"Yeah." Brown rubbed his forehead. "The pollen gives you amnesia?"
"In the daytime, when it's active. It's phototropic—needs light. Jupiter can't have set yet, so this ought to work." Garth found another pole, speared the flower on its tip, and extended the blossom over the water. He shook the silver dust into the stream.
"It works fast. The snakes will be paralyzed in a few seconds. The current carries off the pollen, we dip up the water we need—and that's that."
Paula appeared through the bushes, glancing around warily. In the last week everyone had learned to be alert always. Lines of fatigue showed on her pale face. Red-gold hair was plastered damply on her forehead.
"Carver—"
"What's up?"
She glanced at Garth, "The men. Sampson's talking to them."
Brown's rat-trap mouth clamped tight. "That so? Sampson shoots off his mouth too much. What's the angle?"
"I think they want to go back."
Garth, dipping up water in the canvas buckets, said, "We've only three more days to go, unless we run into bad country."