“Loco,” he shouted. “Hey, gang! Come look what Sandy found.”
Men came running from all directions.
“Where did you find it?” Stack demanded.
“Up there. On top of that butte.” Sandy pointed.
“Was it eating anything at the time?” Ralph snapped.
“Yes. Some plants that looked sort of like ferns, only they had little bell-like blossoms hanging from stalks in their centers.”
“Locoweed,” the Indian crowed. “Astragalus Pattersoni, Donovan calls it. Sandy, you may have found just what the doctor ordered to get John out of his pinch. I’ll get a Geiger counter. The rest of you round up some flashlights, sacks and spades. We’d better take a look at this right away.”
“What about my calf?” Sandy objected.
“Oh, stake it out somewhere and give it some water. It may recover. It’s just drugged. Indians used to chew locoweed when they went down in their kivas, you know. They said it made them see visions in which they talked to the spirits. Eat too much of the stuff, though, and you’re a goner.”
Two hours later, after having dug up most of the crater, the men tramped wearily back to camp in the light of the rising moon. The sacks they carried on their backs bulged with loads of black earth mixed with yellow carnotite crystals that made the Geiger chatter madly.