“You leave her alone,” I said. “You’ve done enough already. Here, Bogle, hold her while I mount.” I climbed up on to my horse and Bogle hoisted Myra on to the saddle.
“What’s the matter with her?” Bogle said. There was a note of anxiety in his voice.
“I don’t know,” I said, wheeling away from him. “Let’s get out of here. If I have any more of this stink, I’ll go crazy.”
Kicking my horse into a canter, I rode out across the broad plateau. Ansell and Bogle followed closely behind me.
Once clear of the Indian village, I pulled up in the last of the shade before crossing the plateau. I slid to the ground, supporting Myra and made her as comfortable as I could under a tree.
“Take a look at her, Doc,” I said uneasily, holding her warm hand in mine.
Ansell came and knelt beside me, while Bogle gathered the bridles of our horses and stood uneasily, shifting from one foot to the other.
“What’s the matter with her?” I asked. “Do something, will you?”
Ansell took her pulse, raised her eyelid and sat back on his heels. “She’s in some kind of trance,” he said slowly. “We’ll have to get her to bed as quickly as we can. There’s nothing I can do here.” He looked at her again and scratched his chin. “She’s quite normal. Pulse good, breathing regular.” He shook his head. “We’ll have to go on. The risk of sunstroke’s too great out here.”
“What’s been happening?” I said. “Why is she like this? What’s the explanation?”