understand.” Cyclone said.

  The one remaining ambulatory deputy was helping the sheriff to his feet. “We understand,” he said, speaking on behalf of the sheriff and half dragging him toward his horse. The other wounded men followed. They had difficulty mounting up, but considering the alternatives, they managed to get aboard, even though slumping in their saddles.

  They were a sorry lot riding off at a walk.

  “Watch them, Chief,” Cyclone said. “Make sure they’re gone. I think it’s time we check on them little boys out there and make sure they’re all right.”

  “But Cy,” Rap complained. “Henry can’t see enough to know when they’re gone.”

  “Maybe not,” Cyclone said. “But he can still smell ‘em.”

  He nudged his horse forward toward where the young outlaws were hiding. The others joined him.

  Andrew Wharton was just crawling out from his hiding place as the Wildcats approached. He was looking around for a horse when he saw them. He stopped short in his tracks. He was suddenly gazing up at Kitty Carlin, sitting her pinto, above him. He felt a pang of shame and loneliness. He swallowed hard and forced himself to say, “Hello, Kitty. It’s been along time. I….I’ve missed you.”

  Kit
ty’s glare was hard. “Find a horse and get out of here, Andrew.” She said. She lifted the reins and rode past him.

  The young outlaws were still hugging the ground beneath them, staying hid behind their cover as Kitty, Cyclone and Jeremy rode around behind them. Rap had already slid off the roan from behind Jeremy and set out on foot to gather up his gray stallion, which had not drifted too far away. The same could not be said for the other horses that had run off to who knew where.

  “Alright boys,” Kitty said as they encircled Frankie, Bud, Pete and Garth. She had put her rifle away, as had the others, and now had a pistol in her hand. “It’s safe to come up out of your holes, now. The big, bad sheriff is gone.” She glanced behind her and saw Chief Henry riding toward them.

  Bud was the first to stand up and step forward. He had put his pistol away in its holster. ”Can I help him up?” He asked, indicating Frankie, who was still on the ground and sobbing with fear.

  “Go ahead,” Kitty said.

  Pete and Garth also came forward. Pete stopped long enough to help Bud pull Frankie onto his feet.

  “Everything is going to be all right, Francis,” Bud said reassuringly as Frankie finally steadied himself on his feet. Gradually, he was getting himself under control.

  “It is?” Frankie finally managed to say finding it hard to believe they were still alive. When the realization finally hit him that the Wildcat gang was in front of him, he managed to ask, “You… you saved us? You actually helped us?”

  “Seems to me, for a bunch of boys not yet fillin’ out your britches, you chawed off a passel of trouble you couldn’t handle.” Cyclone said. “You’s mighty lucky, you ain’t all dead.”

  “If it weren’t for you, we woulda been,” Bud said. “We’re mighty grateful to you all. Aren’t we, Francis?” He nudged Frankie’s elbow.

  “Yeah, sure. That’s right,” Francis said meekly.

  “Well before you go gittin’ all slobberin’ grateful,” Cyclone said. “You best understand, we didn’t do this just out of the goodness of our hearts. You got somethin’ we want.”

  “You… you mean, the money? “ Frankie stammered.

  “There. You see, boy. You’re getting’ smarter already.”

  Chapter Twenty Eight