by Jake Logan
“You want to ask me something,” Slocum said. “Murrieta did, too, but he never got around to it.”
“Why do you say that?”
“You don’t live here—”
“No!”
“And you just happened to bring news of two men fighting that Murrieta had to referee. I think there was more to it. You wanted to come to find out if he had asked me something.”
“Everything Procipio has said about you is true,” she said. “He said you were very smart.” She looked down at his Colt. “And that you were a gunfighter.”
“Not much of either these days,” Slocum said. “You’re not wanting to hire me as a gunman, are you? I don’t sell my gun.”
“No, no,” she said, shaking her head and causing a halo of raven’s wing dark hair to float about her head. “You went into San Quentin to rescue another, no?”
“That’s true,” Slocum said, wishing it wasn’t. “I’m not doing that again.”
“But there is one inside who does not deserve to be there.”
“Your lover?”
“I have not had a lover in many months.”
“Brother?”
“Un primo, a cousin.”
“He’s in jail?”
“Where Procipio was. Where you were. San Quentin.”
Slocum said nothing as he studied the lines of her face. She had high cheekbones and lips meant to be kissed. He had done that before, and it had landed him in a world of trouble. But Maria was so innocent looking.
“Innocent.”
This unsettled him. It was as if she had read his mind.
“That was what I—”
“Please, you must help Procipio—and me.” Maria moved closer and reached out. Her small hand rested on his. He started to pull away, but she gripped down with surprising strength.
Slocum had been in the same position before, but Conchita had made her plea after she had ensnared him with her wiles. Maria made her desires known up front.
“You are a very powerful man,” she said softly. “I am drawn to men such as you.”
“Killers?”
“Lady killers,” she said, smiling. What might have been a wicked smile carried that shyness and a hint of anticipation to it that Slocum found irresistible. A thousand thoughts raced through his mind, and he saw from Maria’s reaction that many of those raced through hers, too.
He kissed her.
He kissed her and damned himself for being a fool. Thinking with his cojones, Murrieta had said, and it was true and Slocum didn’t care.
They both stood, still awkwardly kissing. Then they flowed into each other’s arms, her soft, yielding body pressed hotly against his. If Murrieta had wanted Maria to convince him to do whatever it was, he wouldn’t return—or he might to “surprise” them and blackmail Slocum into joining what would be a crazy plot.
If Murrieta knew nothing and returned, he might consider this embrace to be worth killing Slocum over. The man obviously took his duty as alcalde seriously, and protecting the citizens, especially the lovely young señoritas, would be a priority.
All this crossed Slocum’s mind, and he didn’t care. Maria’s lips tasted like honey against his. Her fingers began exploring, moving up and down his back, pressing into his spine, then working higher to cradle the back of his head.
His own kiss deepened, and his tongue invaded her mouth. Their tongues dueled erotically, causing them both to breathe faster. He felt her heart trip-hammering through her breast crushed against his chest. He pulled her even closer, as if their bodies could merge this way. But they couldn’t. Not like this.
He reached down and caught at her skirt, lifting it high. For her part, Maria worked frantically on his fly. He stroked over her bare legs, moved up, and found the curves of her taut ass. When he realized she was having difficulty with his fly, he squeezed down on her rump, then abandoned her flesh to shuck off his gun belt and then pop open his fly. Barely had he sprung out, erect and ready, when her groping fingers circled him and tugged him in obvious need toward the spot still hidden by the roll of her skirt.
She lifted a leg and hooked it around his waist. This positioned them properly for him to slip back and forth and then find the lust-slickened slit that opened to accommodate him fully. As he entered her, a tremor passed through her from head to toe. She shivered deliciously and clung even more fiercely to him. With a tiny hop, she jumped up so both legs circled his waist.
He held her and turned about, supporting both their weights. Leaning back caused him to sink balls deep into her, then bending forward, he pulled out enough for her to sob out, “No, in, I need you in me!”
Moving awkwardly at first and then finding the right rhythm, he moved in and out of her as she clung to him. But he wasn’t able to thrust the way he wanted—the way she wanted, too.
Her moans grew louder until he spun about and sat her down on the table. This allowed her to give up her grip around his waist and hike both feet to the edge of the table. From here, Slocum pistoned forward, sinking fully. Then he withdrew. Slowly. Every inch of his retreat caused a new ripple of desire to pass through her. He felt the heat within his loins and the pressures mounting as he made love to this lovely woman. She leaned back, supporting herself on her elbows, as he continued to lever his hips forward furiously, then withdraw slowly. This motion soon caused her to cry out in carnal release.
Slocum continued for a minute longer and then knew he was going to get off at any instant. His body took over and he moved erratically, driving forward and pulling out in a rhythm dictated more by his own arousal than a desire to pleasure her.
He shoved forward, gasped, and spilled his seed. All around his hidden length, she crushed down on him, milking him, squeezing the last possible thrill out of their lovemaking as she could.
He stepped back and looked at Maria. Her face was flushed, and she had a smile that could only be described as angelic.
“You are so good,” she said in a shaky voice. “I knew it would be like this.”
Before Slocum could answer, he heard Murrieta outside arguing with someone. He quickly buttoned up and turned as the alcalde came back into the small house.
Murrieta looked at him and Maria curiously but did not show any displeasure. From his distracted expression, he might still be settling some dispute all the way across the village. Slocum was glad for that because he found Maria’s presence equally distracting.
She had spun about and landed on her feet on the opposite side of the table.
“They can never settle their own feuds,” Murrieta said in disgust. “I do not know why I do this, this judging so others can lead peaceful lives. All it brings to me is trouble.”
“But some trouble is worthwhile,” Maria said. Her response might have been to Murrieta’s woes, but Slocum knew she directed it to him.
“If it doesn’t get you killed,” Slocum said, “it might be worth it.”
“It won’t,” Maria mouthed.
Slocum wasn’t sure he believed her.
9
“The banker Galworthy is responsible for our woes,” Procipio Murrieta said. “I care little that Valenzuela stole from the bank. He only beat me to it!”
“You ought to care, and not because the vault is empty. If the banker gets his dander up, he’s likely to come after your property. You said you hadn’t made the mortgage payments for a spell,” Slocum pointed out.
“The crops are meager,” Murrieta said, shrugging in resignation. “We do what we can but must have more water. We survive—barely. The times I am sent to prison do not help either. The entire village suffers.”
Slocum looked from the man to Maria, who stood in the doorway. The afternoon sun lit her like an actress on a stage. Slocum listened to Murrieta with half an ear, his thoughts more on Maria and their brief time together. He thought he had learned his lesson with Conchita but now wasn’t so sure. Maria was different—except she wanted something from him, too. She had mentioned the man in San Quentin put
there by the banker, who now would be coming after others in this sleepy town with no name.
Slocum had a horse, he had his freedom, and if he had half a brain, he would leave when Murrieta and the others went to sleep that night. From everything he had seen, the village was less a farming community than an armed camp. Somehow he had left the company of bank robbers and thieves and now found himself amid rebels with Murrieta the leader of a peasant revolt. This wasn’t his fight, no matter what payment Maria so willingly offered.
Still, he couldn’t take his eyes off her. She was gorgeous.
“. . . put into prison as a warning for us. Do not fight, that is the message.”
“Prison?” Slocum’s attention snapped back to what the alcalde was saying.
“Atencio is scheduled to be hanged. The banker railroaded him. Atencio is no more guilty than any of us, but Galworthy chose him as an example.”
“Galworthy’s the banker,” Slocum said, piecing together the snippets he remembered hearing. He had to leave before he got himself involved to the point where he could never dig out. “What is Atencio supposed to have done?”
“Horse stealing, robbery, many other things I do not understand.”
“He had a trial?”
Murrieta threw up his hands, then slammed them palms down on the table.
“If you call it a trial. The judge refused to let Atencio’s lawyer say a word.”
“So he had a lawyer? How’d you pay for him?”
“He took the case for nothing. Por nada. And that is what came of it.”
“Never heard of a lawyer doing such a thing,” Slocum said. His experience with lawyers showed them to be greedy bastards. Maybe this one was so inept he would take any case.
“He has political ambitions. He said so. He comes here to tell us how he fought for Atencio, how we need to change the laws and he is the one to do so if we vote for him.”
Slocum wondered if the lawyer had tried very hard to free his client. Not only wasn’t there money on the table, but a loss set him up to garner votes from Murrieta’s village to remedy the outrage.
“What do you want of me?” Slocum asked. He was tired of hearing all the details. He wanted to know what Murrieta had in mind. Twice the alcalde had saved him, and he felt he owed the man something. Just how much would depend on what Murrieta asked.
“Atencio is to be hanged,” Murrieta said. “I want help in breaking him out before this happens. If we can get him here, we can be sure he returns to Mexico, where he would be safe.”
Slocum looked out at Maria. She was anxious, shifting from one foot to the other and back.
“This Atencio is her cousin?”
Murrieta’s eyebrows arched, and he looked over his shoulder at Maria.
“You have learned much while you have been in my village,” Murrieta said, turning back. “Does this matter?”
“No, not at all,” Slocum said. “I owe you my life, or if not my life, then my freedom. Twice you came to my aid when you didn’t have to. But I’m not pretending to be a convict to get back inside those walls.” Slocum closed his eyes and perfectly pictured the stone walls rising around the prison. It was imposing from the outside. Looking at those walls with the guard towers from inside suffocated hope and destroyed his soul. Better to die in a gunfight than to let them lock him up again.
“I understand this. The escape through the wall is something to be done only once.”
“By now,” Slocum said, “they probably have it completely sealed off. No doorway, completely concreted and stoned.”
“You are a clever man, John Slocum. You can come up with another way to save Atencio. He is not to be hanged for another week.”
Slocum inwardly groaned. A week was hardly time to come up with a rescue plan. They might need dynamite to blow open the gate or more firepower than all the peones in this village could provide, even if Murrieta risked his entire peasant army. San Quentin was a fortress designed not only to keep prisoners inside but to keep out those wanting to rescue them.
“Would there be any chance your lawyer could get a stay of execution?”
“Pah,” Murrieta said, waving his hand about in dismissal. “He would not bother.”
Slocum frowned in concentration then said, “What if the banker told the judge he made it all up?”
“Why should he? He wants our land. It is nothing to him if Atencio dies in prison, disgraced.”
“A man who desires money that much can be bought.”
“We cannot pay our mortgages. How can we bribe him?”
“The Valenzuelas robbed his bank,” Slocum said, thinking aloud. “They have money he’d want back.”
“So you would rob them?”
Slocum smiled. That thought had crossed his mind more than once. They owed him for the time he had spent in San Quentin, and the entire loot taken from Galworthy’s bank would be a good start. He wanted more from them—and Conchita—but taking what they had stolen would be a beginning. If the money could free Atencio, it would relieve Slocum of a debt to Murrieta even if it wouldn’t give him a pair of coins to rub together for his trouble.
“That might work, unless they have hightailed it out of town,” Slocum said. Somehow he thought Conchita would remain in the area. And why not? Sheriff Bernard thought he had robbed the bank because of her lying testimony. The Valenzuela family was free to do as they pleased, and somehow Slocum doubted they were finished yet even if José was sought as an escaped prisoner from San Quentin.
Before he could say another word, Maria hissed and caught Murrieta’s attention. The man leaped to his feet, grabbed a rifle, and told Slocum, “Do not come out. We will take care of this.”
Slocum got to his feet and cautiously peered out. Into what served as a town square—the community water well was there—rode Sheriff Bernard and four deputies. All the men carried rifles or shotguns resting in the crooks of their left arms. They were ready for a fight. Slocum considered giving it to them. Getting rid of the tenacious sheriff might not solve all his problems, but it would cause enough confusion in Miramar and throughout the county that he could get the hell away.
“We’re looking for an escaped prisoner,” Bernard called.
“We are poor farmers,” Murrieta said, not a hint of guilt in his voice. Slocum marveled at this since Murrieta might well fit the description of the lawman’s quarry.
“I know all about that,” Bernard said. “Hez Galworthy tells me all the time I got to serve process on you people.”
“You are here, then, to steal our land?”
“I told you that I’m looking for a prisoner that escaped from my jail. I don’t rightly care about other escapees.” Bernard made it obvious he hadn’t come for Murrieta, though he had to know the man had escaped from San Quentin.
Slocum melted back into the small house, looked around for a way out, and realized there was only one door. The few windows were high and small, hardly wide enough for him to squeeze through. If the sheriff figured out he was inside, he was a goner.
He drew his six-shooter and waited.
“You know everyone here, Sheriff,” Murrieta said.
“Now, that’s not true. I don’t know you, and here you’re acting as mouthpiece for everyone.”
“Maybe I am your escaped prisoner?”
Bernard cleared his throat, then winked broadly.
“Nope, never saw you in my town. The gent I’m looking for is named Jasper Jarvis, though I wonder about how true that is. Turn him over to me and I still won’t know any of you next time I ride this way.” Bernard looked hard at Murrieta to make sure he understood the meaning. Cooperating with Wilkinson and the warden at San Quentin wasn’t on his plate, then or ever, but capturing a man who had escaped from his jail was, especially if he was suspected of robbing the Miramar bank.
“Why do you come here?” Murrieta swung his rifle around to emphasize his point. He wanted the posse gone from his village. Slocum wished he would start shooting. Blood would be spille
d but all the lawmen would be permanently removed from the hunt for him.
“We got a note to the effect that he’s holed up in your town. Said Jarvis was responsible for a whole slew of crimes. Robbed Hez Galworthy’s bank, maybe beat up a prison guard. Fact is, Jarvis is wanted by more people than you can shake a stick at. But he’s mine first. Them varmints up at San Quentin can wait their turn.”
“He is not here.”
“Got to look.”
“You cannot do this without a search warrant!”
“Now aren’t we the dirt farmer lawyer? This note says he’s hiding out here, so I’m searching the entire village before he can get away.” Bernard studied Murrieta long and hard and finally said, “Might be I’m beginning to recognize you.”
Murrieta walked to the sheriff and took the note. He crumpled it up and tossed it to the ground.
“That is not a legal paper.”
“As legal as I need, Murrieta. You want to start shooting? You’ll never win.”
Slocum saw the deputies already on the ground and moving to other houses. The sheriff eyed where Slocum hid in a way that betrayed the first house to be searched. Slocum looked for a trapdoor, hoping for a root cellar. Nothing but dirt rewarded his search. Even a prairie dog couldn’t dig a tunnel out of there fast enough. Murrieta might shoot the sheriff in the back if he came in, but Slocum wanted to avoid that. Drawing attention to the town would bring federal marshals down on them. Murrieta was sure to be sent back to San Quentin if the investigation went far enough.
He stood on the table and rammed his fingers into the thatch of the roof. Working furiously, he opened a hole to the roof, then jumped, caught a viga, and pulled himself up and onto the flat roof. From his vantage he saw Bernard dismount and come to the door. A small scuffle ensued between the lawman and Murrieta, then Maria tried to stop Bernard. That ended the same way the one with Murrieta had.
Sheriff Bernard stepped into the small house, rifle ready to fire on Jasper Jarvis.
