He was alone. His camp was a spot on the huge landscape. The sun hovered above. Its heat cracking the ground white. Killing plants and grass, making trees black skeletons – good for firewood. Rabbit traps lay tangled, the tent, the tall white freezer, the petrol drums and garbage – all were scattered. Funny place for a camp. But Joe had been getting rabbits there, in the desert, for more than a year. They were burrowed in the sandhills. They came out at night.