Huntoon Rogers was silent after painting the sinister picture of the tragedy which a few short months before had happened in this desolate spot. He looked away across the valley to the snowy peaks in the Charleston Mountains, then back at me.
“Have you ever experienced thirst in the desert, Joe?” he asked.
“No.”
“I have. I lost sixteen pounds in one afternoon over in the Chuckwalla Mountains. I got panicky. There’s that tendency when you realize that you’re miles from water. The panic builds up dangerously and you finally lose your head altogether. I was fortunate, though; a friend found me in time. Water, when I finally could get it, was like an exquisite tonic. I could feel its effects even in my arms and legs like a cool wine as it traveled along the blood stream. Let’s go,” he ended
