“How’s it been feeling?” she asked, examining the hives that littered his upper body and thighs.
“Could be better,” Dean replied, wincing as she probed at a small cluster on his ribs. “At least I don’t have any on my balls, which would drive me crazy, or too many on my face. If they were near my eyes…”
“Yeah, that could be tricky,” Mildred replied in a distracted tone. “Tell me—and be honest—how have you been feeling?”
“Like I said, they don’t itch too much, and they’re manageable—”
“I didn’t mean the hives,” Mildred cut in, with her voice showing an underlying concern. “Tell me if you’ve been feeling unclear or drowsy.”
Dean propped himself up on one elbow, meeting her steady gaze. “I haven’t had anything like that. What’s this about?”
Mildred paused for a moment before replying. “It could be that I’m worrying unnecessarily, but the injections I’ve had to give you for this allergy can lead to symptoms that would affect your concentration. And—”
“And the last thing we need right now is me letting anyone down because I’m not triple alert at the right time,” Dean interjected. When Mildred assented, he continued. “Honestly, I haven’t had anything like that. If I had, I would have come straight to you because I was worried. The last thing I want to do is set myself or anyone up for a chilling because of a bunch of horse fleas.”
Mildred nodded. “Okay, I believe you on that. But I had to check. Still, you won’t have to worry about that anymore, because we’ve just run out of injections. All we can do now is eke out the cream and hope for the best. There may be enough residual of the drug in your system to keep the irritation to a minimum, but it may get unpleasant from here.”
Dean shrugged. “This place is already a pesthole, so I guess I can live with it—as long as we can clear this up quickly.”
“Lord, don’t we all want that.” Mildred sighed.
Sentiments that were echoed not just by the rest of the companions. Shortly before they were due to begin their patrol, they were joined by Crow, who had ridden in on the sec camp supply wag, bringing food from Salvation.
“What brings you here?” Ryan asked the Native American as he walked across the compound to them. Despite his apparently friendly greeting, there was an undertone to the one-eyed man’s voice that suggested he was less than pleased to see Baron Silas’s right-hand man.
Crow smiled, slow and easy, and replied in a manner that suggested he was only too well aware of Ryan’s attitude. “Well, I was just heading out this way to catch me some sun, and I thought it might be good to drop in and see how you’re all doing. No, you know why I’m here. Baron Silas got Myall’s report and wants to know more.”
“There’s little more to tell,” Ryan replied. “Mebbe we’ll find out more tonight. Mebbe whoever it is will come back and try to finish the task.”
“Mebbe,” Crow replied with a thoughtful nod. “I figured that was how it was. But the baron’s more nervous than a virgin first time around. Mind if I ride with you? Mebbe I can report back then and let you guys get on with it.”
Ryan glanced at his fellow riders. There seemed to be no dissent, so he replied, “Okay, get a horse. We’re about to leave.”
Joined by the Native American, the sec party rode toward the workers’ camp. In answer to Crow’s unasked but obvious question, Ryan told him of their fight the previous night.
“If they want trouble, they can have it. Mebbe it’ll give us some clues. But as far as I can tell, all they want to do is beat shit from each other and blame each other for the trouble at the well. We’ll see.”
They didn’t have to wait long. The Haigh sector was quiet as usual, the dour ville men keeping themselves to themselves, but as they entered the sectors where Running Water and Water Valley crossed with Hush, they found that they were riding into a full-scale battle.