They couldn’t just sit where they were, with no food and almost no water—some of the men had canteens, but many didn’t. Many had relied on leather pouches, which had burnt or burst in the fire. Finally, after three hours, Caleb stood up. “Well, we’re no worse off than old Coronado,” he said, and started walking west. The men followed slowly, afraid of scorching themselves. The plain was dotted with wands of smoke, drifting upward from smoldering plants. Call was not far behind Caleb—he saw Caleb reach down and pick up a charred jackrabbit that had been crisped coming out of its hole. Caleb
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