"If this is a rusty Mrs. Pemberton put you up to…"

Galloway met Pemberton's eyes. He lifted the black plug of tobacco to his mouth and used his index finger to tuck the wad behind his back molars. Only then did Galloway speak.

"It ain't no rusty."

Galloway brushed a few loose stems of the tobacco off his jeans but made no move to get up. He looked into the spring as if searching for something.

"I'd be of a mind to get on up there if I was you," Galloway said. "Won't be too long before the meadow starts to shadow up. Soon as it happens that panther will start making his way out of the park."

Galloway squirted a brown stream of tobacco juice into the spring and stood.

"When you get up there, I'll hand you your gun. It'll be easier that way."

Pemberton studied the outcrop, imagining foot and hand placements. There appeared to be no other way. He gave the rifle to Galloway and climbed up on the smaller rock, raised his left hand to grip the ledge top's surface. He put his full weight on the rock to make sure it was steady, then placed one boot toe in the crevice. As Pemberton lifted the other foot, he raised his right hand and placed it beside the left. Pemberton took a deep breath and kicked his right leg over the outcrop and rolled onto the ledge, arms spread outward so that he turned over only once, faced the sky.

A buzzing filled the air, and Pemberton first thought he'd disturbed a hornet's nest. He felt a stinging in his calf and raised his head to see a rattlesnake retracting into its coil. Three other snakes coiled less than a yard from where he lay, filling the air with their warnings. One of the snakes lunged and Pemberton felt its fangs strike his boot, snag a moment, and pull free. Then he was rolling off the ledge, hitting first the smaller rock and then the ground and then sliding and tumbling farther down the ridge. Pemberton stalled his descent a moment by clutching a sapling, but the roots jerked free from the thin soil and he continued tumbling downward until level land and mountain laurel stopped him.

Pemberton did not move as he waited for his body to tell him what damage had been done. His left ankle throbbed, and one glance at its odd angle told him the ankle was broken. Two, maybe three ribs were cracked as well. The hunting knife had opened a deep gash in his arm. Pemberton told himself he would be all right, but at that moment the venom that coursed through his veins announced itself, and not just in the leg. He could taste the poison in his mouth, though Pemberton couldn't understand how this was possible.

He stared upward, and for a moment Pemberton had the sensation that he was actually falling away from the earth and toward the sky. He closed his eyes. When he reopened them, he felt the earth solid beneath him. Pemberton raised his arm and saw the bleeding had not stopped. But at least not an artery, he told himself. Pemberton took a handkerchief from his back pocket and pressed it against the gash. The cloth quickly saturated, so he took a pair of wool socks from his jacket and pressed them against the wound. The socks were soon blood-soaked as well, but when he removed them the bleeding had lessened.

He touched his jacket pocket tentatively. The knife was still there, though its blade had cut hilt-deep through the lining. Pemberton placed his right hand inside the pocket, let his palm cover the elk-bone handle. He found the knife handle's solidity reassuring and did not loosen his grip.

A long time passed before Galloway made his way down the ridge and stood above him. The highlander seemed content to stand and gawk for the rest of the afternoon. Pemberton let go of the knife and pulled himself to a sitting position.

"You're about tore up as a fellow can get," Galloway said. "Lost a lot of blood too from the looks of it."

"Help me up," Pemberton said, and held out his arm.

Galloway lifted Pemberton to his feet, but once up the poisoned leg and broken ankle made it impossible for him to stand without help. Galloway put his arm around Pemberton's waist.

"Get me into the meadow."

Galloway helped him through the mountain laurel and onto the open ground, eased Pemberton into a sitting position amid the broom sedge.

"A rattlesnake bit me," Pemberton said.

He pulled up his right pant leg. Just above the boot, two small holes broke the skin, the flesh puffy and streaked red around the punctures. The taste of venom lingered in his mouth while sweat seemed to seep from every pore in his body. A tingling began in his fingers and toes, and Pemberton wondered if the bite caused this as well. Galloway squatted beside Pemberton and peered closely at the bite mark.

Pemberton took the hunting knife from his jacket and cut the pant leg from the thigh all the way through the cuff. The cloth fell away like a loose layer of skin.

"Won't do much good," Galloway said. "That poison has done got in your veins."

"I might get some of it out," Pemberton said, and pressed the blade tip on the bite mark.

Galloway placed his hand over Pemberton's.

"Let me cut. I done it before."

Pemberton released the knife and Galloway lifted the blade from the flesh. He studied the wound, then probed around it with the knife tip.

"Cut, damn it," Pemberton said.

Galloway methodically cut an X across the bite. He cut deep. Too deep, Pemberton suspected.

"That snake got you good," Galloway said as he raised the knife from Pemberton's flesh. "Sometimes they'll dry bite you, but this one's give you the full dose."

The two men stared at the leg as it continued to redden and swell. Pemberton remembered how Jenkins' leg had blackened and begun to stink. But he was a bigger man than Jenkins, and that would help dilute the poison. For the first time since he'd seen the snake on the ledge, Pemberton realized how dire the situation could have been. If he'd rolled onto several of the rattlesnakes or hadn't reached for the sapling, he could be dying, if not already dead. Pemberton felt a sudden heightened aliveness, the same as when he'd survived Harmon's bowie knife and the bear's teeth and claws. What he'd felt most of all that moment he and Serena held each other outside the burning house. Even the pain in his belly and leg and arm could not dim his euphoria.

Galloway wiped the blade on the tote sack. He laid the knife on the cloth and squatted. Pemberton knew some said you needed to suck the poison out, but he couldn't do it and damned if he'd let Galloway's rotten mouth try. Instead, Pemberton pressed the skin around the wound, squeezing out as much blood as possible. He stripped the leather bootlace from the eyelets and tied a tourniquet above the kneecap. Even without the lace, the right foot was so swollen that he had to turn and twist the boot to get it off. When Pemberton finally freed the boot from his foot, he peeled off the sock as well. He touched his foot, and the skin appeared ready to split open like fruit swollen past ripeness. His stomach felt as if he'd swallowed a bottle of lye. Galloway squatted nearby, his eyes on Pemberton, attentive.

"I won't be able to walk out of here," Pemberton said, and felt a wave of chills ripple through his body.

"And I couldn't haul you out even if I had a mind to," Galloway said.

Pemberton's temples ached as if gripped by metal tongs. The taste of the venom intensified and his stomach spasmed.

"Damn stomach," Pemberton gasped, then paused a moment. "I'd not think a snake bite would cause that."

"It don't," Galloway said. "I reckon that sandwich is what's bothering your guts."

Galloway didn't look at Pemberton as he spoke. He looked west toward the park land.

"You're gonna be in this meadow a while."

"Where's my rifle?"

"Guess I left it up there at the cliff rock," Galloway said.

Pemberton cursed.