Wildcat Kitty and The Cyclone Kid Ride Again Page 19

They hadn’t ridden far, when Jeremy started to slide out of the saddle. Rap bumped his big grey into the side of Jeremy’s horse, providing a wall to keep the young man from falling. He reached out and pulled Jeremy erect. “Cy!” Rap called out. “I think we better stop and see to Jeremy’s wound.”

  Cyclone whipped his horse around in a tight circle and rode back. The others followed close behind.

  “Are you alright, son?” Cy asked with deep concern in his voice, as he rode up.

  Jeremy gave a look up from under, as he was still bent over. The blood stain around the bullet hole had spread wider and trails of red stained his gray shirt sleeve. “I...I’m alright, Grandpa,” He choked out. “I...I can.. still...still… ride.”

  Jeremy no longer had a smart remark. He was really hurting.

  “Best, we find us a place off the trail, where there’s cover.” Cyclone said.

  “No...no…” Jeremy protested. “I can hang on a while longer. “We… we …..need...need… to put more distance behind ….us.” His words trailed off. His eyes glazed over. Then his eyelids closed and his body slumped forward and fell onto his mount’s neck; an arm draping down each side. The horse sidled a bit back and forth at the sudden motion.

  “Look, up ahead!” Peso Martin shouted as he and Rafe Price rounded the bend in the trail. “Isn’t that Matt Starr’s sorrel up ahead?” He gigged his mount forward at a gallop, without waiting for a response from his companion.

  Rafe lashed his appaloosa stallion across both sides of his neck, dug his spurs into the animal’s sides and followed after Martin.

  As Martin and Rafe slid their mounts to a halt next to the sorrel and the body on the ground, the sorrel spooked. He tossed his head high; white mane streaming. He whinnied shrilly, turned and ran off away from the trail and disappeared among a growth of trees.

  “Well I’ll be,” Peso Martin said, looking down at Matt Starr’s prone body. “So sad.” There was a trace of amusement his tone and he smiled grimly.

  “What do you mean?” Rafe asked.

  “I always thought I’d be the one to cash that jasper in. And now, somebody’s gone and done it first.”

  “I’ve got a pretty good idea, who that someone is,” Rafe said.

  “Me too,” Peso answered. “But somehow, I’m afraid Simon ain’t going to like it.”

  “My father’s never happy about anything,” Rafe said. “Come on, let’s get on with the job.” He whipped the appaloosa again and spurred him on down the trail.

  Peso threw one last look at Starr’s body and said, “Welcome to Hell, lawman.” He lifted the reins and sent his horse forward at a gallop after Rafe Price. Raised dust lingered in the air as they rode off.

  They had found cover in a stand of trees. There was grass for the horses to graze and a narrow stream trickled nearby.

  They had set Jeremy on the ground with his back leaning against the narrow trunk of a cottonwood tree, making sure that the wounded shoulder didn’t touch the bark. Cyclone, Kitty and chief hovered from the side, over the young man, examining his wound. Cyclone had already cut the torn, bloody sleeve away. Rap stood ready with a canteen in his hands. Cyclone reached up to take the canteen. Reverend Paul Lynch stood back, looking on.

  Cyclone put the canteen to Jeremy’s lips and let a small trickle of water spill out. Some of it dribbled from both sides of the mouth and dripped off his chin. Jeremy drank eagerly; his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he took a few swallows.

  “Take it easy, son,” Cyclone said pulling the canteen away. Jeremy was still reaching for it, wanting more of the cool liquid. “Not too much at once,” Cyclone warned.

  “What do you think, Grampa?” Kitty said, pointing to the wound. It was a small round hole and blood had dried and caked around it. “Is it bad?”

  “It ain’t good,” Cyclone answered. “But, I think he’ll survive as long as infection don’t set in. The bullet is still in there. Luckily, we were just far enough out of range that the bullet was almost spent. It’s not in there very deep and it didn’t hit any bone. But, it’s gotta come out.”

  Reverend Lynch stepped closer and squatted down, peering at the bullet hole. “I’ve had some experience, taking out gun shots. Perhaps, I can help.”

  “If you don’t mind, Reverend,” Cyclone snapped. Something about this man of the cloth bothered him. Was it the parson’s shooting ability? Or was it because, Kitty seemed to be taken with him? “I’ve dug many a slug out. Some were outta my own hide. I don’t reckon I’ll need help pulling this here slug.” He reached inside his duster to the left and pulled out his knife from his belt.

  “This is gonna hurt some,” Cyclone said, leaning closer; the tip of the knife coming closer to the bullet hole.

  “Rap, give Jeremy a shot of your special medicine.”

  Arapahoe whipped his flask out from under his duster, pulled it open and handed it to Jeremy. Kitty took it and held it to Jeremy’s lips. He took a swallow and grimaced. “How can you stand to keep drinking that rot gut?” Jeremy croaked, looking up at Rap.

  “Makes a man out you, boy,” Rap said taking back the flask from Kitty. He started to stopper it, then paused, held it up to eye level and gazed at it lovingly. He took three long swigs from it before closing it up.

  “Aaahhhhh!” He smiled and let out a whiskey hiss. “Just what the doctor ordered,” he said, pocketing the flask beneath his duster.

  “Aren’t you going to sterilize that knife?” Reverend Paul asked just as the tip of Cy’s knife touched the outside rim of Jeremy’s wound.

  “Sterilize?” Cyclone twisted his neck to look at the parson behind him. “What the hell are you talkin’ about? I know what I’m doin’, so just keep your yap shut.” He caught himself and checked down his annoyance. “Beggin’ your pardon there, Reverend. Bein’ a man of the cloth, such as you are. I didn’t mean to jump all over you like that. I guess I’m just a mite worked up over the boy here.”

  “I understand, sir,” Lynch said. “I merely meant that the knife should be heated in a fire to keep out unnecessary bacteria. You don’t want to take a chance on infection, do you?”

  “No, of course not,” Cyclone said. “But we can’t take no chance on building a fire here. The smoke could give us away that we’re here.”

  “Let me take a better look at the wound,” Lynch said, scooting around Cyclone on his haunches. He ran his index finger along the outside edge of the wound and felt the puffiness around it.

  “If we wash it out good with water and some of your friend’s medicine.” He glanced up at Rap, then turning his attention to Jeremy. “We could bandage this up good for now, at least stop the bleeding and keep the wound clean. Then when we’ve found a better place to hole up where we can build a fire without drawing attention to us we can get the bullet out then. As long as he can ride some more.”

  “I dunno,” Cyclone said. “The longer that lead is in there, the more chance the boy’ll come down with fever.”

  “I don’t want to take that chance either,” Kitty said.

  “It’ll be all right, Sis,” Jeremy choked. “This rest has helped some. Just give me a while longer here and I’ll be fine.”

  Cyclone gazed skyward, he had noticed a change in the air and a cool breeze had blown in around the trees. “Sky’s cloudin’ up,” Cyclone mused. “Feels like rain coming on. We’re going to have to find someplace soon. Who knows where we can find good cover. It’ll be a lot harder on the boy if we gotta work on him in the rain. I say we do it now. If we gotta risk a fire, then devil may care.”

  “I think I know a good place where we can go.” Lynch said.

  Cyclone and the others all stared intently at the man of God. They all had the same question on their faces. “Where?”

  “Years ago,” The Reverend started to explain. “This strip of land between Arizona and New Mexico was a no man’s land. There was no clear ownership by either state, so there was no law here. Outlaws were known for hiding out in this stretch where the
law couldn’t touch them. There’s an old abandoned ghost town near here, where outlaws congregated. It had been a boomtown at one time when gold was found nearby. As the mines petered out and the outlaw population increased, decent people fled the area.

  “A man named Porter had taken the town and kept it as a refuge for outlaws. He called the town Porter City and it became a well-known haven for outlaws.”

  “That kinda sounds like Pop Dawson,” Cyclone murmurred.

  “Pop Dawson?” Lynch queried.

  “Never mind,” Cyclone said. “It don’t matter. Asides, you probably never heard of Pop Dawson.”

  “Yes, I have,” Lynch said.

  “Well, you is the unlikeliest excuse for a Parson as I’ve ever seed. You ride good, handle a rifle like you knowed what to do with it. And now, you know all about owlhoots and their ha’nts.”

  “You forget, sir, that our Lord walked among thieves and sinners, too.”

  “Yeah, but,” Cyclone said, “I never did hear of him blowing badmen out of their saddles with a Winchester rifle.”

  ****

  Chapter Eighteen