They kept low to the ground, their backs hunched, inching over the terrain. Some crept on hands and knees. They sifted sand in their fingers, overturned rocks and probed the scraggly bushes that survive in a desert. The sun battered them. Out here, they seemed to move as slowly as the hours. They sought a scrap of clothing or a fragment of bone. Some really weren't sure what to look for, but kept to the search, clinging to the faith that, somehow, when they saw it, they'd know it. So it went Saturday, in the ceaseless search for Sgt. Keith...
