It was cool in the cockpit, but that would change. The sun was rising higher in the sky. Its rays would kill things and then bring them back to life again. Frank left the plane and loaded his pack with water. It was a long distance, but he could follow the dirt road to the highway. The weight on his back caused him to wonder why anybody would load their plane with sand. It didn’t make sense.
Frank walked towards the asphalt artery. The dust from his footsteps blew in the breeze causing him to sneeze. Clearing his sinuses also cleared his brain because he had one thought; and he knew what was in the bags. Gold. Lots of it. Too much to carry. And he was in the middle of the desert, the worst place for carrying needless weight. Frank had to check his imagination before his hopes floated too high. Gold fever grabbed him, before he’d even seen it. He made it to the plane, opened the hatch and pulled at one of the sacks. It tore like tissue paper and gold poured over his hands like heavy money. He knew what the airstrip circled on the map probably was—Eldorado.
There were dozens of sacks. Just one bag was several pounds to carry, but he couldn’t help himself, adding the weight to his pack. Frank left the plane for the second time, carrying twice the load and feeling twice as light. Gold had found him, rather than him finding the gold, and that is the best way. Now he was hoping the highway was closer than he remembered. It was minutes in the sun that felt like hours. Frank followed his shadow, telling himself that he would not be beaten by the determined figure that was plodded along beside him. And on the horizon, he saw it moving, a blur that let out a roar. Frank pulled his orange gun from his pocket and shot it into the air with a prayer, despite him not being a praying man, and the steel beast stopped.