Slocum's Breakout - Jake Logan [50]
Conchita’s father shoveled food into his mouth as if he hadn’t eaten in a month of Sundays. For all Slocum knew, that might be true. He didn’t see either of the man’s children being too generous with food or money.
He had to speak up over the click of a spoon against the tin plate as the man scooped a third helping of beans into his mouth, then wiped the plate clean with what remained of a tortilla. He looked up expectantly.
“I will not feed him any more,” said Maria. She folded her arms across her chest and glared.
“Won’t have to,” Slocum said, opening his pocket watch and looking at the time. “They know he’s gone by now and have read my ransom note.”
“They will not pay for me,” the elder Valenzuela said. He spit. “They are not good children. They use me!”
“They wouldn’t let him go,” Slocum said to reassure himself as much as Maria and Procipio Murrieta, who stood in the doorway watching over them like a hawk circling prey. “He protests, but he’s the reason they had me break José out of San Quentin. He means more to them than he’s letting on.”
“More food?” The old man held out his plate. “¿Más comida?”
“Go to hell,” Maria said, grabbing the plate from him and flinging it across the room to smash into the far wall. She spun and faced Slocum. “This is a crazy plan. They will not pay. Atencio will die because of the time we waste with this . . . viejo!”
“How else do you get him out of prison? Atencio got a stay of execution for a week. If the lawyer can find the right palm to grease, he might get Atencio out. I don’t see any other way of saving him from the noose.”
“They would commute the death sentence,” Murrieta said. “He would still be in prison.”
“That’s better than being in the prison cemetery,” Slocum said. He had caught a glimpse of it outside the wall. Considering the warden’s predilection for ceremony and keeping dissent down, he was surprised it wasn’t within the walls where prisoners could see what happened if they misbehaved.
“You give them too much time to scheme. They will kill you and steal back this . . . this . . .” Maria sputtered, unable to find the words to describe her unwilling guest.
“I looked around the campsite and didn’t see where they could have hidden the loot. They probably stashed it far enough away to be safe from casual discovery but close enough so they could get it when they wanted. It wouldn’t be more than an hour’s ride.”
“They will double-cross you,” Maria insisted.
Slocum only nodded. He expected them to. The Valenzuelas were as slippery as eels and had the table manners of a famished grizzly. He had to be slicker, meaner, and sharper. Anticipating their every move was difficult because they might decide their welcome in northern California was worn out and just move on, leaving their pa behind. However, Slocum doubted that would happen. They were a tight-knit family and the old man sitting at the table, hands folded peacefully across the spot where his plate had rested only minutes earlier, had the look of a patriarch. José and Conchita might have the fire, but the old man had the cunning.
Slocum decided that Conchita was truly the old man’s daughter and had inherited her own cozening ways honestly.
“You sure about the canyon?” Slocum asked Murrieta, who only shrugged and looked impassive. “Let’s ride.”
He grabbed Valenzuela by the bony shoulder and lifted him from the chair. The old man was skin and bones and winced at the pressure. Slocum didn’t care. For what the Valenzuela family had done to him, he would as soon gun them all down. Memory of how this seemingly fragile, almost blind man had murdered the stagecoach driver burned brightly, too. Given the chance, any of the Valenzuelas would kill without remorse.
He could match them.
Outside he got the old man onto a horse and led him along. Murrieta held back, as if he intended to stay in the village and let Slocum do the dirty work. Slocum rubbed his gun hand on his thigh to make sure it was dry. Letting his six-shooter slip when he needed it most was a sure way to end up dead and forgotten.
Or would