Double

“Not anymore. Leonard Matthews built it back in the thirties. Crazy as a coot. Owned the Matthews Gypsum Mine not far away, up in the foothills; built the spur track, too, to get his ore to Plaster City — it used to connect with the old Gypsum Mining Railroad that runs down there. Mine petered out after the war, but Matthews stayed on until he died. Must have been thirty years ago, about.”

“Who owns the house now?”

“Nobody, far as I know. Sits up in the middle of nowhere, looks like a toadstool. Who’d want it? Not many people as crazy as old Matthews was, even these days.”

“Where is it, exactly?”

“You know where the U.S. Gypsum Mine is?”

“No.”

“How about Split Mountain Road?”

“No.”

“Well, you can’t miss Split Mountain; it’s smack in the middle of Ocotillo Wells. You know where that is?”

“Not far from here on Highway 78, isn’t it?”

“That’s right. You take Split Mountain past the Elephant Tree Ranger Station, almost to where it ends at the U.S. Gypsum Mine. There’s a dirt road branches off it to the south, up into the foothills. Follow that about seven miles and you’ll be at the old Matthews place.”

“Thanks.”

“You planning to go out there this time of day?” he asked.

“Yes. Why?”

“Better take some water with you, just in case,” he said. “That’s empty desert up around there and hotter’n the hinges of hell. Something happens and you get caught without water, you might not come back alive.”

41: McCone

I was lying on my right side, arm folded under me. Sharp objects poked into my flesh. My arm tingled painfully. I moved off it, moaning with the effort, and opened my eyes.

My cheek was pressed against the sandy ground. I was staring at the roots of a low green shrub that had a whitish sheen, as if it had been dusted with flour. I tried to push myself up and found my arm was nearly numb. Rolling over on my back, I looked up through tree branches at the sky. It was clear blue, and little patterns of sunlight shone through the dark tracery. Sunlight that slanted from the left.

My lips were badly cracked and dry. I opened my mouth and tried to lick them, but my tongue was even dryer. It was very hot, and I hurt all over. What had happened?

Images flickered in my mind. Sand... a rocky wash... a high outcropping... hills... trees in the distance...

The desert. I had run across the desert in the blazing heat. And got lost.

Something rustled in the dry shrubbery near me. A rattlesnake? Alarmed, I sat up, my body aching, and looked around. I was lying at the edge of a dry water hole in the shade of a clump of stunted desert willows. Their branches were gray and brittle-looking, because there was no water...

My thirst came back full force, along with a dull pounding in my head. My eyes ached as I studied my surroundings.

I was at the bottom of a shallow wash filled with dormant vegetation. The water hole’s bottom was sun-cracked, without even a trickle of moisture. It was very hot, but nothing like what I’d experienced running through the sand. The slight drop in temperature and the shade from the trees had probably saved my life, slowing the rate of my dehydration so I’d regained consciousness.

From the angle of the sun’s rays, I could tell it was sinking. The desert would cool off after dark. Perhaps then I could cross the wastes once more and find my way to civilization.

But there was not much chance of that. For one thing, I knew I couldn’t travel any farther without water. For another, when it was dark I would run the risk of becoming even more disoriented. I knew nothing about the moon or constellations that would help me chart my course. My only real chance was to get to high ground now, while it was still light, to see if I could spot the water tower and the road. That was what I should have done before, but fear, exhaustion, and thirst had clouded my thinking.

Shakily I got to my feet and moved up the slope to the rim of the wash. About a hundred yards off to the west was a rocky outcropping. If I could get to the top of it and pinpoint the old water tower or the utility lines along Split Mountain Road, I could move in the straightest line to Elephant Tree Ranger Station.

A sudden wave of dizziness swept over me. I closed my eyes, waiting for it to pass. And knew beyond a doubt that I’d never get to those rocks if I didn’t have water.

When I opened my eyes, I began looking at the plants around me, trying to remember my high-school biology field trips. This vegetation might look dead, but in actuality it was only dormant, waiting for the return of the life-giving moisture. Many plants stored water. But did any of these? No.

What I needed was a barrel cactus. And what I saw, on the other side of the wash, leaning toward a path of sun that streamed through the tree branches, was one of the cylindrical, spine-studded plants. To me, it was as good as finding a lake.