The gun fell.
The man collapsed.
Another rifle fired.
The bullet struck the stone beside Eli's head.
He rolled away.
Then he heard Nantan shouting.
"Stop!"
Everything froze.
The old chief stepped forward.
He raised one hand.
"We do not need more dead."
Harlan stared at him.
Then at Eli.
Then at the spring.
Something changed in his face.
Perhaps it was fear.
Perhaps it was realization.
Perhaps he finally understood that the water he wanted could not be owned by one man.
Nantan continued.
"Take your horses."
Harlan said nothing.
"Leave."
For several seconds, nobody moved.
Then Harlan slowly lowered his weapon.
He turned.
"Come on."
His men followed.
But Harlan stopped before leaving.
He looked at Eli.
"This isn't over."
Eli nodded.
"I know."
Harlan disappeared into the night.
The next morning, Eli discovered that the spring was not enough.
There were too many people.
Too many animals.
The water would sustain them for several weeks.
Maybe longer.
But the drought was continuing.
Eventually, the spring would become insufficient.
Nantan understood.
"What will we do?"
Eli studied the surrounding cliffs.
"There is another source."
Nantan frowned.
"Another spring?"
"No."
Eli pointed toward a dry riverbed.
"An underground channel."
He had discovered it years earlier but had never explored its full length.
Now he began examining the rocks.
He searched for cracks.
Mineral deposits.
Damp soil.
Vegetation.
Then he found something.
A line of dark stone beneath the sand.
He smiled.
"The water is moving."
Nantan approached.
"Where?"
"Under us."
They began digging.
At first, nothing happened.
Then one of the younger men struck something hollow.
Eli stopped him.
"Careful."
They dug deeper.
A pocket of wet sand appeared.
Then another.
Finally, water seeped upward.
The group fell silent.
It wasn't a spring.
It was an underground stream.
And it was moving toward the valley.
Eli stared at it.
"We can bring it out."
Nantan looked at him.
"How?"
"With patience."
For two days, everyone worked.
The men dug channels.
The women gathered stones.
The children carried small pieces of wood.
Eli built a crude wooden frame over the excavation.
Nantan organized the work.
Nobody complained.
They had a purpose now.
On the third day, the first trickle emerged.
On the fourth, it became a stream.
By the fifth, water was running through the channel.
The children cheered.
But Eli was not satisfied.
He looked toward the valley.
The water would disappear into the sand before reaching the surface.
They needed a basin.
A place to store it.
They built one from stone.
Then another.
Then a third.
It was exhausting work.
But slowly, the desert began changing.
Birds returned.
Animals approached.
Plants that had seemed dead began showing tiny green shoots.
The land was not healed.
Not yet.
But it was breathing again.
Then Harlan returned.