Renegade Man Read Free Page A

been
heavily used in the 1820s by fur trappers as a route to the beaver grounds of
the Gila River. But once the area became cattle country, it had been relatively
unpopulated.
    A Gambel’s quail
took flight at her and Magnum’s approach. The Renegade looped here, deepening
as the creekbed narrowed. In an area with a dense growth of desert willow and
salt cedar, she found a suitable crossing. The boulders, large and planed
smooth by centuries of rushing water, crossed the creek where it ran six feet
deep or more. The cable spanned the rocks in the middle of the crossing, and
several yards downstream it moored a blue plastic pontoon on which some kind of
machinery was mounted.
    She turned her
attention back to negotiating the slippery rocks. On this side of the Renegade,
the sunlight was filtered, the air cooler. Although she was concentrating on
her balancing act, she gradually became aware of the eerie hush of the river
birds. She felt a little shiver of nerves wholly unlike her. On the bank beside
her, Magnum whined unhappily.
    “Coward,” she
whispered.
    She didn’t even
carry a gun, though a drug enforcement agent had warned her to do so in this
area of the state. With illegal aliens and drug smugglers creeping through the
border wilderness, anything could happen.
    It did.
    As if she were
living a scene from The Creature from the Black Lagoon, something slick and
black slithered into her peripheral vision, rising from the water to wrap its
arms around her and yank her back¬ward into the icy depths.
     
     
     
    Chapter 2
     
    H e had seen a lot
of action as a SEAL. He had almost been run down by a drug smuggler’s
powerboat, had been shot by a South American revolutionist and carved up by a
berserk, knife-wielding terrorist, and had survived three underwater mine
explosions. But in all his twenty-year navy career he had never wrestled a
woman in a river. And that the claim jumper was female, he was certain. Her
body, curved like that of Venus rising from the sea, attested to that fact.
Talk about finding the mother lode! Reluctantly he released his latest
discovery.
    On the bank, a
dog snarled ferociously. With a snap of his fingers and a command of “Sit!” he
intimidated the Labrador into at least backing off—but with its fangs still
bared.
    The woman came
up sputtering. Her dripping shirt clung to her breasts and outlined her
nipples, as round as creek pebbles, and her shorts molded hand-filling hips.
Her long hair fell back from her face, and she planted clenched fists on her
hips. “Just what the hell do you think you’re doing, mister?”
    He tugged off
his mask. “I might ask the same of you, lady. You’re on federal land, twenty
acres to which I hold the mining rights.”
    “A prospector!”
she said, disgust curling her lips. “Well, I beg to differ with you on one
point. We are on federal land, but I hold the archaeological rights. I
filed an assessment map with Santa Fe’s Bureau of Land Management over a week
ago. That gives my claim priority over either a grazing or a mining claim.”
    He had hated to
strong-arm her, but he most certainly didn’t want some snooper blabbing around
in Silver City about what he hoped would turn out to be a hot area for “placer
gold,” gold deposited by water in places other than where it originated. The
Bureau of Land Management gave a miner a ninety-day grace period until the
claim was officially recorded in the county courthouse for all to see, and he
wanted that head start.
    “Lady, I staked
out the corners of my claim almost two weeks ago.” He swept a hand toward a
corner post stake he had driven, just visible through the trees. Beneath it he
had buried a common plastic pill bottle holding the necessary plat and papers
recording the mine’s name—Landlubber—the date and location of the claim, along
with his own name as locator. “Until the BLM can rule on this,” he growled,
“you’re nothing but a claim jumper as far as I’m concerned.