Long glanced around and was pleased to at least see the first archer’s horse. It had walked over to the rocks and was using them as a shield against the cold wind. Best of all, it did not look like it had any intention of running off like the other two horses had.
Long pushed himself to his feet and staggered toward the stubby Mongolian horse. He remembered the attacker saying the previous night that his horses knew their way to Tunhuang blindfolded. Long hoped this was true. While it would certainly be a shorter journey for him to ride the horse back to DingXiang’s outpost, he was determined to complete his goal of meeting with Xie.
Long reached the horse and found it to be quite friendly. He led it to a rock outcropping that provided better protection and secured it. He was about to look for his water skins when he heard a low moan. It did not sound like anything he had ever heard before, and he remembered the camel. It was still alive.
Long frowned, hating what he had to do next. He checked the thief’s saddlebag and found the pistol that had been pointed at him the previous night. It was loaded with a single shot, and he used it to put the poor camel out of its misery.
Next he walked over to where he had last seen his water skins, and his heart sank. The containers had all been trampled, their contents emptied.
Averting his eyes from the three dead thieves, Long sighed and looked at the sky. It would be dark sooner than he had realized. Powerless to do anything more, he walked back to the rocks and curled up next to the horse, willing himself to sleep. However, with the darkness came a cold unlike any he had experienced.
The rocks did little to keep the frigid swirling winds at bay, and by the time the moon rose, Long was shivering uncontrollably. He knew that if he did not do something, he would freeze to death. He needed better shelter, but the only thing he could think to use was the camel.
Long stood and stretched his tight muscles as best he could with his injured side before heading over to the carcass. The camel had only been dead a few hours, but it was already as rigid and cold as the stone Long had been lying on. He had heard stories of desperate people who had gutted an animal and slept inside its body cavity to protect themselves from sandstorms or insurmountable winter winds, but there was no way he could bring himself to do that.
This left Long with only one option—skinning the beast. Or at least, skinning a section of it. He doubted he would need the entire hide.
Long reached for the knife in its sheath, then remembered that it was no longer there. He swallowed hard and headed for the fallen second archer. He removed the knife from the man’s throat, trying hard not to think about what he had done, and returned to the camel.
He had never skinned an animal before, and the hide was much tougher than he had expected. Working by moonlight made the task even more tedious. It took him nearly an hour to remove an area from the camel’s back and sides large enough to wrap himself in. One benefit of all this activity was that he had warmed enough to at least stop shivering. On the other hand, his wound began to drip blood again, sapping his strength.
With the section of hide cut free, Long proceeded to scrape as much fatty tissue as possible from the skin with his knife. Then he carried his heavy camel-hair blanket over to his earlier resting place beside the horse, spread the hide out skin side down upon the rock, and collapsed into it.
The camel hair was dusty, but it was surprisingly soft and thick. He eased over to one end, gripped a corner, and rolled himself into the hide, taking great care to not disturb his wound. Warmer and more secure than he’d thought possible, he closed his eyes and went to sleep.
The sun was high the next day when Long emerged from his camel-hair wrap. He checked the arrow shaft in his side and found that the area was incredibly sore but scabbing over. He was thirsty and began to seriously consider heading back to the outpost. After all, trying to cross a section of desert in two or three days without water could easily mean death. There were also the horse’s water needs to consider.
He thought of the Supreme Rule of Three. A person can survive three weeks without food, three days without water, and three minutes without air. The question was, how far did he want to push his luck?
Long remembered pulling the pistol from a saddlebag the day before, but he had not bothered to pay attention to whatever else was inside the bag. He opened it, and to his astonishment found two small water skins tucked beneath a bag of pistol bullets, the man’s powder horn, and a coil of rope. He discarded the bullets and powder and raised one of the water skins to his lips.
He drank the entire thing and found that he was still thirsty. He consumed half of the second skin and gave the rest to the horse from his cupped hands.