The Oasis

A shot rang out from the muzzle of the Winchester. “Maw! Look Maw! I think I winged ‘im”. Sure enough, the soaring vulture went limp then plunged like a rock to the desert floor.

“Billy, shame on you! You should know better than to do somethin’ like that. Don’t you remember that sermon by Pastor Paul last Easter? Remember, just before we joined this here wagon train and started west?”

“No, I don’t Maw. Well, maybe, sorta”.

“You musta’ been daydreamin’ again during the Sunday service”.

“I remember a little bit – somethin’ about learnin’ to live in harmony with nature”.

“That’s right Billy. Preacher Paul says we are all God’s creatures, big and small, smart and dumb”.

“But Maw, it’s just a dang buzzard, circlin’ around, lookin’ for a carcass to feed on”.

“Now Billy, they have to eat too – just like us. And besides, this is their home, we’re just passin’ thru”.

“But Maw, nobody’s gonna’ miss one stupid buzzard”.

“Billy, according to the Good Book, all life is sacred. Why does that buzzard have any less right to live on God’s earth than you or me? We’s all got to depend on each other. We’s all in this together. You and me, us and them”.

“Okay Maw, I’ll try to do better. But is it okay if I still try to shoot some dragon flies with my slingshot? That is, if’n we ever find a crick with some water in it”.

“We’ll talk about that later. Now put down that rifle and help me fetch some kindlin’ to cook our supper”.

“But Maw, there ain’t no trees ‘round here”.

“Look out over there. See it out there, just to the left of that scrub brush? Looks like pieces of an old abandoned buckboard. See if you can break off a few of the smaller pieces for a campfire. And look around the ground for buffalo chips. But don’t pick ‘em up with your hands. Take this empty axle grease bucket and push ‘em in with a stick”.

"Okay Ma".

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“Cap’n – the settlers tell me they’re runnin’ mighty low on water. The Smith wagon only has but a half water barrel left and the O’Brien’s only about as much remaining for their family”.

“Sam, tell ‘em we’re gonna have to cut back to half-rations”.

“But Cap’n, we already cut their water rations in half two days ago”.

“Can’t be helped Sam. Either we find water in the next few days or we’re all goners. We’re gonna have to take possession of the remaining water. Take the water from their wagons and put the barrels in the back of ours. If they give you any gruff, use a little persuasion with your Peacemaker. The next reliable water hole is Bridger’s Pass, and that’s five more days of hard drivin’. But I reckon we’ve only got enough water for two days – three at the most. They’ll be bellyachin’ from thirst, but I’d rather be thirsty and alive than buzzard pickins out here in this God-forsaken desert. When you’ve dun transferred the water barrels, take two canteens for yourself – that’s all we can spare. We’ll give you a half-day head start. Head towards Bridger’s Pass, but hug them foothills out there to our left. I’d guess if there’s any water to be found, that’d be where it’s at. Reckon it’s about 10 miles south to the foothills, then turn west towards the pass. Good Luck Sam”.

“I’ll light a fire if I find sum’pin. Keep your eyes peeled for smoke in the direction of them foothills. So long Cap’n”.

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As Sam embarks on his trek towards the foothills, he has plenty of time to reflect on his life experiences. I consider myself to be a reliable scout and relentless tracker, he thinks to himself, trying to bolster his confidence that if anyone can find water, he can. I honed my skills hunting for Confederates and tracking down Yankee deserters.  After the war, I drifted for awhile to mend my wounds and hope that those terrible war memories would begin to fade. Once I spent all my army pay, I signed up with a wagon train outfit heading west from St. Jo. Other than a slight limp, for my age I’m an able-bodied man. A miniball’s still lodged in my thigh. My ‘soo-van-eer from Shiloh’ I tell my friends. That miniball’s the only metal Uncle Sam awarded me for valor in battle.

It’s been a day’s ride south to the edge of the foothills. Now that I’m here, the lay of the land looks less promising than I at first glimpsed from a distance. From afar, the slight-green tint of the foothills teased that water could be present. But now that I have arrived, it looks more brown and barren – just like the expanse of desert to my right. But I’ve got to push on - the fate of the wagon train is resting on my shoulders.

On the second day after turning west, I’m beginning to doubt my own instincts. My sunburned, swollen and cracked lips ache for moisture. To keep from going stir-crazy, I start talking to myself. But even this mumbling becomes painful. Any unnecessary movement of my mouth breaks open the scabs pock-marking my lips. But in my delirium, by touching the trickling blood, I am reminded of the precious liquid for which I must keep searching. The sight of blood tells me my heart is still working. At least that part of me is still alive. I bend down and pick up a pebble and place it in my cheek. Can’t open my mouth any more than necessary or the bleeding will start again. Maybe I can work up a little saliva so my mouth will remember what water feels like. Anything to convince my mind that there’s some fluid left in this wilted body.

Drank the last drop of water four hours ago. At least I think it was four hours ago. Maybe it was four days. How the hell do I know? My brains fryin’ with fever. Every breath feels like I’m suckin’ in hot air from over a campfire. Wait. What’s that up ahead? Is that a flower I see on that cactus? Is it real, or just a mirage? Am I goin’ plum loco? Could there be water near? Half crazed with thirst, I stumble forward. Oblivious to the pain in my gimpy leg and my throbbing brain, I begin to run. Then I run faster than I ran from Johnny Reb at Shiloh. I stop at the crest of the hill just beyond the cactus. Before me is a large sinkhole the size of a horse corral. I look down from the rim. It’s water! Pure, clear, water! Sweet Jesus, its sweetwater! About 30 feet below in the center of the cratered sinkhole is a small pool the size of a cattle trough. But to me, it looks as big as a lake.

I carefully edge myself along the rim, searching for a path downward. The bowl-shaped enclosure is steep and I must be cautious. But my moisture-starved body tells me to tend to its needs as soon as possible. Just put one foot slowly in front of the other. Can’t afford any mistakes. I’ve come this far, I can surely make it down another 30 feet to that God-given pool. I extend my left leg down, reaching for the next foothold. As I shift me weight to that side, suddenly I spot a rattler shading itself from the scorching sun. In a panic, I jerk my leg and lose balance. Lunging for the closest rock, it’s too smooth for me to grasp and I begin to fall. I pitch forward, rolling and crashing into the rocks below. Finally, I come to a stop at the bottom, just 12 feet from salvation. Dazed and bruised, I run my hands over my head, but don’t feel any blood. Got to get up. Got to walk the final 12 feet to that water. But I can’t move my legs. I reach down and pinch my thighs. I can’t feel anything. Pinch harder. Nothing. I drift into unconsciousness.

After several hours, I awake to a stabbing pain in my back. Maybe my backs broke. Suppose I can crawl, it’s just 12 feet. Just two body lengths separate me from life-sustaining liquid. I claw with my fingers towards the water. It’s no use. I’m just too weak. Maybe the numbness in my legs is just temporary. Just lay here and try to sleep a little. Maybe I can regain my strength. Again, I slip into unconsciousness.

 

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