Kroger shrugged. "We'll have to chance taking any that seem to slope upward. In any event, we can always follow it back and start again." "I dunno," said Jones. "Remember those _teeth_ of theirs. They must be for biting something more substantial than moss, Kroger." "We'll risk it," said Pat. "It's better to go down fighting than to die of starvation." The hell it is. * * * * * _June 24, 1961, for sure_ The Martians have coal mines. _That's_ what they use those teeth for. We passed through one and surprised a lot of them chewing gritty hunks of anthracite out of the walls. They came running at us, whistling with those tubelike tongues, and drooling dry coal dust, but Pat swung one of his boots in an arc that splashed all over the ground in front of them, and they turned tail (literally) and clattered off down another tunnel, sounding like a locomotive whistle gone berserk. We made the surface in another hour, back in the canal, and were lucky enough to find our own trail to follow toward the place above which the jeep still waited. Jones got the rifles out of the stream (the Martians had probably thought they were beyond recovery there) and we found the jeep. It was nearly buried in sand, but we got it cleaned off and running, and got back to the ship quickly. First thing we did on arriving was to break out the stores and have a celebration feast just outside the door of the ship. It was pork again, and I got sick. * * * * * _June 25, 1961_ We're going back. Pat says that a week is all we were allowed to stay and that it's urgent to return and tell what we've learned about Mars (we know there are Martians, and they're made of sugar). "Why," I said, "can't we just tell it on the radio?" "Because," said Pat, "if we tell them now, by the time we get back we'll be yesterday's news. This way we may be lucky and get a parade." "Maybe even money," said Kroger, whose mind wasn't always on science. "But they'll ask why we didn't radio the info, sir," said Jones uneasily. "The radio," said Pat, nodding to Lloyd, "was unfortunately broken shortly after landing." Lloyd blinked, then nodded back and walked around the rocket. I heard a crunching sound and the shattering of glass, not unlike the noise made when one drives a rifle butt through a radio. Well, it's time for takeoff. * * * * * This time it wasn't so bad. I thought I was getting my space-legs, but Pat says there's less gravity on Mars, so escape velocity didn't have to be so fast, hence a smoother (relatively) trip on our shock-absorbing bunks. Lloyd wants to play chess again. I'll be careful not to win this time. However, if I don't win, maybe this time _I'll_ be the one to quit.