"Dillon!"
He whirled around. "Cass! What's the matter?"
"I ... don't know. Woozy. I feel woozy." He staggered, and fell forward, unconscious.
"Cass!" He bent over the man, and turned him over. Cassidy's face was white, and the sweat rolled off in rivulets. Dillon felt for a pulse, and then pulled out a stethoscope. Baring the other's chest, he listened for a beat.
"What is it, Dillon?" asked Bila. "What is wrong?"
"I don't know. He's sick." He looked worried.
"Sick?" The natives stared at each other, unbelieving.
"Yes, sick! Earthmen get sick too, you know!" He bared Cassidy's arm, and swabbed it clean. Then he pressed home the needle he had prepared for the woman.
"He will get well?" asked Bila.
"I don't know." Dillon felt for a pulse again. Disbelief washed over his face, and he sank back on his heels.