After what seemed a very long time, Patch complained: “This is giving me the willies, Garry. How much farther do you think we’ve got to go? Besides, this is slowing us down almost to a crawl.” “I think I see a break up ahead,” Garry encouraged. “It seems we’re making a wide turn, and the farther we go the more earthshine I think I can make out.” “Gee, I’d give anything I’ve got for a light of some kind,” Patch groaned. “That’s about the only thing they couldn’t provide for us,” Garry said. “Remember we used up our flashlight when we cut down on our power supply in the flier.” “I remember,” Patch returned. Patch felt that Garry was slowly descending as he walked. “Hey, where are you going?” Patch asked. “There seems to be an incline going down,” Garry replied. “I sure hope it comes back up and doesn’t drop off so that we can’t cross to the other side.” “Ugh,” Patch shuddered. “Don’t even _think_ about that. Remember, Captain Eaton told us not to come back.” “Just keep up with me and go slowly,” Garry instructed. “We’ll find out what’s ahead in a few minutes.” Down, down they went on a gentle slope. “When are we going to start up?” Patch asked worriedly. “I don’t know,” Garry replied, a little anxious himself. Suddenly Garry moved too fast for Patch to keep up and lost contact with him. Patch lost his head momentarily and cried out, dashing forward to regain touch with Garry. In his haste, Patch tripped and fell on the jagged rocks. On the earth this would have been a bad fall, but the weaker gravity here saved him from serious injury. But the weaker gravity also gave him a longer sprawl and carried him down the slope. As soon as Garry heard Patch’s frantic cry, he grabbed wildly in the darkness, hoping by chance to reach his friend. But his hands met only empty air. Patch’s shrieks were cut off abruptly, and stark silence filled Garry’s ears. “Patch!” Garry called, dread making him tremble all over. “Patch, where are you?” He had a mad impulse to leap down the incline, grabbing desperately at anything within reach. But he knew this could be disastrous for both himself and Patch. Slowly, Garry inched farther downward, heartsick as he considered the things that might have happened to his friend—a fall knocking him out or worse, or a tumble down a deep, treacherous pit. “Patch!” he kept calling. “Patch!” The frightening moments of anguish were relieved when Garry finally heard a faint voice. “Patch, where are you?” Garry asked over and over, as he inched downward, ever downward. “Here, Garry,” came the very weak voice. Thinking Patch was still far off, Garry slid his feet with more urgent speed through the utter blackness. Then the toe of his boot kicked something soft. “Garry, don’t!” came a low-pitched, terrified voice. “You’re kicking the hand I’m holding on by!”