Slocum's Breakout (14 page)

“Don't cotton much to bein' convicted of murderin' the wife of a San Francisco politician. They was carryin' on and had a lovers' spat. Used a butcher knife on her, from what I hear.”

“He killed her. He caught us, and he killed her and framed me!” the red-eyed prisoner cried out.

“They're all innocent,” Slocum said.

“You get on back and tell Sergeant Wilkinson we ain't got his pet prisoner,” the driver said.

“I'll just ride along. Not far to the front gates,” Slocum said.

“Suit yourself.” The driver mumbled under his breath, then said loud enough for Slocum to hear, “You guards always findin' new ways of malingerin'.”

Slocum considered arguing for the sake of cementing his role as a guard but held back. The wagon rattled around the bend in the road and the sight of the walls took away his speech. He shook himself to clear his head. From here on, he had to be quick, respond properly, and get himself into the prison.

“Good to be back home,” the armed guard said. “You want to go fetch the next batch of prisoners? Somethin''bout bein' outside the walls gives me the willies nowadays.”

“We can talk about it,” Slocum said. He was willing to go after more prisoners now.

“How many you got?” came the shout from high on the wall.

“Four.”

“Open up,” the guard called down. “We got more fish to swim in our pond!” He laughed at that, and the guard opening the gate was laughing, too.

Slocum forced himself to laugh, just to fit in.

“Let me help you,” Slocum offered to the wagon guard.

“Much obliged, 'specially with
that
one.” The guard pointed at the crying prisoner, who had once more descended into sobbing.

Slocum pulled the man out, got him on his feet, and moved so he kept the prisoners between him and the two guards coming from inside.

“Git 'em movin'. We ain't got all day.”

Slocum shoved his prisoner ahead of him and passed through the gate, aware of other guards watching. Many of them tapped their truncheon against a thigh or slapped it against a palm in a drumbeat that chilled his blood.

“That way,” Slocum said, steering the crying convict toward the processing area. He began to hang back and let the real guards do their duty.

Then he froze when a gruff voice called out, “You, the new guard. Come here!”

Slocum turned and saw Sergeant Wilkinson, his ledger tucked under his arm, pointing straight at him.

Slocum reached under the ill-fitting left coat sleeve and gripped the knife sheathed there. He would die but only after taking Wilkinson with him.

He stepped forward, but Wilkinson looked past him. Slocum veered away, his knife still hidden. Wilkinson bellowed again for the new guard to come to him.

Slocum let out pent-up breath when the guard with the rifle from the prison wagon marched forward.

“What you doin' violatin' regulations?” Wilkinson bellowed so loud that both guards and prisoners milling about in the yard some distance away all turned to see what caused the ruckus.

“Don't rightly know what you mean, Sergeant,” the guard said.

“No firearms inside the prison, unless they are locked up where I can find and dispense them in a hurry,” Wilkinson said. He continued to chew out the guard, giving Slocum a chance to drift even farther away until he was surrounded by other truncheon-tapping guards and a few sullen prisoners.

He made several quick turns intended to keep him out of Wilkinson's line of sight, though he knew he attracted some attention because of his shoddy uniform. More than one prisoner looked at him and sniggered. Finally, a guard sauntered over and positioned himself so he blocked any further escape from Wilkinson's attention.

“Don't remember seein' you in here before,” the guard said.

Slocum settled his uniform coat and moved his hand nearer the knife again. If he had to, he could gut the guard and toss away the knife so it would look as if a prisoner had killed him instead. The blood might be a problem, but Slocum doubted the other guards would be too observant if they thought they had the beginning of a prisoner riot on their hands.

“New,” Slocum said.

“That's one crappy uniform you're wearin'. I wouldn't be caught dead in it.” The guard laughed.

“Yours is pretty nice,” Slocum allowed, “but I wouldn't want to be caught dead in it either.” He half drew his knife when the guard stopped laughing. The flare of anger told of a killer no different from any of those locked up behind the prison walls.

“You got a mouth on you,” the guard said. He slapped his truncheon against his thigh, as if testing how hard he could hit before bruising started.

“That the gallows where they're going to hang a prisoner?” Slocum pointed to the wood structure at the corner of the prison yard. The noose swung slowly in the faint late afternoon breeze, as if it had come alive and was searching for a neck to encircle.

“Now what else would we do with a gallows?” The guard glowered at him.

“What's his name? Atencio? The one getting his neck stretched today?”

“Don't know what they call him. Don't matter none to me.”

“I used to be an executioner,” Slocum said, an idea popping into his head. “Think anybody'd mind if I looked it over? For old times' sake?”

The guard's eyes went wide.

“You hung men? How many?”

Slocum sneered just a little as he said, “Not more 'n four. I got tired of riding a circuit, waiting for guilty verdicts. Then some towns did their own hanging. And vigilance committees? They always carry their own nooses, so that took away from my business. Thought it would pay better being a guard.”

“Can. Depends on what you got to sell the cons. I—” The guard clamped his mouth shut when a whistle blew. “Damnation, exercise time's over already. Let's get them snakes back into their holes.”

He went off to use his truncheon on the slower-moving prisoners, leaving Slocum alone in the yard. Taking advantage of the lull, Slocum walked to the gallows, trying not to draw unwanted attention. He kept his pace steady, not running and not moving too slow either. The gallows loomed high over him as he leaned against it. His heart hammered in his chest because he knew Atencio would be moved out here mighty soon and do a death jig unless something was done to save him.

Slocum had no idea how to do that. He was surrounded by guards willing to beat anyone to death that crossed them. If Sergeant Wilkinson spotted him, he would have the blue uniform ripped off and the prisoner's canvas with broad stripes substituted. He turned slowly to see any potential problems. He was alone.

Slipping around the side of the gallows, he ducked beneath the structure and looked up, hunting for some way to gimmick the trapdoor. As he stared up, slivers of blue California sky showing between the poorly fitted planks in the platform above, he knew this wouldn't accomplish anything. Any guard could come and fix the simple mechanism if he jammed it. Even nailing it shut wouldn't give him the result he wanted—Atencio's escape.

Getting the prisoner away from the gallows alive was only the first step in a long walk. They had to get outside San Quentin's walls to where Murrieta waited with the horses. And if Slocum couldn't get Atencio free, he had to escape himself. The task suddenly turned impossible.

He went up the thirteen steps to the platform and looked out on the empty yard. He doubted Warden Harriman would assemble the other prisoners to watch the execution. Only a handful of guards would join the warden as he sprung the trap and sent Atencio to the promised land.

Slocum caught the swaying noose and ran his callused fingers over it. The rough hemp was sturdy enough to support several men. It wasn't likely to break unless . . .

Slocum whipped out the knife sheathed along his forearm and began carefully picking away at the strands, leaving enough so that the rope appeared untouched while cutting much of the interior. Sweating from exertion, he finally released the rope and let it swing away like a pendulum. As it swung back, he saw two guards emerge from the main cell block, a shackled prisoner between them. Immediately behind came four others, including two guards and a well-dressed man Slocum took to be the warden. The fourth was a priest, working hard at his profession of saving a damned soul by muttering a constant prayer.

Not wasting any time, Slocum dropped down beside the gallows and waited. He worried that Wilkinson might be in the party, but the sergeant was nowhere to be seen. Counting slowly, gauging distances, Slocum waited until the proper moment to step out and fall in behind the guards immediately behind the warden. The two on either side of Atencio marched the condemned man to the platform.

The warden looked irritated as he took out his pocket watch and popped open the case to study the face. He clicked the lid shut and tucked the watch back into his vest pocket.

“Where is he?” The warden asked the question, but nobody answered. The two guards with him exchanged looks and kept quiet.

Slocum turned when he heard a commotion at the front gate. He caught his breath when he saw Wilkinson escorting a man in his Sunday best to the gallows.

“It's about time you got here, Mr. Durant,” the warden said querulously.

“Are you in a hurry, sir? You have somewhere else to be? I assure you, my client is willing to let you attend to other business and postpone this until another day.”

“Oh, shut up,” the warden said. “You're here because you got the judge to let you witness the execution, nothing more.” The warden spun and stalked up the steps.

Slocum turned to see him emerge on the side of the condemned. Atencio looked nervous but resolved to his fate. Slocum didn't turn away because that would bring him face to face with Sergeant Wilkinson. There might be an unscheduled execution if the guard recognized him.

“You've received the last rites of your faith. You have anything to say before I carry out your sentence for the state of California?”

Atencio shook his head. His knees buckled a little as the guards moved him onto the trapdoor. One fastened a sandbag around his ankles to make the drop hard and swift. The other placed the noose with the knot at one side, then added a black bag to hide his face.

The warden pushed one guard aside, gripped the lever with both hands, and yanked hard. Atencio fell like a stone. For a moment the rope remained taut, then it snapped where Slocum had cut through it. Beneath the platform Atencio cried out, gasping and choking and kicking.

“What the hell happened?” The warden shoved one guard to the steps. “Get him. Fetch the damned prisoner so we can do this again with another rope!”

“One moment!” Durant held up his hand as if he were a schoolboy wanting his teacher's attention. “You can't hang him again. Not today. The law won't allow that!”

“The sentence was to hang him by the neck until he was dead.”

“Once. You get one chance only,” the lawyer said.

“Bullshit. He wasn't properly hanged, so we keep trying until he is. I don't care if it takes a hundred miles of rope!” The warden's face turned an ugly beet color as his ire rose.

“Double jeopardy,” declared Durant. “You tried and failed. You can't execute him a second time.”

“We didn't do a first time!” Froth flecked the warden's lips as he waved his arms around like a windmill.

“I'll see you a prisoner in this rat hole if you try to execute my client a second time.”

The guards shifted uneasily as they held Atencio between them. The man's knees were bent, and he hobbled as they tried to walk him to the steps leading back to the platform. They hadn't bothered to remove the black hood.

“What are you saying, Durant?”

“I'll get a court order. There's no judge in this state who wouldn't agree that a new sentencing is necessary. You're not allowed to swing my client any number of times! Once! You get one try only!”

The priest edged closer to the warden and whispered to him. Slocum almost laughed when the furious warden cocked his fist back, as if to punch the padre. Then he dropped his arm to his side and came to the edge of the platform so he could glare down at the lawyer.

“Father Benjamin agrees with you. He said there's been something like this happen before.”

“Precedence,” Durant crowed.

“You get the hell out of my prison, you shyster.”

“My client had better be in good condition when he's ordered back to court. If he's not, the judge will know the reason!”

“Get him out. Now, damn it, get him out of my prison!”

Slocum turned slowly so Wilkinson would already be facing toward the gate. For a heart-stopping instant they faced each other, but the sergeant's attention was on Atencio and the guards supporting him. He strode to them.

“This way,” Slocum said, taking the lawyer's arm and pulling him toward the front gate.

Durant jerked free and shouted over his shoulder, “You're not to touch one hair on his head! I'm warning you.”

This time he let Slocum herd him to the gate. The entire way the lawyer grumbled and cursed.

“You think you can get him out of here?” Slocum asked.

“What? Don't be an ass. He's guilty as sin. The best I can hope for is to gain a stay of execution and keep him alive for another week. I need to get better press out of this. The
Alta California
is making fun of me and destroying my reputation over this. Hanging a horse thief!” Durant smoothed out his coat and walked, chin high to the gate. He stopped there, waiting for Slocum to open it.