Cassie cleaned the supper dishes as best she could with sand, and stored them in one of the packs. They were running low on water, so it was a dry camp. Would they reach Ashley tomorrow? Were the Indians still following?
Bordeaux paused beside Pete and spoke to him for a moment before he strolled over to join Cassie.
"Grab some canteens and come with me," he said. "I'll show you where we can get some water."
They emptied all the water into four canteens and took four empty ones with them. Each carrying two canteens, a rifle and a lantern, they started off into the long shadows of the sand dunes.
Not far from the camp, they reached a rock outcropping. Cassie tugged at Bordeaux's sleeve. "Why didn't we camp here?"
He cupped his hand to her ear so she could hear over the howl of the rising wind.
"The wildlife out here depends on the water hole. Camping too close deprives the animals of their share. We're close enough, and our campsite will give us a little protection from the coming storm."
Bordeaux paused and lit the lantern. Then he led her into the cave. About 10 feet back into the cave, water oozed from the wall, slowly dripping into a small rock pool. It took them over an hour to fill all the canteens. All the while the wind was rising.
With the canteens full, they started for the cave entrance and then stopped. Even if it hadn't been dark, visibility would have been less than a few feet. The white sand blowing around looked like a Texas blizzard. Bordeaux tugged her away from the entrance.
"We'll have to stay here until it lets up."
She caught her breath and stared up at him. "But what about the others?"
"They'll be fine. This isn't the first dust storm you've been through, is it?"
"No." She shivered. It was cold in the cave. Baked by day and frozen by night. What a climate. She could hardly wait to get back to Texas. Home? She felt suddenly overwhelmed by loneliness. What was there to go back to? A home with bittersweet memories - a home she could no longer have? Sure, there were other places to live, but nothing would be like the valley where she had spent her childhood. The creek where the whippoorwills nested, the rolling hills of wild flowers, and the soothing sound of meadow larks - they were all the sights and sounds of a happy childhood. What could her father have seen in that saloon girl to make him leave so much behind?
She must have let her shoulders droop, or maybe it was her trembling body. In any case, Bordeaux slipped a comforting arm around her shoulder.