“What you really should be doing is looking at the scenery,” Ammon suggested. I think he was just tired of hearing my comments: “Oh, my sweet Rhett,” “Oh, my heart,” “Oh, Rhett!” “Counting dead horses, you mean? Gotta love doing that,” I replied, barely looking up from the sand-covered pages.”
“Oh! Fourteen,” Mom shouted, and sure enough, there was yet another dried up skeleton. Half buried, its backbone was displayed prominently enough to play it like a xylophone. Its deep, dark eye sockets were surrounded by bits of brown hide, and tufts of hair still clung to its white skull.