Wildcat Kitty and The Cyclone Kid Ride Again Read online

The train slowed to a crawl as it negotiated the steep incline through Coyote Pass. Massive cliff walls flanked the lumbering locomotive on both sides. The pass was just narrow enough for the train to pass through. It was an ideal spot for robbers to attack the train.

  Black Bart and his men waited patiently from their perches on each cliff side for the noonday express to enter the pass.

  They watched as it approached and lumbered its way slowly up the track.

  As the engine passed by, two of Black Bart’s men dropped into the locomotive cab with guns in hand. They quickly subdued the engineer and fireman. They took over controls and let the train exit the pass where they could bring the engine and all the cars to a halt on a flat plain.

  As the big smoke steamer rolled to a halt, Black Bart and four more men rode up to the express car, pulling their mounts to a halt forming a semicircle in front of it.

  “Open up, in there!” Black Bart shouted toward the sliding door of the express car. “We got dynamite out here. If you don’t open up, we’ll blow you out of there.”

  “Just a minute,” a nervous sounding voice answered. “I won’t fight you. I’ll let you in. Please don’t hurt me.”

  “Haw, haw,” Black Bart laughed.

  The big door slid open and seated on five horses, side by side was Wildcat Kitty, The Cyclone Kid and The Wildcat Gang; the most feared gang in the west.

  Black Bart stopped laughing and his dirty black stubbled face paled. “Wildcats!” He yelled, spinning his mount around to ride away. His companions followed after.

  The gallant horses of the Wildcat Gang leaped from the express car floor; hind legs thrust out behind them like flying squirrels.

  They landed safely on the ground and The Wildcats rode off in pursuit of Black Bart and his gang.

  The two men, who had subdued the engineer and stopped the train, leaped from the locomotive rails and started to run.

  They didn’t get far, for Chief Two Owls ran them down, shoving them both to the ground and holding them at bay with his Winchester.

  Wildcat Kitty, Arapahoe Brown and Jeremy Carlin, each rode a man down and lassoed him.

  The Cyclone Kid caught up with Black Bart and spilled him from his saddle.

  In only a matter of minutes, it was all over.

  The Wildcat Gang rode away, leaving the outlaws trussed up tight with rope, awaiting the arrival of the law.

  Their work here was done and new adventures awaited Wildcat Kitty, The Cyclone Kid, Arapahoe Brown, Chief Two Owls and Jeremy Carlin.

  “Wow this one was sure exciting,” Little Cathy said to her brother, Jimmy.

  She closed the dime novel and gazed at the illustrated cover. This was one of the dime novels that had been written about The Cyclone Kid in his older age with the addition of Wildcat Kitty and The Wildcat Gang. This one was also written by Chris Colter.

  “Yeah,” Jimmy said. “But, I don’t understand why they helped the law. I thought the Wildcat Gang was outlaws.”

  Jimmy was twelve years old, just two years older than Cathy. They often played in the upper floor of the barn on a rainy day, but today was not a rainy day. It was just a drab day and there were only a few remaining days of summer vacation before school started again. It was approaching the fall of 1938.

  The children had been playing in the barn several weeks ago when their curiosity got the best of them and they went rummaging through their grandpa’s trunk. Here they found the collection of dime novels about The Cyclone Kid.

  They were enthralled by these exciting adventures and they had become addicted to sneaking up into this part of the barn that was used only for storage, and spending the day with the thrilling tales.

  They knew they were not to be rummaging through Grandpa’s things, but they just couldn’t seem to help themselves.

  “Well, they are not really outlaws,” Cathy answered her brother. “They...they’re just misunderstood. They really ride for justice.”

  “I know,” Jimmy said. “I just don’t understand.”

  Just then the signal for dinner time came; the blowing of the horn on the 1934 Packard sitting in the driveway.

  “We’d better put this back in the trunk,” Cathy said. “If Grandpa ever caught us going through his things, I don’t think he would understand.”

  ****

  Chapter Four