The air was dry and packed with dust. A thirsty wind pulled away any moisture that was left in Jacob's burnt face.

His boots thumped on rocks that mimicked hot lava. Avoidance of vicious rattlesnakes only lead to more steps and movement. And that was stamina he did not have, but still he pressed on. Heading west where the blazing sun would eventually burn out.

A small town was at the edge of this flat desert. And it was west. Where the mesa started to crumble and rise with rocks. Where water lay.

It was midday now and the vast lake of heat waves played with his imagination. If only they were real. If only those waves splashed with cool, crisp water, instead of more exhausting heat. If only there was a drop of rain from the burning sky above. At least some sort of shade, a cloud, or something wet to cool his tongue.

Jacob had walked two days in this boiling furnace.

Bandits had rushed his small camp after the sun had faded that day.

There were five of them. All mean looking. And all had the eyes of snakes and the demeanor of rabid coyotes. They had taken everything Jacob owned. His only horse, his saddle, water, food, and rifle. Everything except his two worn out boots and the clothes upon his back. All of this was forced at the point of many gun barrels. Too many to fight against.

He thought he had a chance to retaliate when none of them were looking, he reached for his bowie knife that was under his blanket. The next thing he knew was a kick to the head by a hard pointed boot.

He woke up hours later shivering from the cold a desert mysteriously holds.

Rolling over with ringing in his ears, everything was black, except for a million stars he starred endlessly at.

What had he gotten himself into?

Why had he ever come west?

Why did he ever think there was greener grass to follow? All of it lead to this.

He was left to die now in this dry, useless, coyote, outlaw-filled land.

The only thing he wanted was his old homeplace; The cold streams and green forested hills.

He had traveled away from his eastern homeplace. All on horseback, canoe, boat, and by foot. Too many trails to count. Too many faces to remember. Too many friends lost to bad luck, greed, and evil men.

Hallucinations were now hard to fight off. Water, shade, trees. . . oh the things a man thinks and sees when he is at his limits of strength.

Squinting against the sun and ferocious wind. Jacob’s ability to step forward was little to none. But wait! Had he seen something?! Against the afternoon sun. Far, far away. In the heat waves. He saw color. He saw the faint color of blue. Was it. . . was it real? Was water actually over there?

It hurt to walk. It hurt to think. And his lungs only produced grim breaths. He slowly turned his movement in the direction to what he thought was water. 

It was there. It had to be! 

Jacob had nothing left in his body to push on. His shoulders drooped and he fell to the earths hot floor. Dust billowed around his body. His eyes closed and a dark shadow consumed his mind. 

He had lost. And the desert had won.

Buzzards overhead were silhouetted by light and colors of fire.

He almost felt the coolness of that deep blue lake. He was so close to what the desert portrayed. His mind went back to the green forests of home. Plunging in those cold streams and relaxing on the grassy meadows. . .

He felt something bite his lips as it slowly slid down his throat. Coughing and sputtering his eyes opened and he realized it was water! He was met by a friendly looking face. An Indian. Possibly Caddo or Tonkawa? He was dressed in both native and cowhand attire “Water.” He said motioning for him to drink.

Jacob rasped out a faint whisper, “Thank you.” The Indian acknowledged and walked over to his horse for another canteen.

Jacob smirked through burnt skin and chuckled, "I'm getting out of this desert. I’m going back home."