Right

It's funny. You've seen so many westerns you can't even count them, but you still can't believe that the desert goes on and on. About an hour after you turn to the right and head away from what you once thought was an oasis, you look around and see a landscape that appears to be identical to that which you've just left. How long can it possibly be to the next town? Or are you heading back toward the wagon, in which case, you'd be getting closer?
You have no clue, and debate turning back, but decide otherwise. If you're getting closer to anything, turning around would make the walk thus far in vain.
An hour later, your throat is parched, and your body feels like it weighs four hundred pounds. You're literally dragging yourself across the sand, feet fighting you, body beginning to ache. You need water, but none is in sight, nor is anything in sight save for sand and hardpan.
You stagger, falling to one knee, then fight to get back up onto both legs, then fal again.
Too weak to continue, you lay there, sun beating down on you, telling yourself that all you need is rest. A little rest, then you can continue.
So you rest, vultures watching you from above. Soon after that, they begin to circle.