Slocum's Breakout (22 page)

“Not sure when the ferry'll be across, mister,” the port agent said.

Slocum looked across the Bay but couldn't see San Francisco through a thin veil of fog. He considered giving up on his quest for vengeance and clearing out. Oakland wasn't his kind of town, and San Francisco might be too hot to bear, no matter how much he wanted to put a bullet in José Valenzuela for all he had done.

He worried that his sudden concern for revenge might be tied up with wanting to see Maria again, too. Atencio had lit out like his ass was on fire. Slocum hoped he had gotten back to Murrieta's small village, where they could hide him until the man could escape south to Mexico. Going back to find out would put him in jeopardy, though, from both Harriman and Sheriff Bernard.

“You wanna ticket or no?” the agent asked.

Slocum started to say no when he heard a whistle from out on the Bay.

“You're in luck. That there's the
Berkeley Delight
comin' over from Frisco. Won't be but a half hour 'fore she heads back.”

Slocum silently paid for the ticket, damning himself as a fool the entire time. He tucked the cardboard stub in his coat pocket and went to find a place to sit until the ferry unloaded and he could board. But he sat a mite straighter when he saw the first passenger off the ferry.

José Valenzuela kept his face down and almost ran, though clearly still in pain, as he tugged on the reins to keep his skittish horse moving. When he was well off the ramp leading to the ferry's deck, he vaulted into the saddle and galloped away, scattering pedestrians and gaining their angry curses and gestures.

It took Slocum less time than that to step up into the saddle. He left his spare horse tethered as he raced after Valenzuela, getting the same gestures and curses the fleeing outlaw had. Slocum concentrated on keeping Valenzuela in sight as he wound through the Oakland streets and finally stopped at a hotel that had seen better days.

Slocum had to take a quick turn when Valenzuela stepped into the street, hand on six-gun thrust into his belt, and looked to see if anyone had followed. The wicked might flee when no man pursued, but in this case it was John Slocum pursuing the wicked. Satisfied he had evaded anyone on his trail, Valenzuela swaggered into the hotel.

Hastily dismounting and going to the boardwalk outside the open hotel door, Slocum caught the last part of Valenzuela's argument with the clerk.

“She is my sister. Not that it matters to you.” Valenzuela drew his six-shooter and laid it on the counter. “What room is she in?”

“Mister, we got brothers and sisters stayin' here all the time. I'm tellin' you she ain't in, and I ain't lettin' you in her room 'less she says it's all right.”

“I will—” Valenzuela cut off his angry tirade when Conchita came from the hotel dining room, drawn by his loud voice.
“¡Hermana!”

They embraced, speaking in low, rapid Spanish that Slocum could not follow. He peered around the door frame as they continued to talk. Finally Conchita pointed toward the dining room and José followed.

Slocum waited a few minutes, then entered, going straight to the clerk.

“I'm looking for friends of mine. The Valenzuelas,” he said.

The clerk gave him a sour look, then spit into a cuspidor behind the counter.

“They're eatin'.”

“All three of them?”

“Yeah, the lady and the old coot. And the lady's
brother
,” the clerk said, as if he didn't believe José.

Slocum had heard all he needed to know. The entire Valenzuela clan was holed up here. But where was the loot they had taken from the Miramar bank and the stage?

“There they are, just now comin' from the restaurant. Hey!” The clerk started to hail the outlaws, but Slocum was quicker.

He grabbed the clerk's wrist and slammed the hand down hard on the counter.

“I want to surprise them. Don't let on I know them.”

“Son of a bitch,” the clerk muttered. “They ain't been nuthin' but trouble, and she was so purty, too. Oughta know by now, the purty ones're always trouble.”

“Are they looking this way?” Slocum asked.

“Naw, they went upstairs. Leastways, the brother and sister did. They left the old coot at the foot of the stairs.”

“Thanks,” Slocum said, keeping his back to the elder Valenzuela as he went outside, then ran down the street to where he'd left his horse. Barely breaking stride, he vaulted into the saddle. The horse shied, but Slocum clung on. He sat upright and saw the Valenzuelas coming from the hotel.

A smile crept across Slocum's face. José lugged a heavy box and Conchita wrestled with a carpetbag about big enough for all the greenbacks stolen from the stage. If José carried a box laden with gold, Slocum saw his reward. He half drew his six-gun, then slid it back into the holster. A better plan than simply robbing the Valenzuelas came to him.

They worked to get their burden settled on the back of a horse, then the trio mounted and rode into the hills, the packhorse dutifully plodding along behind. Slocum kept his distance because he knew José would be as nervy as a rotten tooth, jumping at every sound or sight that might mean they were being trailed.

Although much of the way lay along a road, it wended higher into the hills and provided Slocum enough cover to follow close enough to make sure they didn't suddenly vanish on him. From their determination, he knew what they intended. They were going to hide the stolen loot.

Twilight hid details along the trail as they continued higher into the hills, then down into a valley when Conchita pointed out the trail to her brother. She had scouted this area and now directed José to where they'd hide their ill-gotten gold.

When the trio cut away from the trail, working higher into the rocky hills, Slocum left the trail, too, and advanced on foot after hiding his horse in a thicket. By the time he reached the spot where the Valenzuelas stood in a half circle around a pile of rocks, they had finished their work.

“We can retrieve it when we please,” Conchita said.

José agreed. Slocum wondered if the man intended to double-cross his sister again. He had cheated her out of eight hundred dollars when Slocum had kidnapped their pa. Or was José limited to such petty thievery? Conchita would be implacable hunting him down if he stole from her. José had to know that. If he intended to keep the loot for himself, he needed a scapegoat.

Their pa was the only one likely to fit that bill, and Slocum doubted Conchita would believe for an instant the murderous, nearsighted
viejo
would do such a thing—or could do it.

They tossed a few more rocks on the pile, then mounted and rode off, laughing and joking.

Slocum waited fifteen minutes to be sure they had truly gone before beginning to root around under the rocks. They had hidden their treasure well, but he found it.

Pulling out the carpetbag, he held it up in the last of daylight and saw stacks of greenbacks inside. The crate José had carried proved more difficult to open, but when he did, it seemed that the gold coins inside shone with a light of their own.

Slocum was finally well paid for all he had been through.

But he couldn't carry it all away, not when it had taken a pack animal to get it up here. He began the tedious process of finding a new hiding place as far as possible from where the Valenzuelas had buried their gold. It was well past midnight before he had carefully erased his tracks and made sure his new cache was well concealed.

Then he rode back to Oakland. He still had a ferry ticket.

Slocum rode off the ferry a little after dawn. The time he spent waiting to cross San Francisco Bay he had gloated over stealing the loot from the Valenzuelas. That left a warm spot in his belly and gave him even more reason to dare crossing paths with the law on the San Francisco side of the Bay. Maria might take some persuading, but Slocum wanted her to come with him. Maybe not to Oregon but away from California now that Atencio had been freed. There was no reason for her to stay in Murrieta's village grubbing beans out of the ground when she could live in style.

He had to wonder if she would ever ask about the source of Slocum's newfound wealth. What would he tell her if she did ask? She was an honest woman and might not cotton much to spending money that had been stolen from the bank. The banker had stolen much of what had been in his vault from the
peones
in the village. Slocum considered using some of the gold to pay off those mortgages. Maria would like that.

“Git yerse'ves off. Ferry goes back to Oakland in twenty minutes,” bellowed a dockhand. Slocum didn't have to be told twice. He had an hour's ride ahead of him getting south of the city to see Maria again.

As he rode from the Embarcadero, he got an uneasy feeling and looked around. He immediately pulled down his hat to hide his face. Two uniformed guards lounged about not far from the docks. He recognized one from San Quentin, even if he hadn't spotted their outfits. Warden Harriman had yet to catch all the escaped prisoners and kept watch to be sure none left town on the ferry.

All that saved Slocum from being noticed was that he came from Oakland. Getting back on the ferry might be chancy if the prison guards continued their vigilance. Slocum turned the corner and trotted toward Portsmouth Square, the guards still watching travelers getting onto the ferry. He didn't dare come back this way. Better to ride far south and follow the Bay until the shoreline turned north again so he could retrieve the money he had left hidden in the hills above Oakland.

A new warmth suffused him. He had robbed the Valenzuelas and wanted to be there when they discovered they were again poor. Slocum knew that he was unlikely to witness it, but the image of them blaming each other made him smile. The smile turned to a toothy grin when a new idea came to him how to really ruin their day.

He rode around until he found a telegraph office. Inside, he dictated the telegram to Harriman where he could find one of his escaped prisoners. That would get José Valenzuela clapped back in the penitentiary where he belonged. Helping Harriman was a thorn in his side, but the irritation passed quickly knowing Conchita would have to visit her brother behind bars once more.

She wasn't likely to find another dupe to break him out either. Harriman's recent setbacks as warden would force him to lock down San Quentin so hard that a flea couldn't get out.

“Confusion to my enemies,” Slocum said, shoving the flimsy yellow sheet to the telegrapher. The man looked up, cocked his head to one side, and stared at him.

“You want that added to the 'gram?”

“Send it, as is. If the warden or, more likely, a guard sergeant named Wilkinson comes by asking about who sent the message, you might get yourself a reward if you say that you overheard this in a bar.” Slocum tapped the message with his forefinger.

“And if I mention you to this sergeant?”

Slocum shifted his weight slightly so his left hip was thrust out. The telegrapher took in the well-used handle of the Colt Navy and Slocum's obvious readiness to use that formidable weapon.

“You figger somebody's gonna come by to inquire?”

Slocum only nodded.

“That'll be a dollar-ten to send the 'gram.”

Slocum slid across a twenty-dollar greenback.

“Keep the change,” he said.

The telegrapher took a deep breath and made the bill vanish as fast as a frog's tongue snares a fly in midair.

“You want me to wait 'fore I send this?”

“Now,” Slocum said. “I want you send it right now.”

The telegrapher dropped the sheet on his desk, sent a preliminary few clicks, then settled down to converting the letters into code. Slocum left while he was still in the middle of sending.

He mounted and rode off, feeling even better about himself. Letting Harriman know where to find José Valenzuela had so many advantages.

 

Slocum's caution saved him from riding straight into the village and into Sheriff Bernard's arms. The lawman had a small posse spread about the village, going house to house. Slocum tethered his horse some distance away, then hiked to the top of a hill where he could flop on his belly and watch the progress as Bernard hunted for outlaws. Or had he joined the search for the San Quentin escapees?

It might be that Bernard just hunted for local lawbreakers and to hell with the escapees.

After an hour, Bernard shooed his men from the village and trotted back to the main road. Where he went with his search then was something Slocum had to worry over. The sheriff still wanted him for a variety of crimes. A new smile curled his lips. He hadn't robbed Galworthy's bank, but he had ended up with the loot. That made him as guilty as the Valenzuelas, he reckoned, but Slocum wasn't going to lose any sleep over legal carping.

He hiked to the village and walked in, leaving his horse hidden in the hills. Slocum looked around for any sign that Bernard had followed Harriman's lead and had posted deputies to watch for escaped prisoners.

Procipio Murrieta came from his house, stopped, and stared when he saw Slocum. His mouth opened, then he clamped it shut.

“Took a spell for me to get back,” Slocum said. “I had to wait for the sheriff to leave. He giving you any trouble?”

“He and I have come to an agreement. He cares nothing for what happens in San Quentin. Still, I chose to stay away while he searched.”

“I got that feeling he wasn't inclined to do Harriman's work for him,” Slocum said. “So he's not looking for me?”

“He still believes you are the one who robbed the bank.” Murrieta cleared his throat, then said, “And yes, he seeks you here. You must go immediately. The sheriff is like a dog with a bone. He will never stop gnawing. That makes it dangerous for you—and the village—if you remain any longer.”