Wildcat Kitty and The Cyclone Kid Ride Again

Governor Hugh Stanton was sitting in his swivel chair behind his huge mahogany desk. He was turned away from it and was staring blankly through the double French doors leading to the garden outside. The view was fading dimly into the shadows of late afternoon and early dusk. The sky beyond was gray and beginning to fill with darkening clouds. Stanton appeared to be deep in thought, but at the moment, his mind was a blank and he was numb to his surroundings.

  He stirred only slightly as the sound of the latch turning in the oversized door to his office, whispered behind him.

  The middle aged and short, thin, male secretary from the outer room peeked through the opening. “The Reverend Paul Lynch is here to see you, sir,” he announced. He stepped further inside, pulling the door wider open and ushering the man of the cloth inside.

  Stanton bolted upright in his chair and whirled around to face his visitor. Blood was suddenly rushing to his face and he felt his body begin to tremble. The secretary was already leaving the room and closing the door behind him and leaving The Reverend standing there.

  Stanton jumped up from his chair and darted around the big desk. His hand was thrust forward and his long legs carried him across the office floor in just a few strides. A broad smile had spread across the governor’s face, but it was hardly one of sincere happiness or pleasantry. His apprehension was just too overwhelming.

  Lynch stepped forward to meet him, but Stanton was already on him before reaching the center of the office. They shook hands quickly. “You got away?” Stanton blustered, almost sounding stupid. He still held the minister’s hand and had his left hand clamped against the man’s upper arm.

  “I was lucky,” the parson said calmly. His words were almost a whisper. “I managed to slip away and they didn’t seem concerned enough to follow me.”

  “The Wildcats, you mean?” Stanton asked as he led the young minister toward his desk. There were three plush leather chairs in front of the mahogany desk. He didn’t know why he asked it that way. Of course it was The Wildcats he escaped from. They had kidnapped him, didn’t they?

  “Please sit down, Reverend,” Stanton offered indicating the leather chairs. He hustled around behind his desk and sat in his own chair. “It must have been a harrowing experience for you,” he said as he settled himself.

  “Yes, it was,” Lynch said as he shifted in the chair and pulled the tails of his black coat together toward his lap. “But, as always, I had my faith in the Lord to sustain me.”

  “Tell me about your escape,” Stanton urged. “Did you manage it by yourself? And did Matt Starr come back with you?”

  Lonnie Shaw as the humble preacher let his eyes show sadness and sighed, “I’m afraid I have bad news for your, sir.” He paused to let the governor get ready. He had decided to get the job done quickly and not bother to lead Stanton on about Matt Starr’s possible return.

  Stanton’s face went slack; his eyes widened.

  “I’m afraid, Matt Starr is gone, sir.” He deliberately wanted to prolong the suspense.

  “Gone?” Stanton questioned. “You mean……..”

  “Yes, Governor. He’s dead.”

  Hugh Stanton bowed his head and propped his forehead up with the palm of his hand; his elbow on the desktop. “Oh my God,” he mumbled. Although he had never been fond of Matt Starr, he couldn’t help but worry how Barbara was going to take this news.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” Shaw reiterated. He was enjoying this.

  “How? How did it happen?” Stanton asked once he had recovered enough from the shock to raise his head and turn his attention to the preacher. “Was? Was it The Wildcats?” He didn’t want to believe that, but how else could it have happened?

  “I’m afraid it was, sir.” Still enjoying it, he added. “It was that girl, herself, who did it. Shot him without a hint of remorse. I can only pray for her soul.”

  “Pray for her soul?” Stanton roared with anger and catapulted from his chair. He began to pace around the office, trying to release his rage in activity. “May the black hearted bitch burn in hell,” he growled.

  Shaw left his chair and moved up behind the governor. He placed a reassuring hand on Stanton’s shoulder. “Now, now, sir,” He said calmly. “You don’t mean that. You’re just angry right now.”

  The time was right, Shaw told himself. Stanton was totally off guard and his back was to Shaw.

  “When you calm down, I’m sure you’ll regain your compassion.” He was sliding the knife from inside his coat pocket.

  Stanton’s shoulders trembled and he began to sob.

  Shaw raised the knife high above the governor’s head, ready to plunge the six inch blade into Stanton’s back.

  Stanton surprised him by turning toward him too soon. A glimpse of the man behind him with arm raised and a knife blade slicing toward him was just enough to send stark terror through every fiber of his being.

  The gleaming blade slashed downward, but in that sudden instant, glass broke from behind Shaw and his victim. The double French doors burst open; glass shattering over the thick carpet of the office. A shot was fired; its thundering boom filling the enclosed office with a deafening roar.

  The knife fell from Shaw’s grasp and blood streamed onto his fingers from the wound in his upper arm. His eyes blazed wide with surprise, pain and hatred. Stanton was pulling away from the man at the same time that Shaw was half shoving him away. He fell to the carpeted floor.

  Wildcat Kitty stood just inside the double doors. Her pistol was in her hand and smoke was still curling up from the barrel.

  With his left hand, Shaw reached inside his coat, pulled out a revolver and turned it on Kitty.

  Kitty pulled the hammer of her weapon to full cock and ready to squeeze off another shot, when the room, once again was filled with gunfire.

  Smoke filled the room and as it cleared away, Lonnie Shaw was lying dead on the floor; a bullet between the eyes.

  Arapahoe Brown stepped in through the double doors. He held his gun along his side; the smoking barrel pointed toward the floor.

  “Thanks, Rap,” Kitty whispered, still trembling and releasing the hammer of her pistol, as he stepped past her to stand over Shaw’s body.

  “Anytime, sugar,” Rap said. He hadn’t wanted her to have to live with another life on her hands. Beside he thought and then said it. “My pleasure.” He grinned.

  The grin faded fast when the oversized door to the office burst open. Cyclone, Henry, and Jeremy practically stumbled through the doorway. Several armed men in black suits had shoved them forward. They all had guns out and trained on their prisoners.

  Stanton was just starting to rise to his feet and was on one knee.

  The larger man of the guards, who seemed to be in charge, bellowed. “We caught these men out front, trying to sneak into the capitol.” He took in the scene before him. He saw the dead man on the floor, Rap and Kitty with smoking guns in their hands. “Drop those guns!” He ordered.

  Kitty and Rap looked from one to the other and then at Cyclone.

  “Do what they tells you,” Cyclone said.

  “Now, what in Hell’s been going on in here?” The guard continued.

  “That man, on the floor,” Stanton offered. He was slightly short of breath. “He tried to kill me. These two…” He indicated Rap and Kitty. “Well… I guess they saved my life.”

  “What about these men?” The guard asked.

  “They’re with these two,” Stanton said. Then to Cyclone he said. “That’s right, isn’t it? You’re all together aren’t you? You are The Cyclone Kid I presume.”

  “You dad burn presume right,” Cyclone muttered.

  Stanton nodded his head, then said to the guards, “Lock them all up. I’ll decide what to do with them later.”

  “Seems you’re a mite ungrateful there, bub,” Cyclone said. “In case you haven’t noticed, but it seems like my granddaughter has saved your miserable hide twice now.”

  Stanton took a deep breath and begrudgingly growled, “I’ve noticed.” br />
  Then to his men he ordered, “Now get them out of here.”

  As the guards ushered them out, Kitty paused as she passed Stanton. She glanced toward the body on the floor. “I may not be there to save you next time. Maybe you’d better check with friend Simon Price and find out just who your real friends are.”

  “I suppose, Simon, that you’re wondering just why I called you here today,” Hugh Stanton said, leaning back in his comfortable chair behind his large desk. It had been a week since the attempt on his life and the capture of The Wildcat Gang.

  Simon Price was comfortable and relaxed in the plush leather chair. He smoked leisurely on the fine Cuban cigar Stanton had offered him.

  “Whatever it is, Hugh,” Simon said, blowing a ring of smoke. “You know you can count on me.”

  “I’m not asking anything of you, Simon. I just wanted to bring you up to date on a few things that I’m sure you’ll want to know about.”

  Simon took another drag on the cigar. He didn’t seem to anticipate anything of much importance.

  “It’s about that girl. The one known as Wildcat Kitty. I know she’s given you a lot of trouble in the past.”

  “Trouble?” Simon scoffed. “She’s a menace.”

  “Well, I thought you’d like to know that she and her gang have been apprehended.”

  Simon practically fell forward out of his chair. He was taking another drag on the cigar and it choked him. He coughed.

  “We have them in custody at Fort McDowell,” Stanton continued. “We’re holding them there, until we can take them to trial. Once they’re convicted, we can bury them away in Yuma Prison forever. They’ll be out of your hair….” He glanced at Simon’s balding head and smirked. “…..for good.” he finished.

  Simon sat back, once again relaxing and smiled. “That is good news, Hugh. And it should be a feather in your cap for capturing The Wildcats during your administration as governor.”

  “Possibly,” Stanton said and then changing the conversation.

  “There is something else I want to tell you, Simon.” His tone became a little more somber and business like. “You probably don’t know, but another attempt was made on my life.” He waited for a response.

  “No! You don’t say,” Simon said as if he didn’t know.

  “Yes. We’ve decided to take action that we believe may put an end to these attempts.”

  “We?”

  “Yes. Washington and I.”

  Simon remained silent; waiting for the rest.

  Stanton watched Price’s face closely as he said, “We believe someone wants to leave my job vacant with the hopes of succeeding me as Territorial Governor.” Again, he waited for Price’s response.

  After a moment, Price said, “Oh, you don’t think anyone would kill you, just for your job?” He squirmed a little uneasy in the chair.

  “Maybe so. Maybe no. But just in case, Washington has agreed to let me choose a successor now. That way there would be nothing to gain by my death, That is, unless there is some other reason we haven’t thought of.”

  “I’m sure you must be wrong, Hugh,” Simon said.

  “Be that as it may,” Stanton began. “This is the real reason I’ve called you here today. I have already chosen my successor.”

  Simon was suddenly stunned. At first he thought he had been found out and he was being accused. But that was just his conscience talking, he told himself when he finally came to a much different conclusion. He smiled and sat back into the cushions. “You mean…...you actually mean that you are choosing me as your successor?” He was beaming with pride.

  Stanton was silent for several seconds. Then he said in a very terse tone, “No Simon,” He said bluntly. “I would never choose you.”

  Simon’s smile faded. The cigar dropped from his mouth and fell onto his lap. He didn’t notice it starting to burn a hole in his trousers.

  ****

  Chapter Thirty