I looked at him, but he wouldn’t meet my eyes. “You’re lying, Doc,” I said evenly. “You’re as scared as I am. Only you haven’t got the guts to admit it. Something happened in that hut that killed the old Indian. Some power of evil’s loose. I felt it behind me all across the plateau. Just like someone was trying to get her away from me. Just like someone’s hands were pulling her out of the saddle.”
Bogle dropped his glass. “Wadjer mean?” he gasped, his eyes bolting out of his head.
“I wish I knew,” I said, kicking back my chair. “I’m going up to see her.”
I found Myra lying in bed. A small electric fan whirred busily just above her head and the blind was drawn against the hot afternoon sun.
I drew up a chair. As I sat down, she opened her eyes and blinked lazily.
I said: “Hello.”
A puzzled frown knitted her brow and she raised her head, looking at me. “Hello,” she said.
“What are you doing in here?”
“Oh, I just looked in,” I said, smiling at her. “You feeling all right?”
She pushed down the sheet and raised herself on her elbows. She was wearing a pair of Ansell’s pyjamas. They were a lot too big for her.