Free Slocum's Breakout by Jake Logan Page A

did.”
    â€œMight be she was in on the bank robbery,” Slocum said, testing the water with the truth.
    â€œShe wasn’t the man who did the actual robbery and she sure as hell wasn’t the old man waiting with the horses to make the getaway. I know a hawk from a handsaw, and I know a curvy señorita from a man all crippled up with arthritis.” Bernard laughed. “I’m getting a better class of liars these days. You, at least, can make me laugh when you proclaim your innocence. Most of ’em I throw in that cell don’t even try to alibi themselves.”
    Slocum knew when to give up. He was digging his own grave and had to find another way out of this jail. If it came down to a trial, he might get away from the bank robbery charges but would never convince the authorities that Sergeant Wilkinson shouldn’t be given back an escaped prisoner.
    He slowly studied the bars, the floor, the walls, everything in the cell without finding a possible way out. The iron had rusted but would require too much noisy work to break through. That left the lock since he saw no way to pry off the hinge pins on the cell door.
    Slocum felt a growing anger at himself for getting into this predicament. He should never have agreed to such a cockamamie idea as breaking José Valenzuela out of San Quentin, much less letting Conchita dupe him so thoroughly.
    â€œDying pa,” he snorted.
    â€œWhat’s that?” Sheriff Bernard looked up from the book he was reading.
    â€œNothing,” Slocum said. “Just thinking out loud.”
    â€œNot speaking to you.” The sheriff turned his book upside down on the desk to mark his place and reached for his six-shooter. The door slammed open and caught Bernard’s arm, knocking him off balance. The six-gun went skittering off the desk and hit the floor. The hammer crashed down on a cartridge and sent a slug ricocheting around the small jailhouse.
    Slocum was on his feet, hanging on to the bars. A masked man surged in and slugged the sheriff. Bernard collapsed across his desk. It took a few seconds for the masked man to find the keys to the cell, but Slocum wasn’t cheering him on.
    â€œYou don’t think much of letting the law take its course, do you, Wilkinson?” Slocum asked. The San Quentin guard pulled down the mask and sneered.
    â€œI think it ought to, which is why I’m takin’ you straight on back where you belong, Jarvis. This hick sheriff ain’t gonna prevent justice from happenin’. You might just waltz on out of his courtroom, and they would never bother tellin’ me.”
    Slocum backed up when Wilkinson motioned him away from the cell door with his six-shooter. He waited for the opening that might come when the guard got the key in the lock. There would be an instant when Wilkinson would be distracted. And there was.
    The prison guard looked down when the key refused to turn easily. The lock finally snapped open with a metallic clang. Slocum launched himself at the same instant, hitting the door with his shoulder and driving it back into Wilkinson. The pistol went off. Slocum felt its hot breath across his cheek but ignored the sting. He lashed out with his fist and caught Wilkinson on the side of the head, further driving him away. Losing his own balance, Slocum fell atop the guard. His knee crushed down into the man’s belly.
    â€œJailbreak!”
    The cry startled Slocum. Sheriff Bernard had come to and fumbled in his desk drawer for another gun. Slocum rolled, came to his knees, and slammed his palm hard against the desk drawer, smashing the sheriff’s hand. Bernard cried out, this time in pain.
    A quick yank opened the drawer. Slocum grabbed his Colt Navy and stumbled to his feet. On his way out he pulled his gun belt from a peg and tumbled out into the warm California night. The lack of moon hid him within a few yards. He ducked down low, darted for cover, and worked to strap on his gun