Slocum's Breakout by Jake Logan Read Free Book Online

want to leave a trail. Stealing horses suited him, but not now. The owner would complain to the law, and it wouldn’t take much imagination on the part of any of the San Quentin guards to know the thieves were their escaped prisoners.
    â€œThey might not know who has escaped,” Valenzuela said.
    It was Slocum’s turn to smile. They thought Jasper Jarvis had broken out. Then he realized that he could tell them he was John Slocum until he was blue in the face, and it wouldn’t matter. They cared less about the man than the crime he committed. As John Slocum, he wasn’t supposed to be in prison, but they saw only a ledger entry. Slocum imagined Sergeant Wilkinson running his stubby, ink-stained finger down a column of names and matching the phony name he found with the very real face of the man he had checked into the prison.
    â€œLet’s get the hell out of here.” Slocum started walking just off the road. The shoulder was smooth enough so he wouldn’t stumble on many rocks in the dark, but being away from the middle of the road gave him the chance to dive for cover if he heard the search party coming. As he walked, he kept an inventory of places to hide, spots where he might hole up and shoot it out. No matter what, he wasn’t going back into that prison.
    After an hour hiking, they came to the shoreline. In the distance he saw San Francisco. Gaslights burned brightly on either side of a dead black area—the Barbary Coast. That blight on the city held the toughest gangs, the most dangerous outlaws, the worst of the worst. If necessary, Slocum could disappear into that city within a city, but he preferred to travel through the town to the south part of the city itself where Conchita waited with her dying father.
    If the old man hadn’t already kicked the bucket. From all the lovely woman had said, he was close to opening death’s door when Slocum agreed to get José out of San Quentin. It had been ten long days, and a great deal could happen in that span when you were nearly dead. Slocum wished he had seen the old man to get a better idea of his condition, but Conchita had insisted her pa remain in a dark room and not be disturbed. All Slocum had heard were asthmatic wheezing and occasional moans.
    Slocum scratched bug bites he had received while in the solitary confinement cell, then reached out and grabbed Valenzuela by the arm. To his credit, the man did not cry out but instead looked to where Slocum pointed.
    Two men sat on rocks, bent over as they concentrated on some hidden chore. Nearby they had secured a rowboat that would serve nicely to cross the Golden Gate to the city.
    â€œWe should kill them,” Valenzuela whispered. “They will notify the prison if we do not.”
    Slocum wasn’t averse to killing when his life depended on it, but these two fishermen didn’t deserve such a fate just because they owned a boat he wanted to use.
    â€œLet me talk to them,” Slocum said. “Come quick if you hear gunfire.”
    â€œBut—”
    Slocum gave Valenzuela no chance to argue. He strode forward confidently, sure he could deal with a pair of men who dragged fish out of the Bay. A few yards away, he stopped. The men were heavily armed. He saw shotguns resting against the rocks where they worked to repair a rope. Both had knives in their hands, and he was sure they had pistols jammed into their belts. They were armed to the teeth.
    â€œLaw’s on its way,” Slocum called. Both men grabbed for their shotguns.
    â€œWho’re you?” demanded one of the men. Whatever they were, fishermen didn’t describe their occupation.
    â€œA gent only a few minutes ahead of a big posse. They’re after . . . smugglers,” Slocum said, taking a guess at what the men were up to. From the way they poked their shotguns in his direction, he knew he had hit the nail on the head. What they might be smuggling was beyond him, but it hardly