The copper colored sun beat down on the vast level expanse of arid desert. Heatwaves rose from the alkaline sand, and shimmered above the three men and their exhausted horses, like the blast from a hot oven. Two of the men looked miserable, sweat mixed with the dust of travel was caked and streaked on their faces. Their eyes were bloodshot, and their lips were dry and cracked. Their tongues were thick and their throats parched and raw. It had been hours since they'd emptied their canteens. The third man, however, seemed quite at ease in the scorching heat of noon. He wasn't troubled by the heat or lack of water. It had often been said that Dude Farnsworth had ice-water in his veins.