A merciless sun refused to stop burning everything below its vicious fury. Even the air was boiling as its vapour swirled around above the seemingly endless ocean of sand. Few men had ever ridden into a land like this willingly. The bleached bones of creatures that had made that fatal mistake were scattered in the white sand as far as the eye could see. Wherever the rider was, it had to be as close to Satan’s lair as it was possible to get without actually being dead.
Even seeing was becoming harder and harder for the lone rider who eased back on his reins and brought the exhausted horse beneath him to a gentle halt. Encrusted salt from the perpetual sweat had almost glued his eyes shut. He lifted his hat and ran fingers through his wet hair before using it as a shield against the blistering rays of the sun. If there was a way out of this unholy place, he couldn’t see it.
The horseman dropped from his saddle and stood beside his faithful mount. Every sinew in his young body hurt as though a wagon had ploughed over him. He panted like a hound dog and desperately attempted to find breathable air as his burning lungs inflated his aching chest.
Was there a way out of this place?
The question haunted him.
He clung to the long reins with gloved hands, as though afraid of losing his only chance of escaping this place. Yet if his eyes had not been caked with dried salt and sand he would have seen that his mount was even less capable of fleeing than he was himself.
Lathered sweat covered the exhausted animal. It looked as though it had reached the end of its own long ride. Its head hung as its blood boiled inside the once proud body. It snorted at the hot ground even more loudly than its master’s own pitiful panting.
For what seemed like an eternity the man just knelt and watched his own sweat rain down from his head. Even doing this simple thing was not without pain. Within minutes he could feel the heat of the white-hot sand as it burned through the knees of his pants’ legs.
A myriad thoughts washed through the mind of the horseman as he tried to fight off the inevitable death he knew awaited him if he were to close his eyes. He was tired but refused to succumb to the sleep he knew he would never awaken from.
The heat from the sand eventually managed to penetrate his clouded thoughts and bring him back to where he knelt.
Using all his remaining energy, Hal Harper gripped his stirrup and pulled himself back up to his feet. He leaned unsteadily against his saddle. He kept one hand holding the reins and the other gripping the latigo. Harper wanted to fall down and sleep the sleep of the dead, but he knew that as long as he kept gripping the saddle he could resist that desire.
His eyes tried vainly to make out the scenery but they felt as though branding-irons had been plunged into their sockets. He raised his arm and wiped his face in an atempt to dry the constant sweat that flowed like a waterfall from the hatband over his burned features. Yet his sleeve was like the rest of his bleached trail gear. It was soaked with sweat.
He lifted the canteen and shook it.
There was no reply.
It, like his throat, was bone-dry.
He then recalled having given the last of his precious water to the horse before sunup. It had been a futile gesture that he now regretted.
Was this where it would end? Out here in a land he neither recognized nor understood? Was thirst going to finish him off after he had managed to avoid the bullets which had tried to kill him?
The man reached beneath the belly of the horse. There was no way the animal could take him any further. He loosened the cinch strap, dragged his saddlebags from behind the cantle and dropped them on to the sand. They, like the canteen, were now empty. He patted the horse’s neck and started walking with the animal in tow.
His high-heeled boots were not designed for walking. They were meant to fit into stirrups and hold a rider firm. Yet he was walking through the soft sand.
He exhaled and saw the shadows flash across the white ground before him. Startled, Harper’s hand went for the holstered gun on his right hip. Then he realized what had spooked him. Four black wide-winged vultures circled above him.
They knew how close their next meal was.
Instinct had alerted them to the fact that there were two big meals getting closer and closer to their demise. They only had to wait as the hot thermals kept them floating above the horse and its owner. They had time to wait. Plenty of time to wait for such substantial meals.
Harper sighed heavily.
His thoughts returned to how he had found himself in this perilous place. He realized that if he had not run away from the guns which had tried to end his existence, he would not be in this unknown land. He would already be dead. Dead from lead poisoning.
Yet would that be any worse than this?
He was angry. If he had just taken the time to ensure his canteen was filled he might not be walking alongside a dying horse. But there had not been any time to do anything except flee the guns.
Harper staggered and heard the horse behind him do the same. Neither found the soft sand to their liking.
Harper could use his gun as well as if not better than most along the unmarked border, but he had never chosen to fight if there were an alternative. Now he doubted whether that had been wise. He should have killed all those who had tried to kill him.
But that had never been his way.
He tried to swallow but their was no spittle left to wet his throat. The dunes of sand rose in all directions like mysterious yellow mountains: mountains that seemed to move as if they actually were alive.
All the man could do was walk beneath them in the hope that their shadows would ease his and his horse’s pain.
For nearly two days he had ridden.
For nearly two days they had chased him.
With every stride Harper asked himself the same question. Why had those men back in Senora opened up on him? He had barely been in the town thirty minutes when they had sought him out in the small cantina.
Somehow he had managed to escape their bullets. He had managed to leap through a window, find his horse, and then he had spurred.
But they had chased him.
Like hounds on the scent of a racoon they just refused to quit.
They chased him further and further south until the grass had ended and even the sagebrush no longer grew. Chased him into the endless dunes of sand and kept on coming.
Harper gave a sigh and led the slow horse up the side of a dune in an attempt to find a vantage point from where he might have a clue as to which direcion to take.
But tired legs, both human and animal, were not designed to walk up hills of dry sand that gave way with every step. Somehow he managed to reach the top of the dune. He carefully patted his mount on the neck and screwed up his burning eyes once more.
It was hard to see anything through the thick haze of burning air. The dunes rolled on for miles but there did seem to be something just before the horizon. The shimmering heat played tricks with Harper as he clung to his reins. It looked as though there was water out there!
Blue, inviting water.
Could there be a lake at the end of this torture? Again he tried to swallow.
Again he failed.
Could there really be water out there?
The question tormented Harper as he surveyed the rest of the land that encompassed him and his horse. Then as his unsteady legs turned him to look back over the sand he had already travelled across he felt his heart quicken.
Even the hot air could not conceal them from his burning eyes.
Five figures appeared, almost black against the arid landscape they were riding in. Harper rubbed his eyes again and focused for all he was worth at the riders, who seemed to vanish with every other beat of his pounding heart. The treacherous heat haze mocked him.
They were still chasing after him!
Or were they?
He gasped, steadied himself against the exhausted horse and gritted his teeth. It seemed impossible that anyone should keep hunting another soul through a land like this.
Were they insane? No sane man would ride into a land like this, he told himself.
Again he rubbed his eyes. Was it real or just another of the mirages that had tantalized him for the previous two days in this strange country?
Then Harper felt the heat of something pass within inches of him. The horse shied and instantly he knew what it had been. The sound of the gunfire echoed around him.
It was real.
They were still hunting him.