As he stood with his horse, Benjamin Ross felt a jolt of hateful envy spike in his gut. Men were gathering their weapons, he could see the Mexican hands already mounted and waiting for Bill. Storm colored eyes watched the well dressed young woman flounce forward with her man trailing behind her. She was going to go?! Shame heated his face under the wide brim of his battered cavalry hat. One time in his life he would have not only been one of the first called, he likely would have lead a hunt for savages. Years with the Rangers had taught him about fighting and tracking the crafty devils and now it was all for naught. He could still track at least, even if he was not so nimble anymore.

[i]And just how far would you make it before the sickness hit?[/i]

Benj flinched inwardly, he had two or maybe three days worth of morphine left that he could stretch out over a week if he was careful and endured the milder symptoms. Anymore than that and he would get full blown sick. It was bad enough but on the trail after a dangerous foe it would not only bring his addiction to light it would put him and the rest at risk. That put a damper on the jealously surging inside of him. Even if Bill asked him to come with them, he was more of a liability. 

Grinding his teeth, Benj hobbled back towards the doctor’s office. He took a position just outside the door, leaning part of his weight against the wall.