Slocum's Breakout - Jake Logan [23]
The memory of San Quentin caused him to set his jaw in determination not to return there as a prisoner. He owed Valenzuela. He would deliver justice himself—at the muzzle of his six-shooter.
“We got witnesses enough to know your partner’s some old geezer.”
Slocum’s mouth fell open. He snapped it shut and tried to put on a poker face. He wasn’t sure how well he succeeded since the sheriff watched him like a hawk. Barely had José Valenzuela returned when he and his pa had ridden out to rob the Miramar bank. The elder Valenzuela hadn’t been near death at all. Conchita had duped him into believing her pa was dying, but all she wanted was for the old man and José to get back to what was likely their profession: robbing banks.
“You have other robberies done by the same two men?” Slocum asked.
“I haven’t looked, but that’s a mighty good idea. I might convict you of more ’n one in the area. Of course, the money from them’s likely to be gone, isn’t it? Otherwise, why would you be so brazen about committing a daylight robbery?”
“Anyone shot?”
“Now, you know the answer to that. Lot of lead flyin’’round but nobody was hit. Scared the hell out of old Hez. Probably the most excited he’s been in years.” Bernard laughed and shook his head. “You’d have to see his wife to appreciate that. I swear, she’s uglier than a mud fence.”
Bernard kept shaking his head and chuckling as he opened a drawer in his desk, took out a stack of wanted posters, and began leafing through them. Slocum considered distracting the sheriff but knew that wouldn’t work. Aching from so much walking, he dropped back on the cot and stretched out, staring at the ceiling. Bits of concrete had come loose, exposing iron bars. Some were rusty, but it would take hours to scrape through them, and he knew Bernard would never allow that much work.
Slocum closed his eyes intending to only rest for a moment, he came awake with a start when he heard a loud argument getting more intense. He sat up and saw a blue-uniformed back between him and the sheriff. His heart almost exploded when the man turned slightly to expose sergeant’s stripes.
“He’s mine. He’s an escaped prisoner by the name of Jasper Jarvis.”
“Now that may be, Sergeant Wilkinson, but he’s my prisoner right now. You can have him after the trial. I got him fair and square for bank robbery.”
“He’s a prisoner what belongs in San Quentin since that’s where he was when he busted out.”
“Do tell,” Sheriff Bernard said dryly.
“You don’t believe me. I don’t like any man callin’ me a damn liar.”
“Never said you were lying, Sergeant. Just saying he’s staying put until he stands trial. That might add on years to his sentence. What was he in for? You called him Jarvis?”
“He’ll be in for five more escapin’ the way he did. Him’n three others. We caught one of them right away. The other got away, prob’ly with Jarvis.”
“Mighty interesting and irrelevant,” Bernard said, his voice hardening. “He’s my prisoner right now.”
Slocum had never wanted to be in a county lockup as badly as he did now. If Wilkinson prevailed, he would not only be back in San Quentin, he’d be in the hole again. The dark. The cold. The isolation.
“I can git me a San Francisco judge to issue the order,” Wilkinson said.
“Be my guest. That’ll take you a few days, if you can sober one up that fast to scribble his name. By then we’ll have this varmint indicted and on the docket to stand trial. The local justice of the peace is a man devoted to his community. That means he knows robbing the Miramar bank takes precedence over returning him to San Quentin.”
Wilkinson pounded both quart-jar-sized fists on the sheriff’s desk so hard the desk jumped off the floor to crash back down.
“You ain’t listenin’ to me, Sheriff.”
“Can’t help but listen, you talking so loud. Why don’t you get on out of here and find that other prisoner you lost? This here Jasper Jarvis isn’t going anywhere.”
For a moment Slocum thought Wilkinson was going to hit the sheriff, then he saw how