“Great! That’s just great!” Simon Price fumed as he stormed around his office. “That’s all we need, is Matt Starr back here and nosing around!” He rubbed the back of his head over his crowning bald spot, nervously.
Sheriff Harvey Trask leaned against the wall, arms folded. Flo Baxter, Price’s so called secretary, who also fulfilled other miscellaneous and varied duties, slouched lazily in a leather arm chair in the corner. She was heavily rouged and her eyes were circled with excessive mascara and eyelash. She amply filled out her tight clinging, low cut blouse and extra poundage around her waist tugged at the fabric of her skirt. She looked bored and uncaring about Price’s new dilemma. After all, she thought to herself, Matt Starr was a very attractive man, even if he was several years her junior.
Price whirled toward the sheriff. “The last thing I want is for that marshal to tag along with the posse. We can’t risk him finding out that we rigged the robbery ourselves and blamed it on The Wildcats.”
“What was I supposed to do, Simon?” Trask appealed. “I was afraid if I said no, he’d get suspicious.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Price conceded. “You did the right thing, but we got to make sure you don’t catch up to our boys. And you know Starr. He’s a blood hound. Once, he gets on a scent, he never gives up.”
“You know I’ll do what I can, Simon, but………”
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” the banker repeated, waving his hands in empty air in front of him. He turned away and thought for a moment. Then he spun back around. His dark eyes brightened. “Wait a minute,” he said. A self- satisfying grin spread across his wide face. “I‘ve got an idea.”
Trask pushed himself away from the wall, standing erect, waiting for Simon to continue.
“Yes. It just might work,” Price said almost as if talking to himself. Convincing himself of his cleverness.
He glanced at Flo. He grimaced a little, noting her lack of interest. “Flo get that big butt of yours out of that chair. I got a job for you.”
She returned a look of indifference and rose from her perch and sidled over to him.
“Flo,” Price said. “I want you to drive out to the ranch and tell Peso Martin…………”
Matt Starr had rented a fine looking sorrel gelding and a quality saddle rig from the liveryman. The horse had a flowing white mane and tail, a blazed face, and a broad chest with strong legs. He reminded Matt of his own sorrel stallion he had left in Bisbee when he had caught up with Dandy Jim Butler and had taken the stage to Thimble Creek, where they had had to layover for a night to catch the next stage out to Tucson.
He returned to the express office and retrieved his carrying bag which held the matching black handled Colt he had packed away instead of carrying it in his left holster while handcuffed to Dandy Jim. He left the bag with the express agent, planning to pick it up when he returned with the posse. Then he stopped off at the local hardware and purchased a Winchester rifle and saddle boot which he could attach beneath the right saddle fender beneath his leg.
The posse men were still milling about when Matt rode up to them. He could see Sheriff Trask leaving the bank and heading toward them. Further down the street a carriage clattered over the rough dirt street. Flo Baxter was wielding a buggy whip on the black dray horse in harness. She seemed to be in a big hurry as she drove speedily out of town. Matt wondered what that was all about.
“Looks like we lost ‘em,” Harvey Trask said trying to sound defeated as the halted posse stared down at the blotted trail.
They had been following the trail of the bank robbers for about a half an hour. The trail had been clear and easy to follow, even from the posse’s perch, sitting in the saddle. But then a new set of tracks crossed the trail and followed along in the same direction blotting out the hoof prints.
Matt noticed the sheriff’s quick willingness to give up the chase. For some reason, the sheriff had not seemed to be too anxious to catch up with the bandits. Twice now, he had called a halt to check his mount’s hooves, claiming that the horse had picked up a stone.
But why would he not want to catch The Wildcats. Kitty and her Grandfather had been a thorn in Simon Price’s side for quite some time and Harvey Trask always seemed so frustrated with their elusiveness.
Something just wasn’t right here, Matt thought to himself. “Not necessarily,” Matt said, dismounting, holding the reins and squatting down to examine the tracks.
Trask tried to hide his displeasure.
“Look,” Matt said. “We’ve been following five horses. Now here’s another set of five horses following over the top of them. Either these riders met up with them and joined them or they are trailing them. Maybe just going in the same direction.” He stood up and said to the sheriff and posse, “If that’s the case and we keep following the trail of all these riders, we’ll at least be able to get closer before the trail diverges when one group or the other cut off in a different direction. We’ll just split up and follow both trails. One group or the other should catch up to The Wildcats. When that happens, a rider can go get the other group.”
“Well, I guess that might work.” Trask didn’t sound convinced or maybe he just didn’t like the idea, but Matt suspected that the man just didn’t want to continue on.
“Good,” Matt said, accepting the remark as agreement. “Let’s get going.” He started to climb into the saddle.
He was just seating himself when a pistol shot rang out from behind them. Matt twisted in the saddle and saw a dust cloud billowing far off down the trail. It was too far for pistol range, so whoever it was, was not trying to shoot at them.
As the dust cloud drew closer, the shadow of the rider appeared. His right hand was raised pointing the muzzle of his gun skyward. He fired twice more and then he was close enough to be seen clearly. It was one of the deputies that had been left behind to guard the jail. He was shouting excitedly.
He brought his mount to a sliding halt next to Matt and the sheriff. “Sheriff! Marshal!” He shouted.
“What is it?” Trask asked. “What’s wrong?”
“Two men, Sheriff. Two men wearing masks broke into the jail.”
Then to Matt, he wheezed, “They took your prisoner, Marshal. They got away.”
Matt had no idea that Butler might have any friends who would want to break him out of jail. But, maybe Blaise Turner might have someone who might want to keep the gambler from testifying. It didn’t make sense, though. How would anyone know he was in the Thimble Creek jail? How would anyone know they were not still on a stage to Tucson?
“If you have to go back to get your man, Marshal,” Sheriff Trask said. “We can keep after The Wildcats.” He sounded just a little too eager, Matt thought.
Matt thought for a moment. Something was going on with Trask. He didn’t know what it was, but he was sure now, that the sheriff did not want him along with this posse. Perhaps, Dandy Jim Butler’s escape was part of a plot to get him off the trail. Whatever was afoot, one thing was sure; he couldn’t allow the dandy to get away. His testimony at Blaise Turner’s trial was too crucial.
.“Don’t worry about The Wildcats,” Trask said. There was a positive enthusiasm in his voice. Perhaps, just a little bit too much. “We’ll get them.”
“Alright,” Matt agreed. He’d have to play out the hand he was being dealt and see what would happen. “See you later.” He lifted the reins and rode off down the trail toward Thimble Creek.
Chapter Four
Wildcat Kitty and the Cyclone Kid Page 4