Unit 5: Lesson 21

Now, as Billy started moving again, Francis picked up the pace, pushed them as hard as they could stand it and then harder, and Lottie didn’t have breath left to speak.

There hadn’t been a breath of wind to blow the dust over the brush marks he’d left, and undoubtedly they had men who were good trackers, men who were alive because they could track mice over rocks.

“Water.” Francis was so dry he croaked. “Dig down and let it seep in.”

There were also stands of salt cedar, thick and green, and while no water was evident the streambed seemed moist.

But luck was the major factor in the plan.

He knew this was a vain hope.

They had seen many mirages—images of trees and water that were not there.

Lottie shuffled ahead, carrying Francis’s bag.

But it was growing rapidly, the wind bringing it from the west, and as it grew and rose he could see that it was the top edge of a thunderhead.
It didn’t look like salvation, not at first.

It was a meandering dry streambed with a row of stunted but leafy cottonwoods on each side.