"It’s here," Laks said. "Turn the wheel . . . now!" His uncle was not inclined to do so; but suddenly it was just there, a pair of ruts in tall grass leading away into scrubby trees. They were on the dry side of the province and tall trees were rare, but here deep roots could draw off enough river water to carpet the stony landscape with stunted pines. A few moments’ drive took them to a turnaround where empty beer cans gleamed in the black scars of old campfires.