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Updated: June 9, 2025
"Not more than an hour or two old, an' A'm thinking, Wayland, we've fooled them out of water!" "They'll keep to the shelter of the cutway long as this dust storm lasts." Wayland was following down the tracks. The sun had sunk behind the silver strip of mountain reddening the heat lakes and the Desert air.
"We are not so far behind: there is the freshly opened cache." Where the cutway caved to a hollow lay a hole littered with empty cans and canvas bags. "Not much value left, eh? Hold on, Wayland, this might be useful." Matthews had picked up a skin water bag. It was full of tepid water. "They're harder pressed than I thought. They've had water stored here.
They'll rest somewhere in the cutway to-night. We'll likely run them down before morning if our horses can stand it." Back at the rock, the Ranger was cooking their supper over a fire of withered moss and pinon chips, keeping the old man's mind off his fevered thirst by calling attention to the tricks of Desert growth to save water.
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