Arizona Renegades by Jon Sharpe Page B

for the jaguar and the Apaches.”
    “How are the others?”
    Briefly, Fargo related everything that had taken place. She grew immensely sad on hearing about Tommy Jones, Joseph, and Michael.
    “I’m beginning to think going to visit my aunt in California is the dumbest idea I’ve ever had. I’d have been better off writing her a letter.”
    Chuckling, Fargo avoided a small rock outcropping. He was almost to the shelf when two things happened simultaneously. Gravel under his feet gave way, clattering like so many marbles and pitching him off balance. And on the rim of the shelf a great feline head appeared, its slanted eyes aglow with bestial ferocity.
    “Skye!” Gwendolyn screamed.
    Fargo tried to right himself and bring the Henry into play but the cat was lightning quick. Snarling viciously, it sprang.

7
    Skye Fargo had only raised the Henry halfway but it saved his life. When the big cat slammed into him with its forepaws slashing, the rifle was struck instead of him. The Henry was torn from his grasp as he was flung backward. Stumbling, Fargo recovered and hurled himself to the right to evade another flurry. He hit on his shoulder and rolled down the slope, the jaguar just a step or two behind him, rumbling growls loud in his ears.
    Fargo had let go of Gwen as he fell. He was glad the cat ignored her, and he hoped she had the presence of mind to get away while she could.
    Then there was no time for thinking. Fargo came to a stop in a sliding rain of dirt and stones. He pushed onto his knees just as the jaguar reached him. It never slowed, never hesitated. Steely muscles rippling, it pounced. Fargo barely got his arms up and the beast was on him. Claws sliced his left arm, his side. He was bowled over and slid further, the cat astride him and trying to rip open his throat with its great fangs.
    Fargo was a goner. He could no more slay a jaguar with his bare hands than he could outrun an antelope. Frantically, he clawed for his Colt but one of the cat’s legs had it pinned against his side. Nor could he lift his leg to get at the Arkansas toothpick. He stared up into the cat’s bristling face, at its gleaming teeth and long whiskers and blazing eyes. He felt its warm breath, tinged with the fetid odor of flesh and blood from its last meal. He was gazing into the face of death, and he knew it.
    Poised for the kill, the jaguar paused.
    Fargo had always expected to meet a violent end. With the life he led, it was only natural to think a bullet or arrow would bring him low. Or maybe a grizzly would take him unawares. Or he would be caught in a buffalo stampede with nowhere to take shelter. But he had never thought one of the big cats would be responsible. Certainly not a jaguar.
    A person could never predict how their life would turn out. Fate was too fond of springing surprises.
    Then, unaccountably, the jaguar jerked and snapped its head around. It uttered a coughing roar.
    Fargo couldn’t understand why until he saw a rock strike it on the side.
    “Get away from him! Scat, damn you!” Gwendolyn Pearson had a stone in each hand and was barreling toward the riled carnivore as if it were a house pet that needed to be disciplined. “Go! Leave us be!”
    “Run!” Fargo shouted, but she paid him no mind. The cat had momentarily forgotten about him and glared at her, its lips curled, its tail twitching. Fargo still couldn’t reach the Colt, but out of the corner of an eye he spied a large rock. As the jaguar turned back to him, he smashed the rock against the side of its head with all his strength. At the same moment, Gwen threw a stone that thudded against its ribs.
    The jaguar leaped straight up into the air, a good five feet. It wasn’t seriously hurt but the pain had rattled it. By twisting its entire body, the jaguar was able to land so that it faced both of them.
    Gwen had picked up another rock. “Go eat something else!”
    Fargo saw the cat crouch to spring. It was so close, he could reach out and touch