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store we looked down the dirt road. The sun was straight over head making no shadows. This was a dirt road where cowboys did shoot outs and we were in a real western town, Clifton. We made our calculations, hot, no cars, and no Mexican kids. We hoped they were eating their lunch and our chances would be good they wouldn't be looking for us. The next half-hour our thirst grew, and the assumed danger had decreased. Houses on one side of the street, the hill on the left, the store at the end. The road was clear. We had five Coke bottles between us. This was the tricky part, running with glass bottles. We were more concerned about breaking the bottles and loosing our two cents then cutting ourselves with broken glass. We were copper mining for two cents apiece and a cold Coke to share.

The hills behind my grandmother's house were next to explore. Rocks were the only things that could live on this heap of brown earth. Our walks around those hills were without water, hats or sunscreen. We were on our own in the hot sun. In the afternoon the temperature could easily reach over one hundred degrees. Our skin would turn red and then in a few days turn dark. The more sunburns we got, the less sun burned our skin became. Climbing the hills was not easy with our leather-soled shoes because they would slip on the rocks. We hiked the hills looking for bones. We talked about what we would do if we ever found a body. The west was full of stories of how miners would die of thirst and beside him laid all the gold he searched so hard to find. Hours were spent going over the hills, looking down dry washes always being careful that a flash flood was

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