before and likely would be again, but he felt angrier at himself for letting this pretty muchacha dupe him so easily.
Rather than leaving as he was told, Slocum went into the bedroom and began rummaging about. He had no idea what he was hunting for. There wouldnât be any money to recompense him for all heâd been through, but he wanted more to find something that would tell him where José and his father had gone. They had left almost immediately after Conchita had lured him out to the shed, so they had been planning something. He wanted to know what it was.
âGet out!â Conchita cried. âYou cannot rob us!â
âWasnât planning on that. I want to know what you and your family are up to.â He found a small metal box. Using the butt of his pistol, he knocked off the small lock and dumped the contents onto the bed. A few coins and a sheaf of papers comprised the entire contents. He left the coins and pawed through the papers. There were maps and scribbles in Spanish that he didnât understand.
âTell me what this means,â he said, holding out one map for Conchita, but she had disappeared. He stuffed the paper into his pocket and strode into the main room. The sound of a horse got him moving outside in a rush. He saw Conchita riding bareback on the horse that had so reluctantly pulled the buggy. He took a couple steps in her direction, but the dust cloud obscured her direction when she got to the nearby road.
He took off his hat and slapped it a couple times against his leg to dislodge some of the dust. Then he began walking, fuming as he went. He hadnât even come out of this ridiculous failure with a horse, even a swaybacked nag hardly up to carriage duty.
Slocum reached the road, looked once in the direction of San Francisco, and began walking the other way. There was nothing for him to the north. For that matter, he knew there was nothing southward either. He had come this way to escape the heat and drought and saw no reason to return to it. Mostly, he needed to find a horse so he could range due east, circle around San Francisco Bay on the Oakland side, and then ride as hard as he could for the Pacific Northwest. Oregon had to hold better circumstances.
Barely had he gone a mile when he heard the thunder of hooves behind him on the road. Whoever rode down on him was in a powerful hurry. He considered stepping aside and seeing who was intent on killing his horse under him, then got the prickly feeling at the back of his neck that he ought not indulge this curiosity. He left the road and went to a dry acequia. The drought here wasnât as bad as down south, but it was enough to make the irrigation ditch little more than a mud puddle.
He slipped over the edge and flopped down, waiting.
The riders approached, then slowed, and finally stopped about the place he had left the road.
Sunlight glinted off badges pinned on the ridersâ vests. He slid his Colt Navy from his holster when one of the lawmen pointed to the tracks he had left, then slowly traced along his trail to where he hid in the irrigation ditch.
Slocum knew he was in for trouble when the posse dismounted, fanned out, and started toward him.
6
âYou lift that iron and youâre a dead man,â shouted the man Slocum took to be the leader. âBoys, get ready to shoot. He donât look like heâs the surrendering kind.â
A quick glance left and right confirmed Slocumâs worst fears. He was already caught in a cross fire. The deputies on either flank had a clean shot at him. He might take out one, but the other would ventilate him in the span of a heartbeat. And that didnât even take into account the two gunmen flanking the leader. One held a rifle like he knew how to use it, and the otherâs grip was steady on his six-shooter.
âDonât get itchy trigger fingers,â Slocum said, holding up his hands. He felt exposed and about ready to die. All it would
Rather than leaving as he was told, Slocum went into the bedroom and began rummaging about. He had no idea what he was hunting for. There wouldnât be any money to recompense him for all heâd been through, but he wanted more to find something that would tell him where José and his father had gone. They had left almost immediately after Conchita had lured him out to the shed, so they had been planning something. He wanted to know what it was.
âGet out!â Conchita cried. âYou cannot rob us!â
âWasnât planning on that. I want to know what you and your family are up to.â He found a small metal box. Using the butt of his pistol, he knocked off the small lock and dumped the contents onto the bed. A few coins and a sheaf of papers comprised the entire contents. He left the coins and pawed through the papers. There were maps and scribbles in Spanish that he didnât understand.
âTell me what this means,â he said, holding out one map for Conchita, but she had disappeared. He stuffed the paper into his pocket and strode into the main room. The sound of a horse got him moving outside in a rush. He saw Conchita riding bareback on the horse that had so reluctantly pulled the buggy. He took a couple steps in her direction, but the dust cloud obscured her direction when she got to the nearby road.
He took off his hat and slapped it a couple times against his leg to dislodge some of the dust. Then he began walking, fuming as he went. He hadnât even come out of this ridiculous failure with a horse, even a swaybacked nag hardly up to carriage duty.
Slocum reached the road, looked once in the direction of San Francisco, and began walking the other way. There was nothing for him to the north. For that matter, he knew there was nothing southward either. He had come this way to escape the heat and drought and saw no reason to return to it. Mostly, he needed to find a horse so he could range due east, circle around San Francisco Bay on the Oakland side, and then ride as hard as he could for the Pacific Northwest. Oregon had to hold better circumstances.
Barely had he gone a mile when he heard the thunder of hooves behind him on the road. Whoever rode down on him was in a powerful hurry. He considered stepping aside and seeing who was intent on killing his horse under him, then got the prickly feeling at the back of his neck that he ought not indulge this curiosity. He left the road and went to a dry acequia. The drought here wasnât as bad as down south, but it was enough to make the irrigation ditch little more than a mud puddle.
He slipped over the edge and flopped down, waiting.
The riders approached, then slowed, and finally stopped about the place he had left the road.
Sunlight glinted off badges pinned on the ridersâ vests. He slid his Colt Navy from his holster when one of the lawmen pointed to the tracks he had left, then slowly traced along his trail to where he hid in the irrigation ditch.
Slocum knew he was in for trouble when the posse dismounted, fanned out, and started toward him.
6
âYou lift that iron and youâre a dead man,â shouted the man Slocum took to be the leader. âBoys, get ready to shoot. He donât look like heâs the surrendering kind.â
A quick glance left and right confirmed Slocumâs worst fears. He was already caught in a cross fire. The deputies on either flank had a clean shot at him. He might take out one, but the other would ventilate him in the span of a heartbeat. And that didnât even take into account the two gunmen flanking the leader. One held a rifle like he knew how to use it, and the otherâs grip was steady on his six-shooter.
âDonât get itchy trigger fingers,â Slocum said, holding up his hands. He felt exposed and about ready to die. All it would
Similar Books
