Arizona Smith

          The cliff dropped off about a thousand feet to the river below.  A few stray rocks tumbled over the edge and fell for what seemed like days.

         “They’re right behind us, Arizona,” Sally said, clutching at his leather satchel.  “They say these natives are cannibals!”

         “Don’t believe everything you hear, sweetheart.”  Arizona slipped the satchel off his shoulder, shaking Sally loose of it, and withdrew a machete.

         “What are you going to do with that?”  Sally grabbed the skirt of her tattered dress, pulling it away from the blade.

         “Don’t worry, I doubt they’d even bother with you.  Not enough meat.”

         He pulled at a vine wrapped around the trunk of a nearby tree and chewed away at it with the serrated knife, freeing it at the bottom.  The rest of the vine ran up into the tree and twisted through a branch hanging over the ravine.  He gave it a tug, testing its strength.

         “Hopefully you’re as light as you look.”

         Sally’s forehead crinkled up.

         “Come on kid, we ain’t got all day.  That drumbeat’s less than a hundred feet away now.”

         Arizona looked at her, trying to decide something.

         “You aren’t a screamer, are you?”

         “Why would you ask that?” Sally said, blushing slightly.

         “Cause, if we don’t make it across, it’s a long way down, and I don’t want my last minutes to be you screaming in my ear.”

         “If you’re so worried, why don’t you make sure we make it across,” Sally said.

         The spray of the water below was no more than humid air by the time it reached the top of the cliff.  Arizona grabbed Sally around the waist and pulled her against him, wrapping the vine around his free wrist.  The drumbeat was at the edge of the trees.

         “Hang on tight!”