In the hospital, inside a ward.
Vogel regained consciousness, his right leg swollen and distended from the rattlesnake bite, the skin near the wound ulcerated, his lower leg turning a light brown.
That leg seemed no longer part of him; moving it was difficult.
All over his body, the discomfort was indescribable, a feeling worse than death.
"Uh...huh..." Vogel's heavy breathing startled the person beside him.
Pinto, the agent who had rushed over during the night, glanced at him and called for a doctor.
The doctor came in, examined him carefully, and said, "He's not in any danger of losing his life."
Vogel on the hospital bed breathed a sigh of relief; when he was bitten, he had feared he would die.
"Lucky that it wasn't after Martin Davis's life," he couldn't speak out loud, only muttering in his mind, "Lucky, someone had already removed the rattlesnake's venom sac in advance."
