Harkness paid no attention. "Now we will get right down to cases," he remarked. "Two men and a girl is right--plus what is left of one ship. And please don't forget that the ship is ours and all the supplies that are in it. Now, you listen to me; I've a few things to tell you." He faced squarely toward Schwartzmann, and Chet had to repress a grin at the steely glint in his companion's eyes. Nice chap, Harkness--nice, easy-going sort--up to a certain point. Chet had seen him in action before. "First of all," Harkness was saying, "don't think that we have any illusions about you. You're a killer, and, like all such, you're a coward. If you had the upper hand, you would never give us a chance for our lives. In fact you were ready to throw us out to be gassed when Chet raised your little bet. "But it looks as if Chet and Mademoiselle Delacouer and I will have to be living on this world for some time. We don't want to start that life by killing off even such as you--not in cold blood. We will give you a chance; we will split our provisions with you--give you half of what we have; you will have to shift for yourselves when that is gone. We will all have to learn to do that." * * * * * Again the heavy, glowering face of Schwartzmann broke into a laugh that was half sneer. "You're damned kind," he told Harkness, "and, as usual, a fool. Two men and a girl!" He half turned to count his own forces. "There are seven of us," he challenged; "seven! And all of them armed--all but me!" He spoke a curt order in his own tongue, and each man whipped a pistol from his clothes. "Seven to two," he said, and laughed again; "maybe it iss that Herr Harkness would like to count them. "_Your_ ship and _your_ supplies!" he exclaimed scornfully. "And you would be so kind as to giff us food. "_Gott im Himmel!_" he shouted; "I show you! I am talking now! We stay here--_ja_--because this _Dummkopf_ has the controls _gebrochen_! But it iss we who stay; und you? You go, because I say so. It iss I who rule, und I prove it--seven to two!" "Three!" a firm voice spoke from between Chet and Harkness; "seven to three! Our odds are improving, Herr Schwartzmann." And Chet saw from the corner of his eye that the gun in the small hand of Mademoiselle Diane was entirely unwavering. But he spoke to her sharply, and his voice merged with that of Harkness who was saying somewhat the same words: "Back--go back, Diane! We can handle this. For God's sake, keep out; we don't want any shooting." Neither of the men had drawn his gun. Their hands were ready, but each had hoped to end this weird conference without firing a shot. Here was no place for gun-play and for wounded men. * * * * *