"In the next room; he's very ill."
"What's the trouble?"
"Radiation sickness. A very bad case. Very painful. I have to keep him under drugs constantly."
"Why didn't you let his friends know?" My voice was angry and my anger was genuine.
"You see, Mr. Carlson, we are out of the world here. We have no telegraphic station just around the corner." He smiled an irritating, sarcastic smile.
My blood boiled. I wanted to jump him then and there, but his fingers were caressing the trigger of the rifle. "How did it happen?"
"Doctor MacRoberts and I were tracing a radioactive deposit. Without the necessary precautions he handled the ore for long periods of time. Fearfully careless." Chetzisky shook his head with the "tsk-tsk" air of a Chemistry teacher deprecating the clumsiness of a freshman student in the lab.
My brain tried to formulate a plan of action. But there should be two Indians. Where the devil was the other? I had to know before I went into action.
My head turned sharply. Several groans mounting into shrill cries came from the other room. "May I see him?" I asked, rising.
"You may. Go right in, Mr. Carlson."