Wildcat Kitty and The Cyclone Kid Ride Again

By Franklin D. Lincoln

The Legends Continue to Ride! Once again Wildcat Kitty, The Cyclone Kid and the rest of The Wildcat Gang continue to ride for justice. This time, their quest takes them from Arizona to Colorado, to New Mexico and Saint Louis, Missouri, dealing out their own special brand of justice against train robbers,river pirates, crooked lawmen bounty hunters, Mexican border bandits and political assassins. Once again Kitty loses her heart to a new man while her first love, Marshal Matt Starr weds a governor's daughter and Dandy Jim Butler's secret past is revealed.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Monogram Press
• Release date: Oct 7, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310785825

Book preview

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WILDCAT KITTY

AND

THE CYCLONE KID

RIDE AGAIN

Franklin D.Lincoln

SMASHWORDS EDITION

****

PUBLISHED BY:

Franklin D. Lincoln on Smashwords

Wildcat kitty and The Cyclone Kid Ride Again

Copyright © 2014 by Franklin D. Lincoln

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This e book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e book may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

****

PUBLISHED BY:

Monogram Press

SMASHWORDS EDITION

Wildcat Kitty and The Cyclone Kid Ride Again

Copyright © 2014 by Franklin D. Lincoln

ISBN 9781310785825

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

Once Again For

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Melody Isbell,

Grampa’s Girl

The Real Wildcat (She’s really a kitten)

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Chapter One

They were like dark specters riding on radiant streaming sunbeams from the half orb of morning sun as it peeked over the ridge; early gray dawn melting into a pale blue sky behind it.

There were five riders cresting the ridge. Dark shapes on galloping horses plunging onto the incline of the sharp embankment that led down to an expansive, lush meadow of crop grass, below.

Duster tails were flapping in the breeze caused by the speed of their galloping mounts.

The riders leaned back hard in the saddle, reins outstretched to the limits, trying to retain their balance, giving their mounts’ their heads as they stretched their necks far out in front of them, aligning the back of their necks with the backbone of their spines, spreading their bodies into a straight line from head to rear.

Iron shod hooves dug into the moist sod and wet foot high gamma grass entwined about their fetlocks, slowing their descent The shade of the morning sun behind the ridge had still left the slope slick from morning dew.

As the riders came barreling down the hillside, they were no longer strung out side by side, but randomly sliding from left to right and drifting into a haphazard alignment with some riders in front and others behind or slightly close to the others.

As the riders approached halfway down the hill, another group of riders topped the ridge. There were about a dozen riders and they all had guns out and were firing at the five riders ahead of them. The fleeing riders were too intent on making their way down the embankment to fire back. Their weapons were still holstered.

The first rider to negotiate the foot of the hill and ride out into the meadow before the others, was smaller than the rest of the riders This rider was riding an Ovaro; a black and white pinto. And unlike the others, this rider did not wear a duster. Long auburn hair streamed from beneath a black Stetson tied on with a chin strap. She wore a red and white checkered shirt and blue denim trousers. She was known as the notorious outlaw, Wildcat Kitty and she was the reputed leader of the gang known as The Wildcat Gang.

The members of The Wildcat Gang consisted of Kitty’s grandfather who was a big, elderly man on a chestnut mare. He was known as the legendary Cyclone Kid. Also in the gang were Arapahoe Brown; another tough old man who still had the bark on, and rode a big gray stallion. Chief Henry Two Owls and Kitty’s brother, Jeremy Carlin rounded out the rest of the gang.

As The Wildcat Gang rode into the meadow, flying lead was all around them as the pursuing riders advanced down the hill behind them. Bullets were coming much too close now and one clipped the loose part of Cyclone’s duster sleeve.

Pointing to the left, urging his companions to ride that way into the meadow, Cyclone hauled up on the mare’s reins, pulling her to a sliding halt in the dew slicked grass. He wheeled her around as he slid his Winchester from the rifle boot that rested beneath the saddle fender and his right thigh.

Bringing the rifle up shoulder high, he fired one handed at his pursuers.

One rider took the hit and spilled from his saddle, falling to the ground and rolling down the hill. The riders behind rode him over before slowing their pace.

Cyclone had wheeled his horse back to follow after the others, only to find them turning back toward him.

Farther down the meadow another group of riders were heading toward them. They also had their guns out and were firing.

The Wildcats had no choice but to ride the other direction. They knew it wasn’t a good choice, but was the only option available to them.

They dug their spurs hard into their horses’ flanks and whipped them wildly with the excess length of reins. The horses responded with galloping speed.

As the Wildcats sped on, they could see the meadow narrowing off. They knew that it would eventually pinch off into a narrow canyon. Getting trapped in there would mean their finish, but with their pursuers merging in from two sides, they had no other choice.

The firing behind them began to subside as The Wildcats increased their lead.

With the canyon entrance looming not far up ahead, the pursuers probably saw no need to waste ammunition nor push their horses harder.

Once in the canyon, The Wildcats would be trapped.

As the meadow began to disappear, the ground became harder and rocky until the trail wound into the mouth of the canyon.

The canyon floor was strewn with boulders and smaller rocks. Mounds of shale had piled up at the bottom of the walls as years of corrosion had splintered off chunks of rock that broke to dust as they hit bottom.

The Wildcats had barely entered the canyon and traversed about a hundred feet into the high walled rocky canyon, when gunfire erupted in front of them from within farther down the canyon.

Bullets hailed around them and ricocheted off the rock walls around them. The firing came from high up the canyon walls from both sides, where the ambushers were hidden behind rock cover.

The Cyclone Kid motioned for the others to hold up. They leaped from their horses backs and sent them running on through the canyon.

Cyclone, however, had managed to retrieve the saddlebags from the big chestnut mare, before joining the others to take cover behind some large boulders at the side of the trail.

Bullets trailed after them, but they all made it to cover without a scratch.

They quickly took up positions behind the rocks; guns ready to fire at the attackers from both directions.

Firing from inside the canyon ceased The Wildcats held their fire and waited.

The sound of horses’ hooves was coming closer from outside the canyon. Light filtering in from the entrance of the canyon flickered as the shapes of riders and horses filled the opening. The riders had halted, none of them inclined to enter the canyon, nor did they see a need to.

Cyclone Keed! a Spanish sounding voice rang out. We have you trapped, Senor. You wish to make it easy on yourselves and give yourselves up or do we have to keel you?

You’ll probably kill us anyways, Manuel, Cyclone shouted back. We might as well take some of you with us. For sure I’m taking you down.

That’s mighty big talk from a fat old man, Manuel responded.

Cyclone glanced to the others. Kitty was pressing close to him. She nodded affirmative. So did the others. Cyclone always knew where his companions stood with him. He answered back to Manuel. Come on and try me.

Oh, Senor Cyclone, Manuel chided with a whine. Do not make us keel you. You know all we want is the money.

Then, you’ll kill us after you get it, Cyclone came back.

Why would I want to do that, my old friend, Cyclone? Why, you..you’re just like a ..a.. grandfather to me. You’re too old to be my father,

Do you even know who your father is, Manuel?

Quien Sabe. I don’t even know who my mother is. But no matter. I am happy with whiskey and women. But, alas, I need money for that. So if you just give me the money that Senor Gunderson gave you. I’ll let you live.

"What if I told you, we didn’t get the money?’ Cyclone yelled.

I wouldn’t believe you, my old friend. I saw with my own eyes that he gave it to you. It’s in those saddle bags you have.

Cyclone turned to Kitty. He’s going for it.

Then back to Manuel, he shouted, How about we split it? Times have been tough, we really need the dough.

How about I just keel you? Manuel’s voice still sounded jovial.

Well, now that you mention it, Manuel, that don’t sound like a good idee.

Alright then, Senor. I really do hate to have to keel you. And your pretty granddaughter. It would be such a shame to keel a beautiful girl like that. But, if, that is the way you want it friend, we’ll all start shooting again, until you are all dead.

Wait a minute, Manuel, Cyclone answered. He tried to put a bit of a stammer in it. You promise you won’t kill us if we give you the money?

Cyclone! Cyclone! All these years, we been friends. Of course I won’t keel you. All I want is the money. It won’t hurt none. You can always get more money.

And I bet you’d come along to take that away too. Cyclone glanced at the others. They were all smiling.

Of course, amigo. All the more reason for me to let you live. Get me more money.

Well, if I give this money to you now, it’ll be the last time you take anymore.

Don’t say that, my friend or I may not have a reason to let you live. I could change my mind, Manuel warned.

Cyclone didn’t answer. He waited out the silence.

"Senor! Why you not answer me?’

I’m thinkin’. I’m thinkin’, Cyclone shouted back.

Do not think too long, my friend. You might think yourself dead. Impatience was starting to creep into Manuel’s words.

Alright! Alright! Cyclone answered. "You promise that after you get the money, you’ll let us go?’

Si, Manuel answered.

I’ll just toss the saddlebags out. You pick them up and ride out, Cyclone said.

No, no, no, my friend, Manuel said, grinning. First you toss your guns out. Then you step out into the canyon where I can see you. Bring the money with you.

Cyclone waited a beat. He didn’t want this to look too easy. Then said, Alright, you win. Here comes our guns.

The guns clattered on the rock floor as each of The Wildcats tossed them out

They stepped out from behind the rocks into the center of the canyon trail.

Riders from outside rode into the canyon, bunching up close and cropping out any light protruding from the outside.

Footsteps crunched in the rocky trail behind them as the gunmen from the interior of the canyon came up behind them. In a matter of seconds, The Wildcats were completely surrounded by men with guns at the ready. They were a hard lot of gun-hands; disheveled and dirty. They were mostly Anglo with a few Spanish mixed in.

Manuel and his riders pushed in close around them; all remaining in their saddles as the horses bunched the riders together within the close confines of the canyon walls. The riders were all Caucasian except for Manuel. Even as a minority, the Spaniard was obviously in charge.

Manuel sat loosely in the saddle, brandishing his six-gun as if it weighed nothing. It waved back and forth taking in the whole group of captives.

He was a broad shouldered man with an ample belly. His gaudy flowered shirt hung loosely about his swarthy body and carried the grime and sweat of many days without washing. He had gleaming, large teeth that filled his small mouth. They were extremely yellowed, but appeared white beneath his dark drooping mustache and dark tanned complexion. Several days growth of black beard stubble covered his sallow cheeks.

It’s so good to see you again, my friend Cyclone, he said, jovially.

Cyclone and the others had their hands raised. The saddlebags were slung over Cyclone’s broad right shoulder.

And you too, Meester Rapahoe, Manuel continued. He was relishing this moment too much.

Not half as much as I’ll be glad to see you, next time, Rap said flatly. No idle threat in his tone; just a statement with a promise underlying it.

Then to Kitty he said with a smiling, leer. It is especially good to see you too, senorita. I have heard much about The Wildcat Girl. You are not a disappointment to me. I like my wimmin to be a little feisty.

Forget it, Chili Pepper, Kitty warned. I’m just a mite feistier than you want. So put your ideas away out of sight. And by the way, you are a disappointment to me. You stink much worse that I heard about you.

Aw Pepita, you insult me. I am deeply hurt. Obviously he wasn’t.

Let’s get this palavering over with, Cyclone interjected with impatience. You came for the money. Well, it’s right here. He patted the saddlebags. They bulged with content. You gonna take it and ride outta here and leave us alone or are you going to just sit there and stink us to death?

Ah, Cyclone. I see we are still good friends. He grinned broadly, hefted his pistol thoughtfully; then dropped it back into its holster.

He dismounted and stepped close to his prisoners. He reached out for the saddle bags. Cyclone let them slide from his shoulder and thrust them out toward his captor.

Manuel snatched them out of Cyclone’s hands. The weight of them surprised him and his arm sagged. He grinned again and hefted the bags up and down, verifying the weight.

He smiled broadly. Now that wasn’t so hard, was it my friend? Manuel jibed.

Now that you got it, Manuel, how about gettin’ away from here and let us be? Cyclone snapped.

Do not be in such a hurry, Senor, Manuel said. First I must make sure this is the money.

Of course it is, you nitwit, Do you think we woulda gone to all this trouble to save it if it wasn’t? Cyclone cackled.

Manuel was already unbuckling the saddle bag straps. He flipped the flap over and peered inside. He smiled broadly. I always knew I could trust you, my friend, Manuel said as he gazed on the bundle of money inside.

Sure you did, Cyclone agreed sarcastically.

That is why I know it is all there, Amigo. Don’t I?

Of course, it is all there, Cyclone said. We didn’t have time to spend it. You know that. You were on our tail five minutes after Gunderson gave it to me.

Then you don’t mind if I count it, Amigo? Manuel said, rummaging through the bag, feeling of the bundles of cash inside.

If you can count, go ahead.

Aw Cy. Once again I am hurt. Of course I can count. Six bullets in my pistola. Five of you. I can count enough. He pulled a bundle of cash from the saddle bags and glanced at it. A thought glinted in his eye. The glint turned to suspicion as he looked back at Cyclone.

He draped the bags over his left wrist and arm so he could hold the bundle in his hand and leaf through the bundle with his other hand.

His eyes turned dark; their black centers matching the stubble on his cheeks as he flicked his fingers through the pieces of paper.

He dropped the bundle back inside the pouch. He drew his pistol and waved it under Cyclone’s chin. His lips curled into a snarl. What is this, my friend? He tipped the saddle bags up and let the contents fall out onto the ground at Cyclone’s feet. You try to make a fool out of Manuel?

I can’t take credit for that. Nature done beat me to it. What’s the matter? Not enough money for you? That was all I could squeeze out of that tightwad, Gunderson. You don’t like the take, you take that up with him.

You thought you could fool Manuel, Manuel said as if he heard nothing from Cyclone. Now where is the money, Senor? Manuel was getting very angry by now.

What are you talking about? It’s right there at your feet. Right in plain sight.

No, it isn’t. There is money only on the outsides of the packets. There is nothing but paper in between. Now I ask you again, my friend, where is the rest of it?"

I don’t rightly know what’s going on here, Manuel, Cyclone appealed. "There was supposed to be twenty thousand in there. If it’s not, Gunderson pulled a fast one