I returned to the creek to find that it had been reduced to stagnant pools and petty puddles. It reminded me of my own thirst. Without a direction from the writer, I forged ahead, now not only looking for answers, but for water.

Still paralleling the arid creek bed, I strayed a bit from the banks. Behind me was a squat, feeble stone wall. When I dropped my camera bag, I noticed the ground sounded hollow. Peering over the edge of the wall, I realized the stone wall was built over an opening.

I scurried through the weeds, around the wall and toward the yawning fissure. I hoped it was another cave that would relieve my chafing thirst.

I smelled damp air and rushed inside. On the floor of this tiny room was another opening filled with water – a well house!