by Jake Logan
“Wha—”
Slocum grabbed Valenzuela by the collar and dumped him on the ground. A quick punch put him out again. Livid bruises formed above the man’s ear and now on his jaw. With a heave, Slocum got him to his feet and wrapped an arm around him to half drag the man aboard. They got curious looks since the wound in Valenzuela’s shoulder continued to ooze blood. The red blossom had spread across his shirt front and made it appear he had been blasted with a shotgun.
“My friend got a little drunk, and there was a fight.”
“Fight?” asked the sturdy sailor. “Where’d he git that wound?”
“Blue Parrot,” Slocum said, naming an infamous saloon on the Embarcadero. “He damned near got himself shanghaied.”
“Gonna bleed to death. If he does on the trip, just toss him over the side. Sharks’re ’specially hungry today.”
Slocum hunted for fare and didn’t have enough. He fumbled in Valenzuela’s pocket and pulled out a thick wad of greenbacks. Counting them would give close to eight hundred dollars, he guessed. He paid the sailor, made sure their horses were secured for the rough trip across, and then dropped Valenzuela to the deck.
He ran his fingers over the scrip he’d taken from the road agent.
“Swindling your own sister finally paid off—for me,” Slocum said. He nudged Valenzuela with the toe of his boot to elicit some response. A moan told him the man was still alive. Slocum settled down for the trip across to Sausalito.
When the ferry docked with a loud thud against the pier, Slocum heaved Valenzuela to his feet. The man stirred and tried to fight, arms flailing about weakly. Slocum pinned his arms to his side and dragged him off and waited for their horses to be led from the ferry. The sailor gave Slocum an odd look, then returned to work on unloading freight when the ferry captain shouted for him to stop malingering.
Slocum heaved Valenzuela belly down over his saddle, then mounted and led the horse north. By the time it got dark, he had reached the junction for the road leading to the southeast and San Quentin. He felt anxious about what had to be done at dawn tomorrow. Atencio was destined to swing then, and Slocum wanted to be as close as he could to the prison to be there on time. More than this, he had to find Murrieta and see if everything he had asked for had been fetched and was ready.
If anything went wrong, there’d be a new grave in the cemetery outside the prison walls—or maybe several. Slocum didn’t want to fill one of those new unmarked graves.
He rode a half mile down the road toward San Quentin, then left the road when he heard sounds ahead. He melted into the landscape just as a pair of guards from the prison trotted away, arguing about something he couldn’t make out. As they vanished in the dark, he caught one snippet.
“Wilkinson said he saw somebody ’bout here.”
Slocum felt a mite better. The guards riding patrol meant Sergeant Wilkinson hadn’t caught anyone, so Murrieta must be around somewhere. No one else had reason to sneak around the area. If anyone came to see Atencio hanged, they would arrive in the morning on the first ferry. Although he should have asked and hadn’t, Slocum reckoned that ferry would arrive a bit after dawn. He doubted the ferrymen worked in the dark because of the strong currents flowing into San Francisco Bay from the Pacific. Any mishap in the dark and rescuers would never find crew or ferry. If there would even be a rescue party sent out under any circumstances other than salvage.
He rode through the woods, stopping often to listen for either guards or Murrieta. As luck would have it, he found Murrieta in a cold camp some distance ahead.
He saw the man’s dark figure rise and go for the rifle leaning against a fallen log.
“It’s me,” Slocum called. “I’ve got him.” As if to acknowledge this, José Valenzuela let out a moan and began to struggle, trying to slide off the horse.
Slocum rode closer to Murrieta, then reached over, grabbed Valenzuela by the belt, and yanked. The man fell heavily and struggled to sit up.
Murrieta stepped up and swung the butt of the rifle. The impact of wooden stock against bony chin sounded like a gunshot.
“Quiet,” Slocum cautioned. “Wilkinson has his men out patrolling the main road.”
“I know. I have my own lookout to warn me.”
“Who?” Slocum went for his six-shooter, then stopped when they were joined by another darkness-clad figure he recognized instantly. “You shouldn’t have come. This is too dangerous.”
“I had to,” Maria said. “Procipio needed help with everything from the store.”
“You got it all? No trouble?”
“John, you know me well by now. There was no problem.”
Slocum had questions but found his mouth otherwise occupied with Maria’s lips pressing hard. They kissed. He was aware of Murrieta watching and felt uneasy at this, but Maria did not.
“I can watch our prisoner,” Murrieta said, some disdain in his voice.
Maria took Slocum by the hand and insistently pulled him out into the dark woods for privacy. His last sight of camp was Murrieta securely tying Valenzuela, and then he was otherwise delightfully occupied for the rest of the night.
Valenzuela struggled, but Murrieta had bound him well, adding a gag to be sure he wouldn’t draw attention to himself until the time was right.
Slocum and Maria watched Murrieta ride away, circling the imposing prison walls with a pack animal loaded with everything from the general store.
“When do we act?” she asked.
Slocum put his finger to her lips as he heard the clatter of hooves along the road leading to the prison’s front gate. They watched from a secluded spot a hundred yards away as Sheriff Bernard rode to the gate, which immediately opened.
“He came,” Maria said. “He wants to see Atencio die!”
Slocum wasn’t sure that was the sheriff’s motive, but he said nothing. Wilkinson sent out a small platoon of guards to escort the sheriff inside. Two of the guards remained outside, both armed with rifles.
“After what happened before,” Slocum said softly, although it was unlikely the guards could overhear at such a distance, “the warden’s not taking any chances.”
Valenzuela struggled and tried to cry out, but the gag in his mouth prevented more than a muffled sound.
“They will accept you dead as well as alive,” Maria said with venom. This did nothing to still Valenzuela’s struggles.
“Leave him be. The execution is scheduled for fifteen minutes,” Slocum said.
“Then do it now, John. Take no chances!”
“Too soon and Atencio won’t be brought out from the cell block.”
“Wait too long and he will die!”
Slocum understood her anxiety, but timing was vital.
“You mount up and hightail it away,” he told her. “There’s no reason for you to be here now. Murrieta ought to be in position.” Slocum checked his pocket watch again. Keyed up, he felt the same thrill he always had before going into battle during the war. His troops, such as they were, had been deployed . . .
“I hear chants from inside,” Maria said.
“I’ll be damned if the warden hasn’t brought out the prisoners to watch the execution. That’s the only reason for so much noise.”
Slocum led Valenzuela’s horse out of the thicket and fastened the reins around the saddle horn.
To Maria, he said, “I told you to get out of here. The time’s right to get this started.”
She gave him a quick kiss, saying, “For luck!” Then she mounted and rode away from San Quentin. Slocum counted to ten, then slapped Valenzuela’s horse on the rump, sending it rocketing toward the two guards posted outside the gate.
Valenzuela did his part, wobbling in the saddle with his hands bound behind his back. Instinct kept him in the saddle when his best chance would have been to fall to the ground, then run like hell. If he had done that, Slocum would have been forced to shoot the man. But Valenzuela found himself at the gate, guards lifting their rifles to fire when Sergeant Wilkinson bellowed for them no
t to shoot.
“Capture him. That’s one of the escapees!”
Slocum grinned. So far everything worked well with Wilkinson recognizing Valenzuela. His smile faded when Wilkinson dragged José from the saddle, plucking the gag from his mouth.
Valenzuela screamed loud enough to be heard all the way back in San Francisco, “Slocum! He’s out there. In the woods!”
By now, Sheriff Bernard had come out to see what the fuss was about. He and Wilkinson exchanged quick words, probably arguing over what Valenzuela meant. They knew him as Jarvis, but Valenzuela’s insistence was enough to goad the lawmen into action.
Slocum used the time they spent discussing what was happening to mount. With his horse straining under him, Slocum bolted across the open area, where he found himself an immediate target. Both armed guards opened fire on him, Valenzuela screeching the entire time for Slocum’s death as they fired.
Slocum bent low and raced after Murrieta as Wilkinson mustered his guards. Bernard found his horse first and rode to cut Slocum off, but there was little chance that would happen. More guards rushed from inside the prison. Slocum heard the warden’s strident voice ordering the guards back inside to control the prisoners.
He had been right about the noise blossoming from inside the prison. The warden had assembled the prisoners to watch. There might be hundreds of them in the yard surrounding the gallows.
Slocum rode harder, striving to stay ahead of the sheriff. His horse began to tire just as he saw Murrieta waving to him. Murrieta had unloaded the packhorse and had piled the two cases of dynamite against the stone wall.
“I have it ready,” Murrieta called.
Slocum glanced up. His memory was good. This stretch wasn’t easily seen from either of the guard towers at either end of the wall. He hit the ground running, knowing Bernard wasn’t far behind.
“You did good,” he said, seeing that Murrieta had burrowed down some into the dirt to half bury the crates of dynamite. The explosion had to go inward if they were to breach the wall. Slocum whipped out his tin of lucifers, scratched one against his belt buckle, and applied the flaring tip to the fuse.
“Only six inches,” Murrieta said, “as you told me.”
Black miners’ fuse burned at one foot per minute. Thirty seconds ought to be enough to get them safely away.
Only Sheriff Bernard had chosen this instant to gallop up, six-gun out.
“Grab some sky, you two. Now or I’ll shoot!”
Slocum saw the fuse sputtering toward the blasting cap and knew they had another fifteen seconds.
“Run,” he said, shoving Murrieta along the wall. “Stay with the horses!”
He dodged away from the wall to draw Bernard’s fire. The sheriff didn’t open up but rode closer. Slocum played for time—and won.
The dynamite erupted with a throaty roar that shook the ground and made the world stand still for an instant. Then rock, dirt, and debris exploded outward, showering Slocum where he lay facedown, arms over his head. Shaken, he rolled over and saw that the blast had knocked Bernard from his horse. Where the horse had gone, he couldn’t tell. Slocum was partially deaf, and his eyes watered from the still-billowing dust cloud.
He got to his feet and ran to the six-foot hole they’d blown in the wall.
He was almost crushed by the prisoners fighting to escape through the hole. Slocum grabbed the men and heaved them from his path, forcing himself into the prison. He felt like a fish swimming up a fast-running stream.
Some prisoners fought with guards, but most tried to get free through the hole that had miraculously opened for them.
Slocum made his way toward the gallows but saw Warden Harriman on the platform, hand on the lever that would spring the trap under his black-hooded prisoner. Atencio was only seconds away from being hanged.
18
Jostled about as he was, Slocum knew he would have a hard time getting a good shot at the warden. Worse, if he missed and only winged the man, he might jerk away and throw the lever, guaranteeing Atencio’s death.
The prisoners all around him were attacking and being attacked by the guards. He pushed forward, desperately hoping that he could reach the gallows before Harriman carried out the death sentence.
Then Slocum heard a high-pitched voice that cut through the din like a knife.
“Stop! Do not kill him!”
Maria rode through the crowd straight for the gallows. It took Slocum a few seconds to realize someone had opened the main gate, giving her the chance to ride in. But she was oblivious to the fight raging all around her and did not realize how enticing it was to an escaping prisoner to ride out on a horse—her horse.
Slocum was torn between helping Maria and saving Atencio from the warden’s easy movement of the lever controlling the trapdoor. He made his decision and fought his way toward the woman.
He clubbed one prisoner trying to pull her from the saddle and kicked another out of her way. The prisoners realized they couldn’t remain inside the walls long or they would be trapped again when Sergeant Wilkinson got his men under control. Right now, the guards fought as individuals and not as a well-disciplined unit. When that changed, they would begin rounding up the prisoners in a methodical fashion, starting with those still inside the walls. Tracking those who had successfully breached the walls would take more time.
Wilkinson would want to hang on to what prisoners he could. The guard sergeant might be many things, but Slocum doubted he was incompetent. San Quentin had been run too efficiently for too long to believe Wilkinson wasn’t capable of clever planning or even outright brutality when it was called for.
“Go to him,” Maria cried when she saw Slocum trying to clear the way for her. “You can stop the warden. I cannot!”
“Yes, you can,” Slocum said. “You caught the warden by surprise. Play on that. Beg him to release Atencio. I’ll be right behind you.”
Slocum followed the woman through the thinning fight. Guards were beginning to gain the upper hand as prisoners realized it was better for them to run than fight.
“Please, I beg you. He is innocent!” Maria sat astride her horse and looked up the few feet to the warden, who simply stared at her as if he had never seen a woman before in his life.
“How’d you get in here?” Harriman finally asked.
The hesitation on his part and her slowness to answer him gave Slocum time to get around to the steps leading to the execution platform. While Maria distracted the warden, Slocum took the steps two at a time to reach the top of the gallows. Only then did the warden realize what was happening.
He tried to throw the lever, but Slocum was already swinging. His meaty fist struck the warden on the cheek and sent him reeling. Slocum quickly followed up with a haymaker that knocked Harriman off the platform. He fell heavily to the ground fifteen feet below. He landed flat on his back. The loud whoosh of breath gusting from his lungs carried over the din of battle throughout the prison yard.
Slocum wasted no time getting the hood off Atencio’s head and then lifting the noose from his neck.
“Gracias . . .” the man started. Slocum didn’t let him get any farther. He slammed his palm against the lever.
Both of them hurtled downward and landed heavily under the gallows floor. Slocum caught the man because his ankles were bound together.
“Let me get you free.”
“Why did you—”
“Wilkinson’s alerted the guards in the towers. They’re going to open fire at any instant.”
The words had barely escaped his lips when the sharp report from a half-dozen rifles filled the prison yard.
Slocum slit the ropes and helped Atencio take a step or two until he got circulation back into his legs.
“What do we do?”
Slocum hadn’t thought this far ahead. In none of his schemes had he considered a riot and mass escape.
“Get behind Maria and ride the hell out of here,” Slocum said.
“Maria? She is here?” Atencio’s eye
s went wide and a broad, toothy grin split his face. “I knew she would come for me!”
Slocum grabbed him by the arm and pulled him from under the gallows. As they rounded the base, the warden struggled to his feet, gasping out commands that brought nearby guards running to him.
“Damn,” Slocum muttered under his breath. He kept moving and hunted for Maria, but the woman had disappeared.
“Where is she? Where?”
“She must have hightailed it out of the prison. She pulled your fat from the fire by distracting the warden.” Slocum saw that Sergeant Wilkinson was closing the main gate, cutting off escape that way. He hoped Maria had ridden away because being trapped on this side of the wall would be a terrible fate for her.
“We’ve got to get out the hole I blasted. Murrieta is on the other side.”
“Procipio? He came to save me also?” This pleased Atencio even more.
Slocum wanted to give him time to thank his friends, but they had to first get out of the prison yard. Barely had he gone a dozen paces when he realized the hole he had blown in the wall was closed off by four armed guards. He started to draw and shoot his way out, then realized that would draw attention to him. The tower guards had stopped firing but were still where they could ventilate him if necessary.
“We can’t go that way,” he said. Grabbing Atencio and shoving him in the direction of the cell block was the only thing he could do. To remain out in the open meant their capture.
Slocum vowed not to let them take him alive. He had spent almost a week in solitary and wasn’t going to do that again. Sergeant Wilkinson still thought he was Jasper Jarvis and an escapee. No amount of argument would change that. Worse, the only lawyer he knew of had stolen money intended to bribe a judge to free Atencio. He was entirely on his own.
“They will not let us stay inside,” Atencio said with such assurance that Slocum almost believed him. Almost.
Then he saw how Wilkinson roamed the ranks of the guards and swept through the yard, collecting any convict who had been unlucky enough to remain inside. The truncheons swung and heads were split open. The bloody tide moved inexorably.
