Slocum's Breakout - Jake Logan [37]
The two riders stopped and looked around. Both had bandannas pulled up over their faces, but this was to protect them from the blowing dust rather than hide their identities. They exchanged words too low for Slocum to hear, then split up. One rode back down the road and stepped down from his horse. He took out a rifle, cocked it, then went to the middle of the road.
The second rider wended his way up into the rocks to the very spot Slocum had picked out as ideal for an ambush.
“That’s José,” Slocum said softly. Murrieta nodded, then reached for his six-shooter. Slocum grabbed the man’s brawny wrist and forced him to leave his gun in its holster. “We wait.”
Murrieta grumbled but relaxed, sliding back to a spot where José Valenzuela could not see him if the bandido chose to look around.
“How will we capture them?” Murrieta asked. “I should go to the road and—”
“We’re not going to catch them. After they rob the stage, they’ll take the loot back to their hideout. Their new hideout,” Slocum explained.
“Where they might have the gold from the bank?”
“Exactly,” Slocum said. He was all keyed up, as if he were the one doing the robbery. How much would the payroll be for an entire Army garrison? He couldn’t tell. There might be enough for both Fort Point and the Presidio. The stagecoach shipment might be thousands of dollars. After he followed the Valenzuelas back to their lair, he would have to consider letting Murrieta use the gold to free Atencio and keeping this haul for himself.
A pang of conscience poked him. He might give some to Murrieta for his village. Maria might decide to ride out with him as he worked his way north away from San Quentin and the nastiness he had found there. The two of them could spend the money in delightful ways. The more Slocum chewed on this prospect, the more he liked it.
He felt a distant vibration echo through to hard rock under his palm. Pressing his ear to the rock, he strained to discern a pattern. A slow smile came to his lips. The rumble of stage wheels was unmistakable. In less than ten minutes the Valenzuelas would put their plan into effect.
Then he would see how well honed his tracking skills were following them. Chances were good they had a route chosen over rocky terrain to throw off trackers in a posse, but traces would remain for a short time. They counted on the sheriff taking hours or even a day to get his deputies on their trail. Slocum wouldn’t let the spoor blow away. He was good enough to track a snowflake through a blizzard; the Valenzuelas weren’t anywhere near as respectable at hiding their trail as he was at finding it.
“They attack!” Murrieta rose and stared at the pair of highwaymen. Slocum saw the expression on Murrieta’s face and saw something close to longing. He wanted to be down there sticking up the stage as much as Slocum did.
Gunfire rolled through the narrow gap and echoed up to the two watching the drama unfold. Slocum touched the ebony handle of his six-shooter but did not draw. Those bullets were not aimed at him. José Valenzuela fired methodically until the driver reined in his team. The horses kicked up a cloud of dust that took a while to settle.
When it did, Slocum saw the driver sagged down in the box, holding his belly. The passengers shoved six-shooters out and fired, but the angle was wrong. José took them out one by one until they finally surrendered.
“Throw out your guns!” José cried. He waved to his pa, who advanced, rifle leveled. “Give him all your money!”
“He steals everything from the passengers. The payroll is not enough!” Murrieta seemed outraged. “How dare they take from poor travelers?”
Slocum found himself agreeing, but for a different reason. The payroll had to be the most valuable thing aboard that stage. Seizing it and getting the hell away counted for more than the few dollars the Valenzuelas would get off the passengers. The gunfire