Pegasus looked down on the lonely wanderer trekking the blackness of the desert night. Jack trudged on, always hopeful that the next rise would reveal salvation, but it never came. He began to question himself, his decision. He thought of the bed in the back of Boots’s cabin, of Laura sleeping soundly, and longed to take off his shoes and crawl in bed with her. To experience the feeling of a long sleep. But the sagebrush proved a poor bed, and so he kept walking.
As he crested the ridge, he saw in the starlight a dry creek bed running off into the distance a hundred feet below him. He gazed with wanting eyes at the former home of a running river. His mouth yearned for just a taste of liquid, anything to beat the heat he was feeling.
He started the descent into the valley, recalling the hunting expedition with Boots. Yes, he would have even welcomed the old man into his company right now. The loneliness of this adventure, and the uncertainty of how it would turn out, made Jack long for a guide. Someone to lead him home. Anyone.
His thoughts jolted when his foot slid out from beneath him. The rocks below broke away and he clawed at the ridge wall. Kicking and scratching, Jack fought against the mini rock slide, trying to get a foothold but found none. He slid, and tumbled down.
Rolling, he could feel rocks hitting every part of his body. His back, his face, his back again. Jack slammed into the valley floor and laid spread out, his face in the dirt. It felt as if he had been beaten with a pillowcase filled with bars of soap. He tried to lift his head but couldn’t, the fatigue and the beating had taken all his energy. He simply closed his eyes and passed out.