The mesa stretched to the horizon on all sides, timeless and forbidding, drowsing through the sunlit millennia. To a casual celestial voyager, it would have appeared barren of life, except for the two scarecrow figures which scrabbled in the sand in spots where a stunted, ropy vine was growing. At intervals one or the other would triumphantly dig out a baseball-sized melon like object, and wolf it hungrily, the juice dribbling over his bearded chin. The trail they had made was blurred in spots where they had fallen, light-headed with weakness. The melons helped, though their caloric count would never constitute a dietitian's dream of joy. They were food, of a sort, and more important, water. Finally one of the figures scrambled to his feet, and stared defiantly at the dim sun, higher now, but still far from the zenith. "Let's get going," said Morley thickly. The two men shambled silently through the knee-high grass and dwarf trees of the savannah. They didn't feel particularly hungry anymore. There was only a vaguely irritating condition of lassitude, and dizziness, and an annoying tendency of the knees to buckle uncontrollably without the slightest warning. They plodded on, weaving uncertainly from time to time. There was game here, creatures like antelope, but they maddeningly stayed well out of blaster range. Madsen had discarded everything but his pack, while Morley's weapon still hung at his hip. With seemingly irrational stubbornness, he also clung to the impedimenta he had picked up at the wreck, despite Madsen's petulant remarks about excess weight. It seemed to Morley as if they had been traveling forever through some grassy Gehenna. It grew harder and harder for him to think in logical sequence. When he climbed painfully to his feet after a fall, he had to fight back a sudden overwhelming urge to burst into babyish tears. Madsen hardly ever fell down. It didn't seem fair, and he wished bitterly that he were more like Madsen. Still he fought on without knowing why. Another step, and another, and a thousand more, each one an individual effort to which he forced his failing muscles. Another eternity or two passed, and suddenly Madsen staggered and sat down in his tracks. He stared resentfully at his knapsack and then peered up at Morley. "We've still got four of those melon things. If we eat them now, we won't have to carry them. How about it?" he mumbled. Through Morley's weariness crept a doubt as to the validity of his comrade's logic, but it seemed to be too difficult to analyze at the moment. They ate the scanty meal in silence, and rested for an hour, half comatose. Then, somewhat refreshed, Morley levered himself slowly erect. He stirred Madsen with his toe. "Up and at 'em, chum."