“All right!” yelled Bailey as he approached the locked wagon. “Take it easy, whoever’s in there! The Royalist sons of bitches are all staring at the sky!” He thought about saying that again in Spanish, but he only knew a bit of that language. Hope this fella — or lady, dammit — speaks some English. Although whoever was inside wasn’t saying anything, either. Was it even a person? Gotta be. Why would they bring a critter along?
One of the soldiers had a key ring; it was pretty damn clear which was the key to the lock. Bailey stepped forward, unlocked the padlock, and shook it off and onto the ground. Then he skedaddled back a few feet, gun ready but not pointing anywhere in particular. “All right! Lock’s off, you can come out. But you get out here nice and easy! Ain’t no need for more trouble.”
For a moment, Bailey thought that wasn’t gonna happen — and if it didn’t? Well now: he had a horse now, and somewhere to be. The way he saw it, he’d done his Christian duty for the day; whoever was in there was welcome to sort the rest out. Even loot the rest of the encampment, with Bailey’s compliments.