The boy shook his head slowly, the bright eyes never looking away from Hurtz. "You're not going to give me anything, and I'm not going to be all right." "I can't waste more time, Jones. You are hurt. Bad. And I've got to get help." He turned abruptly and went back to the radio. There were only wires loosened and parts slightly shaken. No irreparable damage. His hands moved quickly. When he heard the thump of the boy's body hitting the floor of the cabin his stomach jumped. He turned, made a step forward, then halted. The boy was stretched below the bunk. Blood was spilling from his mouth. But he was moving and alive, and in his hands now was the pistol Hurtz had dropped. "What the hell are you doing?" Hurtz said. But the boy was motioning with the pistol. "Stay where you are. Stay the hell where you are." Hurtz waited, watching the way the boy lay on one of his arms, the broken one. The drug would be cutting out the pain to some extent, but he was breaking himself up. "Jones," Hurtz said, "for God's sake, you're killing yourself." "Oh, no," the boy said, pointing the pistol. "_You're_ killing me. I would have been all right, but you had to come along and this is your work, Hurtz. You're killing me. Now you're going to get your reward for that." "Jones," Hurtz said, "if you think this was my fault, all right then. I'm suddenly very damned tired. I was tired before I started this, and it's worse now. If what went wrong was my fault, then I'm sorry. I really am. Do what you want to about it." Hurtz felt his energy draining out, and all he seemed to want to do at that moment was sit down and be quiet. "I will," the boy answered, and Hurtz could hear the click of the safety going off. "I'll do exactly what I want to do about it. Are you ready?" * * * * * Hurtz watched the pistol in the boy's hands. Then he threw himself sideways, rolling across the cabin, trying to find protection as the pistol cracked again and again. When the sound had stopped and silence had settled itself heavily over the cabin, Hurtz lay half-sprawled, looking at the boy. He knew none of the shots had struck him and the surprise of this made his position on the floor seem, for a moment, very foolish. Then he realized what the boy had hit--the radio and the replacement cabinet full of extra parts. From his twisted position on the floor the boy had done a very effective job of splintering every part of their communication system. Sudden anger ran through Hurtz and he pushed himself up to stand flush-faced, watching the smiling boy. "You've gone crazy," he said. The boy shook his head, his fingers still clutching the pistol. "No. I really haven't. But you will, Hurtz. Because you aren't going anywhere now. No place at all. You're going to stay right here, because you can't get help now." "The hell I can't," Hurtz said, but he knew as he said it, that the statement was a childish reaction, and that in truth he couldn't.