Heinie's sunken eyes were suddenly glaring at the others over the muzzle of his gun. The others settled back, a little afraid but not caring much.
"As cook," Heinie was saying, "it's my place to prepare meals. I haven't been doing my job. Now I'm going to."
"Don't let it get you down, man," McBride cautioned. "It's not your fault if we haven't—"
"Listen to me!" Heinie cut in sharply. "I happened to be in the Navy when I was only a kid, and three other guys and myself were once in a fix a lot like this. Only we were adrift on the open sea in a life-raft. Three of us kept from starving to death, but we had to draw straws to do it. The one who got the short one—well, I've been having nightmares about it ever since. God! We didn't even have a fire—"
His voice trailed off, his eyes drawing inward with some shocking memory. McBride edged toward him.
"Hold it!" Heinie ordered, coming out of the daze.
McBride stopped, half inclined not to. He wavered, drew back, and decided to try and argue it out.
"You're—sick," he said. "Say you do kill one of us; do you think you could go through that 'life-raft thing' again? Do you actually think any of us, starving or not, could bring ourselves to do what you suggest?"
"I'm not going to go through it," said Heinie. "But if I could be around to collect, I'd lay you ten to one that you will."
McBride shook his head negatively. "Stop being foolish. You need a rest."