Something awakened him. He shifted his cramped position slightly without opening his eyes and a nearly inaudible gasp brought him to complete alertness. He didn't move, but tried to hear, and there was nothing else. Very deliberately he inched his hand across the seat to his gun, and he could have cursed. It wasn't there. Then he did open his eyes, just enough to see in the edge of his field of vision that Marilyn had the gun and she was watching him. The gun was pointed at his head. He let his eyes close and waited. Do it now, kid, he thought. Do it! Do it! Take the flyer and go look for them. You have that much coming to you. Do it! He couldn't hold the position after several more minutes; his legs were sending cramping pains up through his hips, and his hand was asleep on the seat where his gun had been. Keeping his eyes closed he shifted again. Damn her! She was a coward after all! She couldn't do it. Gradually he untensed and fatigue dulled his thoughts. Coward, the word kept parading through his mind, and it was not clear whether he meant her for not shooting, or himself for wanting her to shoot. Marilyn's voice roused him and he had no awareness of passage of time. "Keith," she said again, "you should eat and lie down. You'll be so cramped." He pulled himself away from the seat reluctantly. He was aching all over, from both cold and cramped muscles. The gun was once more by him. Had he dreamed it then? Quickly he looked out at her. "Did I sleep long?" he asked. "Several hours." She had her cover draped about her and her face was pinched and very cold looking. He ate before he went out to inspect the damage the tree had done. It was surprisingly little. The sharp nosed, wingless craft was sturdy with no protuberances to catch and break. Apparently it had slid between the woody limbs with little more than scratching to show it. From behind him she said, "It would have been so easy once you were up there to open up and cover five or six hundred miles during that lost hour. Didn't it occur to you?" "I thought of it," he admitted tiredly arranging his cover on the front seat. "But you wouldn't do it, would you? Not even for yourself." He turned to look at her and her eyes were very bright and remote, almost glassy. "Not even for you," he said distinctly. She turned her curiously bright eyes to his and took a step toward him. "I'm so cold," she said faintly. Her face was ashen, but her eyes burned into him. He went to her, taking her in his arms gently. She was stiff and cold in his arms. He felt nearly unendurable pain as her soft fingers that were so strong clutched at his back. When she slept he carefully covered her and crawled into the other seat where he lay watching her for a long time until he too slept. * * * * *