"Leave your gun and get out," Duane told him.
"But it's dark. I can't go out there in the dark without a gun."
"Get out!" Duane's words were like icy barbs. "Mornin' will be here soon."
Captain struggled to his feet. He was sobbing with fear and rage and pain. Slowly he moved away from the fire.
"And remember what I said," Duane called after him. "Men will conquer the stars some day—after they have conquered themselves."
Captain's retreating figure faded into the night. The sound of his stumbling footsteps died away.
Duane sat there before the little fire, staring intently into the coals, oblivious of the two fallen figures that lay there in the shadows. At length he arose. In the east a bit of silver was appearing. As he watched, the silver grew brighter; and long spars of purple and rose stretched across the sky.
And as morning dawned the sweeping mists faded and disappeared. The sky was empty—but clear and shining with promise.