noon
Not a man but was dying of thirst ; no pool or stream or well anywhere along the road . A wave of dust rose from the white , wild sides of a small canyon , swayed mistily on the hoary crest of huizache trees and the greenish stumps of cactus . Like a jest , the flowers in the cactus opened out , fresh , solid , aflame , some thorny , others diaphanous . At noon they reached a hut , clinging to the precipitous sierra , then three more huts strewn over the margin of a river of burnt sand . Everything was silent , desolate . As soon as they saw men on horseback , the people in the huts scurried into the hills to hide . Demetrio grew indignant .