Wildcat Kitty and the Cyclone Kid

by Franklin D. Lincoln

The Concord stage rocked heavily on its leathers. The large wheels droned a repetitious clickety clack and dust spewed high behind them. Occasionally, the driver would call out to his teams and crack a whip behind their ears. The horses’ hooves beat a pounding staccato rhythm against the gravel road as they lumbered along at a fairly fast pace.

  Matt Starr and Dandy Jim Butler were the only two passengers aboard on this run. Matt was glad of this, for he was uneasy knowing that the army payroll was aboard. He would have been even more uneasy if there were passengers aboard to worry about.

  As it was, he was also uneasy leaving the territory with unfinished business. There was something going on with Simon Price. He was sure now that he had staged a fake bank robbery and blamed it on the Wildcat Gang to cover some sort of bank shortage. That would account for the sudden arrival of a bank examiner.

  He also wasn’t sure of what Kitty and her gang were actually up to, if anything. And what of the young bandits; Frankie the Kid and his cohorts? The events of the last two days had been confusing, to say the least, and now he must concentrate on the matter at hand; getting Dandy Jim Butler to Tucson in time to testify at Blaise Turner’s trial.

  And what about Dandy Jim, anyways? Matt glanced across the aisle at the dapper gambler. He was a mystery too, but somehow, Matt had begun to trust this strange man. Or was Dandy Jim just conning him, too?

  “This is just about as far as we got before,” Butler mused, looking out the side window and breaking into Matt’s thoughts. Did he know Matt Starr was thinking about him?

  “Uh.. Yes,” Matt said. “This is a good spot for an ambush or holdup, as we already saw. Both Frankie the Kid and Kitty picked this spot the other day. I’ll feel better when were out of here.”

  “Do you really think they were really a threat?” Jim asked.

  “Who?”

  “Any of them,” Butler answered. “Frankie and his bunch are just kids. And you don’t think Kitty and the others are really outlaws, do you?”

  “Doesn’t matter what I think. I have a job to do.”

  “But you really don’t want to, do you?”

  Matt sighed. “It’s complicated.”

  “That’s what I always say too”

  “We’re gonna run these horses down, if we keep up this pace,” Cyclone shouted to Kitty. He was riding beside her, but he had to shout at the top of his lungs, to be heard, for rushing air moving past the fast running horses, pulled his words away as quickly as he spoke them.

  They had been riding cross country for ten minutes at a full gallop. Cyclone, Kitty and Jeremy were in the lead with Rap and Chief following close behind. All of their horses had worked up a lather and their breathing was labored.

  “Can’t be helped,” Kitty shouted back. The gorge is still five minutes away and we may already be too late. We’ve just got to hope the horses hold out.” She drummed her heels harder against the pinto’s ribs and pushed him onward.

  “Hurry up with that dynamite!” Peso Martin shouted to Rufe and Shorty. Peso was pacing back and forth in the middle of Eelpot Gorge Bridge, His high heeled boots thumped loudly against the board planking beneath his feet.

  Rufe and Shorty had each lowered themselves from the bridge to a supporting timber joint several feet below; one of them on each side of the bridge about one third of the way across from the east bank of the gorge. They had slid about ten feet down to the first Y that fanned out to supporting beams. They had each tied a bundle of three sticks of dynamite to the inside of the Y joint and played out the fuse wire long enough to take with them back to the floor of the bridge.

  At the sound of Peso’s impatience with them, they both quickly climbed back up and lifted themselves over the railing. Trailing the fuse wire behind them they headed toward the western bank. They were one third of the bridge’s span from this bank when they went over the sides to set identical charges.

  “There’s the stage now, Grampa,” Kitty shouted excitedly as they came over the hill above the road. “We’re not too late. But they’ll be approaching the bridge in a few minutes. We’ve got to stop them. Hurry!”

  They all urged their horses onward, fanning out and riding in a line and barreling down on the stage.

  “Look! Outlaws!” The stage guard shouted to the driver. He raised his rifle to his shoulder and fired twice in succession. The riders kept coming without slowing down.

  The driver shot a glance past the guard and saw the riders coming. “Wildcats!” He shouted. “They’re after us again.” He whipped his teams up. They burst into a gallop; hooves churning up dust beneath them.

  Down below, inside the coach, Matt Starr jerked with surprise at the eruption of rifle fire and the sudden lurch of the coach as the horses bolted forward. “What the…….?” He started as he slid to the side window. His heart sank when he saw the riders coming after the stage.

  “Oh no!” Matt groaned. “Kitty, what are you doing?” He asked himself.

  “They’re not slowing down!” Kitty shouted. “They think we trying to hold them up.” A rifle bullet whizzed over their heads.

  “Well, ain’t we?” The Cyclone Kid shouted.

  “Oh, Grampa.” Kitty groaned and angled her pinto off to the side. “We’ve got to head them off.”

  “Here they come!” Peso Martin shouted just as Rufe and Shorty clambered back onto the bridge after setting their charges. “I can see the dust rising. Hurry up light those fuses!”

  Rufe and Shorted struck matches and put flame to the fuse wires. They sputtered to life and sizzled as the glowing sparks raced along the wire toward the charges below the bridge.

  “Now let’s get out of here!” Peso shouted. “We’ve got just one minute before that dynamite goes off!”

  They all raced to the west side of the bridge and up the trail to where they had hidden their horses behind rock cover. They hunkered down and watched the trail and bridge before them. The cloud of dust was no longer just a cloud. The stage, driver, guard and horses could all be seen clearly now.

  “Here it comes!” Rufe said with eager anticipation.

  “Yes, but something’s wrong,” Peso said with alarm. “They’re coming much too fast.”

  The stage was already approaching close to the bridge. The horses were galloping furiously and the guard was firing his rifle behind and off to the left of the stage.

  “There’s someone chasing them,” Shorty said. “Someone else must be trying to hold them up.”

  “Those damn Wildcats,” Peso answered. “Look! There’s Kitty Carlin coming up close behind them.

  “Good,” Rufe chuckled. “We’ll get them all when that bridge goes.”

  “But they’re coming too fast,” Peso repeated. “At the speed that stage is going, it’s liable to get across the bridge before it blows.”

  Kitty’s heart sank as she saw the stage roll onto the bridge. The guard’s rifle fire had kept her from approaching the stage from the side and attempting to head it off. She was still five hundred feet directly behind the stage. The dust cloud being churned up behind the stage coach wheels were making it difficult for the guard to see his target. This didn’t deter him from firing, but he hoped a bullet might hit its mark or at least drive the bandits off.

  The wheels rumbled with a roar across the planking of the bridge. Horses hooves clattered against the wood. The driver was still snapping his whip behind the horses’ ears.

  “They’re already past the first charge,” Peso cursed. “I told you, they were going too fast.”

  At that moment, the first charge went off. The blast was deafening and echoed across the gorge and the canyons beyond. Wood splinters splattered high into the air as bridge planking and support beams were blown to smithereens.

  The force of the blast rocked the stage on its wheels, almost lifting it off the floor of the bridge. The guard and driver were almost thrown from their perches. The terrified horses raced forward with all their strength.

  Inside the coach, Matt Starr and Jim
Butler fought hard to hold themselves in their seats.

  Kitty Carlin had reined her pinto up hard, steel shoes sliding in the dirt and almost entering onto the remnant of the first third of the bridge that was still standing, though teetering on weak supports. Smoke and debris engulfed her. Splinters fell on her hat and slid down the back of her neck into her shirt. Her eyes were filled with tears. “Noooooo!” She cried watching the stage advancing across what was left of the bridge; The stage was now two thirds of the way across.

  The echo of the blast was still in her ears when the second blast came. Again, the deafening roar echoed. More smoke and debris belched skyward.

  “Damn!” Peso Martin cursed again. The blast had come a split second too late. The stage had passed over where the second charge had been placed.

  The entire middle section of the bridge sagged in the middle, crumbled and sank toward the bottom of the gorge. Upright supports, cross beams, and bridge planking flew skyward, twisting, falling and meshing together in mid air like jack straws in a wind tunnel.

  The stage had not escaped unscathed however. The tremendous blast behind them had caused the rear wheels of the coach to bounce completely off the bridge and three feet into the air. When they came down again, they slapped hard against the remaining section of the bridge, sliding sideways into the guard rail, allowing the wheel hub to lodge against a rail upright support. At the same instant, the team had already exited the bridge remnant onto the upward slanting trail.

  As the rear wheels had lifted off the bridge, the front of the coach had dipped low, with the horses already into an upward pull. At this angle the stage’s tongue and singletree dipped into the gravel trail. It bent upward and splintered. The kingpin popped and the entire six up team separated from the coach.

  The driver was still holding the reins as hard as he could when the separation came. He was too surprised to let go and the running teams pulled him from his seat. He went flying through the air and landing hard into the gravel road bed. The teams dragged him several yards before the realization set in that he should let go. He was skinned and bruised from head to toe and his hands were raw with scrapes when he finally rolled to a halt in the grass beside the trail.

  The guard had already half fallen and half jumped from the stage and landed on the ground just beyond the bridge.

  As the teams and coach separated, the coach rolled backward dislodging the wheel hub. The remaining portion of the bridge, still standing, wobbled and sagged as breaking supports beneath, rumbled. The coach continued to roll and went off the edge. It careened out into empty space flipping over and over above the gorge with flying debris pelting it from all sides as it fell.

  Chapter Thirty