Wildcat Kitty and The Cyclone Kid Ride Again Read online

The sorrel idly meandered among the trees and brush. It had been several minutes since he had been frightened by the two riders that had come upon him where he stood guard over his master.

  Occasionally, he would toss his head and smell the air. The smell of unknown interlopers still drifted on the cool morning air, but it was fading away. The gallant horse snorted and his ears kept pricking forward and upward.

  The only sounds that could be heard were birds chirping, the trickle of a small stream and the rustle of tree leaves in the cool, mild breeze. The sound of riders and shod hooves had drifted away down the trail until they were no longer heard.

  The big stallion, knowing that things were all wrong and he had lost his master, pawed at the damp earth beneath his hooves. He nuzzled the sparse grass and relished its moisture. He raised his head, pricked his ears again; this time tuning in to the sound of trickling water and realized his thirst.

  There was a small embankment near the stream and the sorrel let himself slide down it into the stream bed and submerged his muzzle into the clear flowing water. Sunlight peeked through the tops of the trees and the stream sparkled in its radiance.

  Having taken his fill, he once again raised his head and flowing white mane. He shook it vigorously, then turned as if on a mission, and galloped back through the trees toward the trail.

  “Wonder who these other jaspers are,” Peso Martin mused as he and Rafe Price rode on following the trail left by The Wildcat Gang. There were three sets of fresh hoof prints on top of the older set of prints made by six passing horses. Horse droppings along the way had dried some, indicating passage several hours ago.

  “Maybe I was wrong about who I thought did in the marshal back there.” Rafe said. “Maybe, these guys did it and they are after The Wildcats too.”

  “But, why?” Peso said. “You don’t suppose your old man sent someone else out, in case we didn’t come through.”

  “Who knows what Simon Price would do,” Rafe said. “I just hope, if he did, he told them to be careful who they shoot at. I wouldn’t want any stray bullets flying around me.”

  “That doesn’t sound likely,” Peso said. “You’re his son.”

  “All the more reason I should worry,” Rafe said.

  Once again, the big sorrel stallion had taken up guarding his young master who lay so motionless on the side of the trail. From time to time he would nuzzle his master’s face and when there was no response, he would push his nose under the man’s ribs and tried to roll him over.

  Time and time again he tried. Each time the body would just fall flat, face forward in the dust. Each time the big stallion would pull his nose away. Each time, it came away smeared with blood. His blazed face soon became streaked with red.

  Having failed time and again at trying to move the still form, he went back to nuzzling his master’s face.

  The morning sun had risen high by now and was nearing its noontime apex. The heat of the day had settled in. The moistness of the horse’s muzzle was beginning to dry, but then suddenly, the still body began to move ever so slightly, feeling the moistness on his sun dried cheek.

  His master was alive! Matt Starr was alive, if only barely!

  A slight groan slipped from Starr’s lips and he tried to move. He couldn’t.

  The sorrel went back to placing his nose beneath Starr’s body. Once, twice, he tugged. Then with a mighty shove and with a willing body helping, Matt Starr rolled over onto his back.

  The sorrel shook out his mane and whinnied shrilly as if in victory.

  Matt Starr had felt the moistness and the pressure against his side. Pain racked through his body as consciousness began to creep into his being.

  Now as he lay there flat on his back, he felt the grueling hot beams of sun on his face. He was still in darkness as his eyes were crusted shut with dust.

  The faithful sorrel nuzzled at Matt’s eyes. Matt’s arms lifted ever so slightly, palms up, trying to reach his eyes. Then as the lids began to tremble, his eyes opened to slits and shards of bright light began to seep in forcing him to squeeze them tighter shut. Again the lids began to open; the light was just striking through the slits. He willed himself to hold them steady and refrain from closing them again.

  Moments later, the slits grew wider. At first all he saw was light; brilliant light. Then, as he fought his way back from unconsciousness, he forced his eyelids a little wider open. Then a little more. They were almost completely open and the light began to fuse into shapes and movement. Above him, coming into a blurred focus was a gigantic nose. A little further on was the red streaked white blazed face of the sorrel. Two large eyes on each side of the horse’s head gazed dolefully down at his master.

  “Thanks old boy,” Matt’s parched dry throat could only croak the words out. Hardly loud enough to be heard. “Water…,” he croaked. “I need water.”

  He half rolled himself onto his right side. His left hand reached for his wound. He felt moistness and when he pulled his hand away, it was covered with fresh blood. He tried to twist enough to see the wound, but he couldn’t. He just fell back onto his back. The hot sun blazed down on him. It felt good. He lay there awhile, letting the warmth seep into his body and he rested with half closed eyes. He couldn’t let himself return to unconsciousness. But he rested, willing himself to regain strength.

  After a few moments, Starr began to feel himself come to life. He opened his eyes, blinked against the sun, and then forced them to stay open.

  Once again, he rolled to his right side. He tried to raise his left arm. It felt like a dead weight and the pain in his left side burned like seared hot metal He concentrated on lifting his arm and finally he was able to raise it high enough for him to slip his hand and forearm through the stirrup of his saddle. “Water, fella,” he mumbled, hoping the mighty stallion would understand.

  The sorrel felt the tug below him. He shied ever so slightly and his master swayed just a bit, but his grasp of the stirrup held.

  “Water,” Starr’s voice croaked again. This time a mere grunt. His strength was waning and darkness was once again beginning to roll in like gathering dark clouds.

  The sorrel moved off the trail; once again heading toward the trees, pulling his master with him. Matt Starr’s boot heels dug parallel lines in the ground, behind them, as he was dragged along; body off the ground, with his bloody left side exposed to the sun and out of reach of the earth below.

  Onward, the big stallion trudged, dragging his load. Matt Starr winced off and on as he was dragged across the rough terrain. Consciousness drifted in and out. Shards of fleeting sunlight flashed in Starr’s brain, with extended periods of darkness as he succumbed to a semi dreamless sleep of agony and pain. The big stallion trudged on with his burden, weaving in and out among the trees, heading for the stream ahead.

  Had Matt Starr been conscious he would have become aware when his body jolted to a sudden halt. Somehow the halt in movement had registered in his clouded brain. His eyes jerked open, momentarily. In that brief moment, he saw the horse, wild eyed and frustrated. The animal’s strong muscles flexed with every tug and pull. Time and time, again, he pulled against the entrapping force

  The sorrel tossed his head and whinnied shrilly. His eyes darkened and his nostrils flared. The trailing reins had become twisted around an upturned root, left by a fallen tree which had been a long time in rot and decay.

  Again and again, the big horse tugged against the force. Then, as if, resigning to defeat, the root began to move; a little at first, then gave way to the loosening earth around it, and twisted over. The reins came free and the horse moved forward once again. He increased his step as he heard the trickle of the stream up ahead.

  Then, they were there, the sorrel, quickly waded out into the middle of the stream. It was shallow and its bed was littered with small stone and gravel.

  Feeling the coolness of the water against his lower body, Matt pulled his arm free of the stirrup and splashed full length and face down into the water.
/>   He lay still, soaking up the coolness; his face turned toward the side, so he could breathe. He heard and felt the splashing water as the sorrel moved on to the other bank of the stream. He stood stock still watching his master and knowing he had done all he could to save him.

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  Chapter Nineteen