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." He leaped far forward, felt his feet sink into the clutching quicksand. The muck enfolded him like cold, slimy snake coils twisting around and crushing him. As he sank below the surface, he heard the bursting air bubbles above him like sibilant whispers of death. The dread, crushing quicksand drew around like crushing giant hands. This time Rawson had no heat ray gun to help him escape! His lips twisted helplessly under the pressure of the sand and the water. It was like being buried alive in cement that had not yet hardened. His feet struck something solid. The hull. Using his feet as leverage he forced himself forward against the grasping ooze, until he came to one of the ports. It was open and the quicksand had oozed in. * * * * * Rawson managed to grasp the railing by sheer muscle and forced himself inside. The shifting, liquefied sand covered the entire top deck. But the door to the lower hatches and the control decks had sealed automatically. He turned the lever and pushed the door of the hatch inwards. The pressure of the sand hurled him inside like water shot from a nozzle. He raced for the farther door--raced to beat the moving quicksand that oozed forward like some giant amoeba. Rawson won by a second. He opened the door and dived inward. Quickly he closed the door and sealed it as he felt the pressure of the muck against it. The metal locks would hold. He stripped off the space suit and hurried to the rocket deck. Everything was in order. A member of the crew had automatically cut off the disintegrator motors at the call "Abandon Ship!" Rawson set the speed at idle. He turned the rocket levers. For a moment the ship trembled as the exhaust gases fought against the pressure of the quicksand in the tubes.