I had set out to bring Billy Rafferty to justice. I picked up Parson Edwards on the way to his congregation.

Billy bolted.  Parson shot him between the eyes.

We left him where he lay and rode on.

I  lost my sense of direction. We were heading into Devil’s Sands.

My canteen had been empty for the past five miles.

Parson took a long swig out of his canteen, then passed it to me.

My throat ached for relief, but there were only a few drops left.

“We’ve got to get to water soon, or we’re goners.” I said.

Parson replied, “I hear tell the Injuns have a secret well, somewhere up in the desert.”

 We were too far out now to turn back, and our only hope of survival was to seek out that Indian well.

Don’t know if Parson went sun looney or if he were ridiculing our sad state.

He began jabbing at me. Not with a knife, but with his Bible.

He began quoting from Psalm 65: Thou waterest the ridges thereof abundantly…Thou makest it soft with showers; thou blessest the springing thereof.”

Then Psalm 1: He shall be like a tree planted by the rivers of water…The ungodly are not so; but are like the chaff which the wind driveth away…”

By this time, I was so parched I could not even frame the words to tell him to put an end to it.

The hot sand tore at us. It burned our horses till we were at a standstill.

Then we came upon a rock in the middle of nowhere.

I slithered off from my horse. I had seen Indians cover their wells like this before.

Parson jumped over to me and together, we moved the rock. Then we dug in until we reached moist clay and spooned that out with our hands and  found water.

We gorged ourselves like the starving animals we were, till spittle flowed wildly down our beards.

Dripping, we failed to notice the darkening clouds in the sky.

Suddenly, there emerged a cloudburst, a  torrential and piercing deluge from the skies.

Only desert sand around us.  No place of refuge.

I grabbed Parson’s arms and we huddled together.

The rain kept coming and coming.

The ground, once so thirsty, erupted in puddles.

Parson began to lose his strength. Weakly, he quoted Psalm 68: Thou, O God, didst send a plentiful rain, whereby thou didst confirm thine inheritance…”

Parson now was bobbing in the waters like a gruesome black doll. As he was about to give in to the elements, he said, “Please hear my confession. Billy told me where he had hidden the money. I wanted it for myself.”

His words seemed  to ramble with the flow of water. “It was not mine to take. That money was not part of God’s inheritance.”

Finally, Parson seemed at peace as his body, once burning in the sun, floated peacefully within the devestating puddles.