Miss Shumway Waves A Wand

“There was someone in here,” I said, gripping Ansell’s arm. “I know there was. Where did he go? Doc, hold that match up. He must be somewhere here.”

Ansell paid no attention. He bent over Myra. “She’s all right,” he said in a dazed voice.

“She’s asleep! Asleep in this stink.” He shook her gently, but she did not open her eyes.

“Wake up!” he said, shaking her more roughly. “Wake up!”

I blundered over and pushed him away. Feverishly, I pulled Myra into a sitting position. Putting my arm under her knees, I swung her off the bed.

As I did so, something happened that I can never forget. Even now, I sit up in bed sometimes in a cold sweat when I dream about it. It had all the qualities of a bad nightmare.

As I pulled Myra off the bed, I felt something trying to get her away from me. It was as if Myra had become suddenly heavy and I couldn’t quite hold her any more. It was as if two long arms were holding my legs so that it was difficult to walk.

But, I struggled on somehow and yelling to Bogle to get the horses, I came reeling out into the sunshine holding Myra tightly against me.

Bogle had scrambled to his feet. His eyes, like poached eggs, showed his panic “What’s the matter?” he croaked.

Ansell shot out of the hut, white to the lips. He came running over to me and when he could get his breath he stammered: “Let me look at her.”

“You leave her alone,” I said. “You’ve done enough already. Here, Bogle, hold her while I mount.” I climbed up on to my horse and Bogle hoisted Myra on to the saddle.

“What’s the matter with her?” Bogle said. There was a note of anxiety in his voice.

“I don’t know,” I said, wheeling away from him. “Let’s get out of here. If I have any more of this stink, I’ll go crazy.”

Kicking my horse into a canter, I rode out across the broad plateau. Ansell and Bogle followed closely behind me.

Once clear of the Indian village, I pulled up in the last of the shade before crossing the plateau. I slid to the ground, supporting Myra and made her as comfortable as I could under a tree.

“Take a look at her, Doc,” I said uneasily, holding her warm hand in mine.

Ansell came and knelt beside me, while Bogle gathered the bridles of our horses and stood uneasily, shifting from one foot to the other.

“What’s the matter with her?” I asked. “Do something, will you?”

Ansell took her pulse, raised her eyelid and sat back on his heels. “She’s in some kind of trance,” he said slowly. “We’ll have to get her to bed as quickly as we can. There’s nothing I can do here.” He looked at her again and scratched his chin. “She’s quite normal. Pulse good, breathing regular.” He shook his head. “We’ll have to go on. The risk of sunstroke’s too great out here.”

“What’s been happening?” I said. “Why is she like this? What’s the explanation?”

Ansell stood up. “I don’t know. It’s no use talking now. We’ve got to get her back to the inn.”

I picked her up again. “Do you think she’ll stand the journey?”

“Don’t worry, man. I tell you there’s nothing the matter with her. She’s in a hypnotic trance. She’ll wake up in a few hours.”

I looked at him searchingly, saw the worried look in his eyes and I felt a chill of despair. “I hope you’re right,” I said and gave her to him to hold while I mounted.

The journey across the plateau was hard going. The beat cut into us and I found Myra’s weight exhausting, but we made it at last.

Myra was still unconscious when we reached the inn.

Bogle said uneasily: “I don’t like seeing her like that even though she’s a sour puss. It don’t seem natural.”

While he was helping me dismount, Ansell went on in and called the innkeeper. He came out in a few minutes. “They’re getting a room ready for her,” he said. “Bring her up. I’ll show you where it is.”

The innkeeper’s wife was waiting in a small, quiet room which was cool and shady and flowers stood on a table by the window.

I put Myra gently on the bed. “Look after her,” I said to the woman. “Get her to bed.”

Leaving Ansell to help the woman, I went downstairs and joined Bogle on the verandah. I ordered two large beers and then sat down a little wearily on the iron bench by Bogle’s side.

“Think she’ll be all right?” Bogle asked.

I was surprised at the concern in his voice.

“I guess so,” I said, not feeling much like talking. “I don’t know.”

There was a pause, then Bogle said: “What do you think was in that hut?”

I mopped my face and neck with my handkerchief. “I haven’t thought about it,” I returned shortly, because I didn’t want to think about it.

He fidgeted for a moment. “You don’t believe that witchcraft stuff Doc was talking about, do you?”

“Hell, no!”

He seemed relieved. “Do you think she’s got the snake-bite dope?”