Greg Malcolm's fists, falling to his sides, uncoiled reluctantly. As if they had gripped the fiery baton of his anger, the battle-urge slipped from him with their unclenching. He drew a deep breath to steady his ragged breathing, nodded to the wide-eyed 'Tina. "Take care of him," he said. "Water. He'll be all right in a minute." He faced the others, his manner an odd mixture of apology and aggressiveness. "Breadon said there could be but one in command," he said. "Let us hope that is definitely settled. For all time. And now I will ask all of you to help. Our first step will be to strip the skiff of the equipment we may need and carry it into the hills. In one of those caves we will make our head-quarters." But the fight was to have its aftermath. Crystal Andrews it was who burst from the little knot before him to kneel at her fiancés side, taking Breadon's head in her arms, glaring rage and hot defiance at Greg. "With you?" she cried. "With _you_, you--cheap, upstart bully? Not in a million years! Ralph--Ralph, dear, are you all right? Did he hurt you?" She jerked the water-soaked handkerchief from the maid's hands, pressed its coolness to Breadon's sand-bruised forehead. Breadon's eyes opened, dazed at first, then full of awareness, sultry, indignant, incredulous. He moved to get on his feet again. Greg stared at him coldly. "Get up if you want to, Breadon. But don't get up fighting!" Hannigan chuckled. "He ain't hurt much. Just his conceit. It's punched full of right and left hand wallops." "That will do, Sparks!" snapped Greg. He looked at the others, replacing his glasses carefully, a vague sorrow in his eyes, defeat in his voice despite his victory. "You all feel that way? You still refuse--?" Crystal Andrews' cried out, "Talk! Talk! Will you stop talking and go? Go to the hills if you want to. Leave us in peace. We don't want you and don't need you. Go to the hills--and good riddance to you!" The tiny gimlet of hurt that lay somewhere deep inside of Greg twisted once more at her words, snapped, became suddenly cold and bitter. His jaw set. He nodded to Sparks. "Very well. If that's your desire. Sparks, there are four of us, six of them. Take an inventory of all equipment and supplies in the skiff. We will take exactly four-tenths of everything ... fuel, power units, food, water ... everything. Get going. I'll help you directly." Sparks said, "The radio?" "We'll take that. You're the only one capable of repairing it. We'll save them in spite of themselves. If we can." Sparks said, "Aye, sir! Come on, Tommy. 'Tina." He started toward the crashed skiff. Greg hesitated, feeling the desire to say something, to make one final plea, not knowing what to say or how to say it, restrained by the yet cold anger etched on his heart by Crystal's scorn. Then he too turned to help. A strident voice halted him. "Just a moment, young man!" "Yes, Miss Andrews?"