Read Online Slocum's Breakout by Jake Logan - Free Book Online Page A

take was a single deputy to get a tic, and lead would fly.
    â€œCome on over here, and keep your hands up in the clouds. I swear, we’ll shoot if you don’t!”
    As Slocum got closer to the lawman, he saw a sheriff’s badge.
    â€œLook, Sheriff, I—”
    â€œShut your face,” the lawman snapped. He snared Slocum’s six-gun and tossed it to the nearest deputy. Even then, the sheriff kept a keen eye on Slocum’s every move.
    â€œHe matches the description, Sheriff Bernard.”
    â€œWhat description?” Slocum asked. He got a pistol barrel laid up alongside his head. He felt all the strength go out of his legs as he collapsed to his knees. The world spun in crazy circles, and pain filled his head.
    â€œDon’t go doin’ that, George,” Sheriff Bernard snapped. “He done surrendered. It’s up to us to keep him that way until the trial.”
    â€œYou reckon he’s got a price on his head? Other than for the robbery?”
    Slocum didn’t know which of the deputies asked the question. He went cold inside.
    â€œMy horse died. I was just going to—”
    â€œGet him in irons,” the sheriff said. “And if he keeps yammering like that, gag him.”
    Slocum felt cold metal cuffs snapped around his wrists. He was yanked to his feet and shoved along to the road. A rope was looped around the chains holding his wrists together. The ends were fastened around a deputy’s saddle horn, then they all turned their horses’ faces and started back north toward San Francisco.
    If the drunk identified him as the one who stole his horse and buggy, Slocum knew they might just string him up. Stories of vigilance committees were rife in San Francisco. But the sheriff seemed one of the rarities, a peace officer who actually enforced the law and didn’t permit his prisoners to be mistreated. Or at least Slocum hoped that was true of Sheriff Bernard.
    To his surprise, they didn’t follow the main road back into San Francisco but took one angling off west toward the ocean. Slocum heaved a sigh of relief at this. The longer he stayed away from where the prison guards might hunt—in San Francisco, most likely—the better his chances of getting away. Whatever the posse thought he had done, he could alibi his way out. After all, he had been in the area only a few hours. Conchita would sweet-talk them.
    Or would she? They hadn’t parted on the best of terms, and he had no idea what her brother and father had been up to. They had hightailed it from the house in a big hurry once José had returned.
    Slocum slogged along, keeping up the pace the best he could. If he flagged, he suspected he would be dragged along and wasn’t sure Bernard would much care about that. The sheriff and two deputies rode some distance ahead, chattering like magpies.
    Footsore and about ready to collapse after making it through a low pass and to a level spot where he could see the Pacific Ocean, Slocum considered trying to engage the deputy so intent on keeping him moving in some conversation. The more he found out, the more improved were his chances of getting away.
    It would be better if he could talk his way out of whatever the sheriff thought he had done.
    â€œWhat town’s that? Down on the coast?”
    â€œMiramar,” the deputy answered before he realized he wasn’t supposed to talk to the prisoner. “Shut up. No yammering.”
    â€œWhatever you think I did, I didn’t. Never been to Miramar. Didn’t even know the name.” Slocum slipped and slid down the steep road, pebbles causing him to stumble repeatedly.
    â€œShut up.”
    Slocum found it almost impossible to talk and keep up when the rider put his heels to his horse’s flanks and picked up the pace. By the time they arrived at the tiny jail on the outskirts of town, Slocum was half past dead.
    â€œInside,” the deputy ordered. He jerked hard on the