When they had gotten Thurlow laid out on the turf Matt jumped back aboard the jeep. Oscar shouted at him. "Hey, Matt-where do you think you're going?"
"Back inside."
"Don't do it. Come back here." Matt hesitated, Oscar added, "That's an order, Matt."
Matt answered, "I'll only be a minute. We've got no weapons and no survival kits. Ill duck in and toss them out."
"Don't try it." Matt stood still a moment, balanced between Oscar's unquestioned seniority and the novelty of taking direct orders from his roommate. "Look at the door, Matt," Oscar added. "You'd be trapped."
Matt looked. The far end of the door was already in the mud and a steady stream was slopping into the ship, like molasses. As he looked the jeep rolled about a quarter turn, seeking a new stability. Matt made it to the bank in one flying leap.
He looked back and saw that the door was out of sight; a big bubble formed and plopped!-and then another. "Thanks, Oz!"
They stood and watched as the tail slid away from the bank. A cloud of steam came up and joined the mist as the jet tube hit the wetness; then the tail lifted and the jeep was almost vertical, upside down, for a few moments, with only her after end showing above the slime.
She sank slowly. Presently there was nothing but bubbles in the mud and a ragged break in the false lawn to show where it had been.
Mart's chin was trembling. "I should have stayed at the controls. I could have caught her on her gyros."
"Nonsense," said Oscar. "He didn't tell you to stay put."
"I should have known better."
"Quit beating yourself with it. The procedures say it's the pilot's business. If there was any doubt in his mind he should have left her stabilized on gyro until he inspected. Right now we got to take care of him, so cut out the post- mortem."
"Okay." Matt knelt down and tried Thurlow's pulse. It was still steady. "Nothing we can do for him at the moment but let him rest. Let's see your arm."
"Okay, but take it easy. Ouch!" j
"Sorry. I'm afraid I'll have to hurt you; I've never actually set a bone before."
"I have," said Tex, "out on the range. Here you go, Oz old boy-lie down on your back. And relax-it's going to hurt."
"Okay. Only I thought that down in Texas you just shot "me." Oscar managed to smile.
"Just for broken legs. Broken arms we usually save. Matt, you whip up a couple of splints. Got a knife?"
"Yep."
"Good thing-I don't have. Better take your blouse off first, Oscar." With help Jensen complied; Tex placed a foot in Oscar's left armpit, grasped his left hand in both of his, and gave a steady tug.
Oscar yelped. "I think that did it," said Tex. "Matt, hurry up with those splints."
"Coming." Matt had found a clump of grass, twelve to fifteen feet tall and superficially similar to Earth-side bamboo. He cut about a dozen lengths as thick as his little finger and around fifteen inches long, brought them back and gave them to Tex. "Will these do?"
"I guess so. Here goes your blouse, Oscar." Tex attempted to tear strips from the garment, then gave up. "Golly, that stuff is tough. Gimme your knife, Matt."
Ten minutes later Oscar was adequately splinted and bandaged, with what remained of his blouse rigged as a sling. Tex took off his own blouse and sat down on it, for the turf was damp and the day was hot and muggy as only Venus can be. "That's done," he said, "and the skipper hasn't blinked an eye. That leaves you holding the sack, Oz-when do we have lunch?"
"A fine question, that." Oscar wrinkled his brows. "First, let's see what we've got to work with. Turn out your pouches."
Matt had his knife. Oscar's pouch contained nothing of significance. Tex contributed his harmonica. Oscar looked worried. "Fellows, do you suppose I'm justified in looking through Mr. Thurlow's pouch?"
"I think you ought to," said Tex. "I've never seen anybody stay out so long." t
"I agree," added Matt. "I think we had better admit he s got a concussion and assume that he's going to be out of the running for a while. Go ahead, Oscar."
Thurlow's pouch contained some personal items that they skipped over quickly, the orders to the expedition, and a second knife-which had set in its handle a small, ornamental, magnetic compass. "Golly, I'm glad to find that item. I've been wondering how we would ever find our way back to this spot without natives to guide us."
"Who wants to?" asked Tex. "It doesn't seem to have any attractions for me."
"The jeep is here."
"And the Triplex is somewhere over your head. One is about as close as the other-to a pedestrian, meaning me."
"Look, Tex-somehow we've got to get that firecracker out of the mud and put her back into commission. Otherwise we stay here for life."
"Huh? I'd been depending on you, the old Venerian hand, to lead us back to civilization."
"You don't know what you're saying. Maybe you can walk five or six thousand miles through swamps, and sink holes, and cane brake; I can't. Just remember that there isn't a permanent settlement, not even a plantation, more than five hundred miles from either one of the poles. You know Venus isn't really explored-I know about as much about this neck of the woods as you know about Tibet."
"I wonder what in the world the Gary was doing here?" Matt commented.
"Search me."
"Say!" said Tex. "Maybe we can get home in the Gary."
"Maybe we can, but we haven't even found the Gary yet. Consequently if we find we can't, just as soon as we carry out these orders-" Oscar held up the paper he had taken from Thurlow's pouch, "-we've got to find some way to haul the jeep out of the sinkhole."
"With our own, little pink patty-paws?" inquired Tex. "And what's that about our orders? We don't seem to be
in very good shape to go around quelling riots, putting down insurrection, and generally throwing our weight about. We haven't even got a bean shooter, much less a bean* Come to think about it, if I had a bean, I'd eat it."
"Oscar's right," agreed Matt, "We're here; we've got a mission to perform; we've got to carry it out. That's what Mr. Thurlow would say. After that comes trying to figure out a way to get back."
Tex stood up. "I should have gone into the cattle business. Okay, Oscar- what next?"
"The first thing is for you and Matt to build a litter to carry the boss. We've got to find open water and I don't want to split up the party."
The same clump of cane grass that furnished splints provided material for a litter frame. Using both knives Matt and Tex cut two seven-foot lengths as thick as their upper arms. The stuff was light and, in that thickness, satisfactorily stiff. They slipped the poles through the sleeves of their blouses, then notched in cross pieces near each end. There was a wide gap in the middle which they wound about with the line salvaged from the jeep.
The result was a sloppy piece of work, but serviceable. Thurlow was still unconscious. His breathing was shallow but his pulse was still steady. They lifted him onto the stretcher and set out, with Oscar in the lead, compass in hand.
For about an hour they tramped through swampy land, splashing through mud, getting welts from the undergrowth, and pursued by clouds of insects. At last Matt called out, "Oz! We've just got to have some rest."
Jensen turned around. "Okay-this is the end of the line, anyhow. Open water."
They crowded forward and joined him. Beyond the cane brake, perfectly flat and calm under the fog, was a pond or lake. Its size was uncertain as the far shore was lost in the mist.
They tramped out a spot to put the litter down, then Oscar bent over the water and slapped it-Slap!-Slap!-Slap, slap, slap-Slap, slap!
"What do we do now?"
"We wait-and pray. Thank goodness the natives are usu-1 ally friendly."
"Do you think they can help us?"
"If they want to help I'll lay you even money that they can snake the jeep out of that muck and polish it clean in three days."
"You really think so? I knew the Venerians were friend but a job like that-"
"Don't underrate the Little People. They don't look like us but don't let that throw you."