"No, Crawford, no—"
Shouting it, Huerta reeled back against him. Crawford had to fight the man off and wheel that way and fire all at once. He couldn't have hit the snake anyway. It had already been in the middle of its lunge.
"I'm hit," screamed Huerta. "Crawford, I'm hit. Save me. I'll do anything. Help me!"
"Keep your head, Huerta. Quit fighting like that!"
"No, Crawford, for God's sake!" Huerta was floundering around blindly, shouting and clutching at Crawford, who tried to kick him away so he could keep the gun going. Another rattler slithered from the thickets, and he fired wildly at it.
"Huerta!" cried Merida, tearing at the man, the panic gripping her voice and twisting her face, "don't be a fool. Let him go, let him go—"
"No. Get me out! I'll do anything, Crawford, admit anything. You were right. I'm no doctor. I had two years in France and they dismissed me. The opium. There. Now. I've told you—" His babble broke off in a wild shriek. Crawford had not seen the snake strike. It fell away from Huerta's back, slithering off into the thicket. Huerta crawled toward Crawford on his hands and knees, a faint, yellow froth forming at his lips. He clutched at Crawford's legs, shouting up at him. "I'll tell you anything, please, anything. I was the one who killed Otis Rockland. Is that what you want? I knew Tarant had given him that piece of the derrotero, and I knew Otis was in that hotel room. I'd just reached him when you arrived, and I had to escape by the balcony without getting the map—"
Again his hoarse bawling broke off in a scream. His struggles had carried them both over to a thicket, and Crawford could see the same snake Huerta did, coiled almost at their feet. He tore free of the doctor's frantic hands, throwing himself back, and firing at the serpent. He tripped and fell heavily onto his back, seeing the snake jerk with the slug but reach Huerta anyway. Screaming, the doctor fought to gain his feet.
"Get me out, Crawford, get me out," he howled, pawing the writhing, thumping thing off in horror, whirling to run blindly away from it across the small opening. "It wasn't Quartel who had Whitehead try to bushwhack you that time, either. It was me. I wanted the third of the derrotero you had. And I was the one who tried to get Merida's third in the house during the bull-tailing. Please, Crawford, what more can you want? Get me out now!"
He looked like some frenzied beast, greasy black hair down over his face, froth drooling off his chin. He stumbled blindly into a mogote of chaparro prieto, and tried to turn and get out. But there must have been a nest of them in the black chaparral, and they caught him there.