Rawson's crane-like legs carried him toward the crew. Their faces showed repentance.
It was a miserable bunch of men that faced him, and the most miserable of all was Underofficer Durk.
Rawson for a moment said nothing. He watched the last air bubbles that seeped up from the space ship at the bottom of the quicksand. The bubbles broke one by one. The sand smoothed out again, leaving a slimy smoothness that revealed nothing—that failed to betray the loss of all hope.
Rawson's voice whipped like a lash. "Well, Mr. Durk! Have you thought of a solution of the predicament of the crew and yourself?"
Durk's eyes did not meet Rawson's. Durk's voice mumbled. "Yore the captain, sir."
Rawson shuddered within himself. He was the captain—captain of a space ship that no longer existed. They were stranded on a desolate planet with no food and no weapons.
Weapons? He still had his heat ray gun, but it was burned out—no good.
Wearily Rawson turned to young Seymour. "Bring me my space suit."
It took but a few minutes for the boy to run back to the cave and fetch back the space suit. Slowly Rawson climbed into it.
He turned to Durk. "I'm going into the quicksand. Perhaps I'll be able to find something—something—" He sighed. "If I don't return, well, it's up to you."