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repercussion was unbelievable. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Overland’s slowly blanching face. On Masters, Laurette’s statement had the most effect.
    “Damn you, Crow!” he said thickly. “This is just a scheme of yours to get rid of the ring!” He lunged forward.
    The action was unexpected. Tony fell backward under the impact of the man’s fist. He sprawled on his back. Masters threw himself at him.
    “Erle, you utter fool!” That was Laurette’s wail.
    Disgust settled on Tony’s face. He heaved, by sheer muscular effort, and threw Masters over his back. His fist came down with a brief but pungent
crack
. Masters slumped, abruptly lifeless.
    Tony drew himself to his feet, panting. Laurette was on her knees beside Masters, but her dismayed eyes were turned upward to Tony.
    “I’m sorry, lieutenant!” she blurted.
    “What have you got to be sorry about?” he snapped. “Except for being in love with a fool like that one.”
    He was sorry for it the second he said it. He didn’t try to read Laurette’s expression, but turned sullen eyes to Overland.
    “It’s night,” he said abruptly, “and it’s raining. Tomorrow, when the sun comes up, it’ll probably be different. We can figure out the situation then, and start our plans for—” He let the sentence dangle. Plans for what? He concluded, “I suggest we all get some sleep,” and left.
    He arranged some blankets on the floor of the control room, and instantly went to sleep, though there were times when he stirred violently. The skeleton was in his dreams—
     
    There were five of them at the breakfast table. Laurette serving; Masters beside her, keeping his eyes sullenly on the food; Braker, eating as heartily as his cuffed hands would allow; Yates, picking at his food with disinterest.
    Tony finished his second cup of coffee, and scraped his chair back.
    “I’ll be taking a look around,” he told Laurette in explanation. He turned to the door.
    Braker leaned back in his chair until it was balanced on two legs, and grinned widely.
    “Where you going, Mr. Skeleton?”
    Tony froze.
    “After a while, Braker,” he said, eyes frigid, “the ring will be taken care of.”
    Yates’ fork came down. “If you mean you’re going to try to get rid of it, you know you can’t do it. It’ll come back.” His eyes were challenging.
    Masters looked up, a strange milling series of thoughts in his sullen eyes. Then he returned to his food.
    Tony, wondering what that expression had meant, shrugged and left the room; and shortly the ship, by way of the cavity in the storage bin.
    He wandered away from the ship, walking slowly, abstractedly, allowing impressions to slip his mind without conscious resistance. There was a haunting familiarity in this tumbled plain, though life had no place in the remembrance. There was some animal life, creatures stirring in the dark humus, in long, thick grass, in gnarled tree tops. This was mountain country and off there was a tumbling mountain stream.
    He impelled himself toward it, the tiny, yet phenomenally bright sun throwing a shadow that was only a few inches long. It was high “noon.”
    He stood on the brink of the rocky gorge, spray prismatically alive with color, dashing up into his face. His eyes followed the stream up to the mountain fault where water poured downward to crush at the rocks with the steady, pummeling blow of a giant. He stood there, lost in abstraction, other sounds drowned out.
    All except the grate of a shoe behind him. He tried to whirl; too late! Hands pushed against his back – in the next second, he had tumbled off the brink of the chasm, clutching wildly, vainly, at thick spray. Then, an awful moment of freezing cold, and the waters had enclosed him. He was borne away, choking for air, frantically flailing with his arms.
    He was swept to the surface, caught a chaotic glimpse of sun and clouded sky and rock, and then went under again, with a half lungful of air. He tensed, striving to