A warrior laughed.
“We have searched every valley.”
“Then perhaps you searched the wrong places.”
The warrior lifted his rifle.
Nan-tan-lupan raised one hand.
“Lower it.”
The weapon lowered slightly.
The chief looked at Ethan.
“What do you know about finding water?”
Ethan looked down at the earth beneath his boots.
“My father taught me.”
“Was he a farmer?”
“No.”
“A miner?”
“No.”
“A hunter?”
Ethan was silent for several seconds.
“He was a man who learned to survive because nobody else was coming to save him.”
The chief's eyes narrowed.
“And you?”
“I learned to listen.”
The chief glanced at Ethan's rifle.
“Remove it from your saddle.”
Ethan did so immediately.
He placed the weapon on the ground and stepped away.
Nan-tan-lupan watched him carefully.
“You may stay tonight.”
Ethan looked surprised.
“Thank you.”
“Tomorrow, you will show us what you know.”
“And if I find nothing?”
The chief looked toward the empty basin.
“Then we will know we searched one more place before we ran out of places.”
Before sunrise, Ethan rode into the desert with two Apache scouts.
Their names were Taza and Red Hawk.
Neither trusted him.
Ethan didn't blame them.
Trust was expensive in a place where water itself had become priceless.
They rode west.
The sun was barely above the horizon when Ethan dismounted.
He crouched beside a patch of brittle brush.
He touched the leaves.
Then the soil.
He looked at the slope behind them.
Taza watched with folded arms.
“What are you searching for?”
“A mistake.”
“A mistake?”
“People think water leaves obvious signs.”
Red Hawk frowned.
“And it doesn't?”
“Sometimes it leaves signs that look like something else.”
Ethan walked farther.
He examined a line of stones.
Then a cluster of insects.
Then the remains of a plant that had died weeks earlier.
He shook his head.
“Nothing.”
They continued.
Hours passed.
The heat became brutal.
Their horses slowed.
Ethan drank less than either scout expected.
At midday, they crossed an ancient wash.
The bed was completely dry.
Taza pointed toward it.
“Nothing here.”
Ethan dismounted.
“Maybe.”
He studied the stones.
“What?”
“The wash.”
“It is dry.”
“I can see that.”
Taza frowned.
“Then why are you looking?”
“Because something used to move through here.”
He pointed to the sides of the channel.
“See the way those rocks are arranged?”
Taza looked.
“I see rocks.”
“Exactly.”
Ethan walked upstream.
Red Hawk followed.
After nearly an hour, Ethan stopped beside a small green plant.
It was barely alive.
Its leaves were thin.
Its stem was bent.
But it was green.
Ethan touched the earth around it.
Dry.
He dug with his fingers.
Dry.
He stood and stared at the hill.
Then he smiled.
“There.”
Taza followed his gaze.
“I see nothing.”
“Neither did I at first.”
The hill was mostly stone.
But at its base, two slabs formed a narrow depression.
Ethan approached.
He knelt.
Pressed his palm against the soil.
Then he stood.
“We need to dig.”
Red Hawk looked at the empty landscape.
“With what?”
Ethan pointed toward his saddle.
A shovel was tied beneath the leather straps.
They returned for it.
The first hour produced nothing.
The second produced less.
Dust.
Pebbles.
Hard clay.
Red Hawk finally threw the shovel down.
“You said there was water.”
“I said there might be.”
“You said you knew.”
“I know.”
“You are wasting our time.”
Ethan looked at the hole.
Then at the sky.
Then at the exhausted horses.
Finally, he nodded.
“You're right.”
Red Hawk reached toward his rifle.
Taza immediately caught his arm.
“Wait.”
Ethan didn't move.
“I misread the slope,” he said.
Taza stared.
“You admit that?”
“Why wouldn't I?”
“Most men would keep talking until they convinced themselves they were right.”
Ethan picked up a handful of soil.
“I've made mistakes before.”
He stood.
“We go lower.”
They moved perhaps fifty yards downhill.
Ethan began digging again.
This time the earth changed.
At first, the difference was almost impossible to notice.
The soil was darker.
Cooler.
More compact.
Ethan stopped.
He rubbed it between his fingers.
“Wait.”
He dug carefully.
The shovel struck something soft.
He removed another layer.
Mud.
Not much.
But mud.
Red Hawk dropped to his knees.
“Water?”
Ethan nodded.
They worked faster.
Their hands became dirty.
Their backs ached.
Then a tiny bead appeared on the wall of the hole.
It rolled downward.
Another followed.
Then another.
Nobody spoke.
The first stream was so thin that it could have been mistaken for sweat.
But it was moving.
Water.
Real water.
Cold water.
Taza whispered something in his own language.
Red Hawk laughed.
Then the earth gave way.
A pocket beneath the clay opened.
Water surged upward.
The three men jumped back.
For several seconds, they simply stared.
The desert had been silent for weeks.
Now it made a sound.
A small rushing sound.
A living sound.
Ethan sank onto the ground.
Red Hawk knelt and drank from his hands.