It was mid spring when a band of nine riders slowly plodded along the Arizona Mexican border. The dusty prairie stretched as far as the eye could see, flat and endless. Brush, burnt from the sun’s blistering heat, filled the landscape with hazy color. Cacti were everywhere. Some hid beneath the scrubs and rocks while others stood proudly twice as tall as any of our mounts. Some were a fresh sage hue with needles so thin you could barely see them, a sharp difference to the colorful spring blossoms on their tops. Yellow, pink, orange, red, and white desert flowers were gems of color in this smoldering expanse, and far in the distance, like unmoving towers, stood the plateaus. They were the color of rust reaching up to meet the aqua sky as endless as the desert beneath. Shimmers of heat glistened on the horizon while waves of blistering warmth hit you from the cloudless sky above and the parched earth beneath. The warm wind barely stirred the stiff brush and …show more content…
The scenery flashed by in a blur of color as I clung to Chapo’s back, desperately trying to pull back on the flapping reins. I was lifted out of the saddle and then crashed back into it as Chapo jumped into a dry river bed. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a horse racing after me when suddenly something swiped against my check. Chapo raced through a row of trees long dead and darkened from years in the parched desert. I felt one branch strike me and then another. They pulled at my hair and tore through my skin with swipes and stings. I turned my head, desperate to avoid the brittle branches, and I saw Joe beyond the cage of branches racing beside Chapo yelling at me to hold