The old calendar, hanging above the trunk, in the hayloft, was for the year 1934. That was four years ago, Cathy thought to herself as she pinned it back in place on the wall and opened the trunk’s lid to once again look at the treasures hidden inside.
It wasn’t a rainy day, but Cathy had gone into the barn anyhow. It hadn’t rained once all week and she and Jimmy had not played in the barn since the last rainy day.
Jimmy was always teasing her anyhow and she relished the idea of going up into the loft without him. She would spend a few hours reading one of the dime novels about Wildcat Kitty without Jimmy making fun of her or putting down her favorite heroine just because she was a girl.
Even though she was alone in the barn she was very quiet removing the things that were piled on the trunk. She lifted the lid very carefully, not making a sound. She always felt guilty rummaging through her grandfather’s things. She was sure that he wouldn’t approve of what she was doing and would probably be mad at her for intruding on his past, but she had become addicted to going through the contents of the trunk. It was as if she were discovering secret things about her grandpa. She wondered if he had ever done the daring deeds like the dime novel heroes. Wouldn’t that be wonderful, she thought, if he had actually known Wildcat Kitty and The Cyclone Kid.
The light of day streamed into the trunk as she opened the lid. Right on top of the stack of dime novels was the one she had looked at the last time she was in the barn. Above the title and author’s name was a picture of a speeding stagecoach heading west along a winding trail that led to a far off horizon with a setting sun. Behind the coach were five riders in close pursuit with guns drawn. In the lead were Wildcat Kitty and the Cyclone Kid.
Quickly, Cathy snatched the volume out of the trunk and crawled over to the window overlooking the barnyard. She had just opened the novel to the first page when she heard her name called.
“Cathy, time for lunch. Wherever you are, come and get it.”
She glanced out the window and saw her grandfather standing next to the Packard in the driveway. His hair was snow white and he stood straight and erect, which was unusual for a man of his age. His shoulders had not lost the breadth of his youth, but he was not as tall as he had once been. Cathy had found pictures of him in his younger days along with pictures of Grandma too.
The old man reached through the open window of the car on the driver’s side to blow the horn; the usual call that lunch or dinner was ready.
Cathy grimaced to herself. She hadn’t realized that the morning had slipped away so fast. She closed the book, gazing at the cover picture one more time. It would have to wait for another day.
She arose from her spot on the floor and scooted over to the trunk. She quickly placed the book back where it was in the stack of books, closed the lid, and replace the things that had been piled on the trunk. She hurried off to the stairway leading to the first floor of the barn, to lunch and her Grandpa.
The stage driver whipped up the lead horses of the six up teams, urging them to greater speed. The shotgun guard was half turned in his seat firing his rifle at the six pursuing outlaws.
The outlaws were gaining on the stage. Admitting to the futility of flight, the stage driver began to pull the teams to a halt. The outlaws were just about to overtake it, when all of a sudden, off to their left riders appeared on the top of a ridge. There were five of them silhouetted against the clear blue of the afternoon sky. Without a word to each other, they seemed to know instinctively what to do. They drew their guns and urged their horses forward and down the incline to the road below.
At first the outlaws did not see the oncoming riders, But when the riders opened fire the outlaws were stunned. As they reined their horses back and spun them around to face the oncoming danger, they were suddenly chilled with fear.
Charging down the hill before them was none other than the most feared gang in the west; The Wildcat Gang. In the center and in the lead was none other than Wildcat Kitty, herself. The Cyclone Kid was to her right. They all were firing rapidly as they bore down on the surprised outlaws.
The Wildcats were halfway down the hill, when the outlaws bolted. They tuned their mounts around and rode off back the way they had come.
The stage driver and shotgun guard had their hands raised when the Wildcats brought their horses to halt in front of them.
“You fellers, all right,” Cyclone asked, bringing his big chestnut to a sliding halt.
“Not a scratch on us,” the guard said. “Thanks to you folks. I reckon I’d rather you held us up than those other feller’s.”
“Not today, bub,” Cyclone said. “We ain’t in the robbin’ mood. We just didn’t want those other fellas to get you. You can put your hands down, now.”
“No matter what you may have heard,” Wildcat Kitty said. “We don’t go around robbing law abiding people. Only those who deserve it. You can be on your way now.”
“Thank you kindly ma’am,” the driver said. He slapped the reins across the horses’ backs and clucked to them.
The big Concorde lumbered onward. Just as the coach passed, a passenger’s face appeared through the side window.
“Did you see what I saw?” Jeremy said to the others.
They all turned to each other, shaking their heads.
“Yeah, I saw it,” Cyclone said, a grin beginning to spread across his face. “Wasn’t that Conrad Price in that coach?”
“It sure was,” said Kitty. “If he’s traveling, you can bet his daddy’s given him some money to go on.”
“How much do you think he’s got?” Arapahoe said with anticipation.
“Me betchum, him got plenty,” Chief chimed in.
“Then let’s go get it,” Rap said, gigging his horse into motion.
They all took off in pursuit of the stagecoach heading on down the winding road toward the far horizon with the setting sun. Wildcat Kitty and The Cyclone Kid Ride Again.
The Return of Wildcat Kitty and the Cyclone Kid Page 37