Slocum's Breakout - Jake Logan [38]
He turned grim at that thought. Sheriff Bernard still hunted for the man he thought had robbed the Miramar bank: John Slocum.
“Die!” screeched José Valenzuela. He opened fire on the tight knot of passengers, cutting them down where they stood with hands held high over their heads. “Get the strongbox!”
“It is secured with chains,” his father called. “I must shoot it off.”
“Shoot the wood, not the chains. You do not want to be hit by a ricochet.”
José slid down the rock and landed hard in front of the stage. The driver moaned and tried to lift his head. The elder Valenzuela shot him three times. The driver slumped down into the box. Slocum didn’t need to check for a pulse. José Valenzuela’s pa had just murdered an injured man, as his son had shot down the helpless passengers.
José vanished and several rifle shots echoed out. Then came a grunt and both men dragged a heavy iron box with chains tangled around it into sight. Slocum tensed, reaching for his Colt, but he relaxed and let the pair continue to haul away their ill-gotten gains.
“They murdered those who had already surrendered,” Murrieta said in horror. “That is an unspeakable crime!”
“Nobody said they were pure as the wind-driven snow,” Slocum said. “Come on.” He skidded down a steep, rocky incline to where they had left their horses. Turning to Murrieta, he said, “You get on back to your village. This is my chore now. I’ll get you when I find where they’re hiding.”
“Where they hide the gold,” Murrieta corrected.
Slocum swung into the saddle. Murrieta looked up at him and said, “Take care, amigo. If not for your own sake, then for Maria’s. She has become very fond of you.”
With that, Murrieta mounted and rode off without so much as a backward look. Slocum settled his hat, thinking hard on what the man had said. Then he grinned. It was good that Maria thought of him what he did of her. With a quick tug on the reins, he got his horse started along a narrow trail that wended about before coming down to the main road a quarter mile from where the holdup had occurred.
Slocum looked back and saw the stagecoach team snorting and pawing nervously at the ground. They didn’t understand all the gunfire or why their driver wasn’t urging them forward. From the way the carrion birds were already spiraling downward, the driver and passengers wouldn’t be going anywhere but into buzzards’ gizzards.
Looking away from the stage, he turned his attention to the road. Finding the Valenzuelas’ trail was simple. They had galloped off. Since he didn’t see any trace of the box, he knew they had taken it with them. That would slow their escape. Slocum trotted off, being careful not to overtake them. A smile came to his lips when he lost their trail on the road. He backtracked and saw that they had doubled back before leaving the road. He used his spurs to get his horse down into a ditch and then up the far side. The Valenzuelas had jumped the ditch rather than taking the slow way Slocum had. But he found the deep hoofprints where the horses had landed and galloped away.
He trotted along, eyes on the tracks leading uphill and into a wooded area. Slocum drew rein and studied the edge of the copse to be sure he didn’t ride into an ambush. The two road agents had shown they had no hesitation killing wantonly. He finally rode ahead, fairly certain they hadn’t slowed in their escape to lay a trap for anybody who might be on their trail. Since he hadn’t seen anyone, he knew the Valenzuelas hadn’t either.
Tracking them in the wooded area would be more difficult since the pine needles carpeting the ground didn’t take hoofprints well. Slocum knew a few tricks to keep him close behind the fleeing father and son.
He wove in and out of the sparsely spaced trees, then stopped when he heard voices ahead. This surprised him since he had expected the two men to ride for some time into the hills. Having a hideout this close to the road seemed wrong.
Then he recognized one voice and went cold inside.