COOL WATER

All day I face the barren waste
Without the taste of water, cool water
Old Dan and I with throats burned dry
And souls that cry for water, cool, clear, water.

Mary had long disappeared from Johnny's mind as his north star in the dry, arid desert, and now all he could think about was water—cool, clear pools of it.

His horse, Dan, was close to collapsing, and all Johnny could do to keep the hard-worked animal moving through the desert was to talk and sing to him so he wouldn't become further distressed from dehydration.

Keep a-movin' Dan don't ya listen to him Dan
He's a devil of a man and he spreads the burning sand with water
Dan can you see that big green tree
Where the water's running free
And it's waiting there for me and you?

"You're a good critter, Dan. Don't give up on me now, old boy," the cowboy whispered into the horse's right ear as the hot sun stung the sweat falling into his own bruised eye. Johnny knew that if Dan gave up, he would soon follow.

It had been a rough few weeks—getting injured in the infamous Red Desert of Wyoming, where he'd had to leave his partner-in-crime, Joe, to bleed out after being shot by their cowardly adversaries.

Those first few hoof-trots leaving his friend behind in the shade of a rock—having known him since childhood—were the slowest and most painful of his entire life, even more so than saying goodbye to Mary when he first set off on his dangerous adventure with Joe.

Now, before he could even think about returning to the love of his life, he needed to find water, for without it, both he would soon be joining Joe in the great beyond.

Dan's feet are sore he's yearning for
Just one thing more than water, cool, water
Like me I guess he'd like to rest
Where there's no quest for water, cool, clear, water

Johnny knew all too well the perils of the mind throwing tricks of illusion before his eyes, as if an invisible magician were pulling rabbits out of the desert in the shape of cups of water. He’d stopped more times than he could count, believing he saw water ahead for himself and Dan, only to find his hands clutching nothing but sand.

“This must be that purgatory they write about in the Bible. Though it’s hot as Hell, so it could be either, I suppose.”

The cowboy figured he probably had only a day or two left before he would have to concede defeat to the man in black. As long as he thirsted for that water, though, he felt he could resist the deathly sirens calling on him to surrender.

“Come on, Dan. We gotta catch a break by morning, I reckon. Did you say your prayers last night, fella? ’Cause I know I sure did. We’re gonna need God to forgive our sins—well, my sins—in order to get out of this desert maze alive. I can only promise I’ll do whatever’s in my power to be a better person once we get through this. If we get through this.”

But for all his rousing speeches to the horse, he sensed Dan was close to his last few clops.

“All right. We’ll stop here. No choice but to, I guess.”

There were few places to hide from the raging heat, but Johnny found a small keyhole passage in a nearby rock where Dan could shelter for a while and hopefully recover some of his depleted energy.

“Come on, old boy. If we’re gonna die out here, then at least let it be where there’s some shade, so the vultures don’t pick at our bones like scavengers.”

Exhausted and semi-delirious, Johnny sat inside the cave entrance and tried to quiet the many thoughts rushing through his mind like a gold stream—but with far less reward. Regretting his impulsive mistakes over the past year, having lost his business to a rival back home, Johnny rued choosing a criminal path to claw his way out of desperate times.

“I guess I chose the wrong path, and now I gotta pay the ferryman.”

Pulling his hat down to cover his eyes, Johnny tried to sleep his way into oblivion.

Waking up in the afterlife came as a surprise to Johnny, as everything seemed the same as before—only darker, cooler, with a bright moon shining down on the rock where he lay.

He didn’t dare approach his horse for fear of finding him dead and confirming his worst suspicions that they’d reached the end of the trail, so he remained still as a statue until he felt his mind settle.

“If I just remain here, then everything’s just about fine,” he said, aware that his mouth still felt as dry as hot sand.

Then he heard a faint sound—something familiar—though his scrambled mind failed to identify it. Concerned he’d had a stroke of some sort and lost some of his brain function, he couldn’t understand why he couldn’t find the words to describe what he was hearing.

Then it fell out of his mouth like a falling star.

“Water.”

Aware that it wasn’t just the eyes that could be deceived in the desert but the ears as well, Johnny nevertheless followed the sound toward the back of the cave, careful not to slip or fall down the slick rocks or into an old dynamited mineshaft.

Feeling his scarred hand along the warm rock, Johnny sensed he was being led more by faith now than by reason. It was unlikely there’d be any water at the back of the cave, but he had to believe in something; otherwise, it would simply be a matter of going out of his mind waiting to die like a bug on its back.

“If you’re listening, God, I want to tell you sincerely I learned my lesson. I lost my best friend to a stupid scheme of ours, and now all I want is to serve you. And Mary.”

Listening again, Johnny could hear the faint sound of a trickle, punctuated by little drops hitting the dry rock. To his mind, it was like hearing liquid gold chiming like tiny bells or a heavenly celeste.

Moving closer to the source of the sound, Johnny suddenly lost all sense of where it was and heard only silence.

“Damn thing!”

Then he felt something falling onto his hand and realised he was the one who had stopped the sound—it no longer had a place to fall except onto his arm.

Disbelieving the miracle at first, Johnny, who had learned the hard way not to get his hopes up, covered as much of the wall as he could with both hands, trying to determine whether the moisture was real or another illusion. To him, it felt like a large wet flannel, and as he hugged the wet rock, he tried to cry, but his tear ducts were as dry as the rest of his body, so he simply wailed.

Opening his mouth to receive the water like a baby drinking milk from its mother’s breast, Johnny stopped himself, remembering his water bottle. He had to save some to revive Dan—if the horse wasn’t already dead.

“I know I’m asking a lot now, God. But if you can just make sure my boy keeps going a little longer, then I’ll give him the good news about this miracle you gave us.”

Heading cautiously back toward the moonlit mouth of the cave, Johnny knelt beside his motionless steed and dug a small hole in the ground. He set his dinner bowl in it, then gently filled it with water from the cave.

“Come on, Dan. We got ourselves a miracle after all this time.”

But Dan didn’t respond to his owner’s voice or the soft sound of water pouring into the wooden bowl.

Nor to Johnny’s tears, which were now finally falling from his eyes.