s too much leisure here now. Their
mirth had a hollow sound. In older times, explorers of the frozen polar
zones had to cope with inactivity, loneliness and despair. But at least
they were on their native world. The grimness of the Moon was eating
into the courage of Grantline's men. An unreality here. A weirdness.
These fantastic crags. The deadly silence. The nights, almost two weeks
of Earth-time in length, congealed by the deadly frigidity of Space. The
days of black sky, blaring stars and flaming Sun, with no atmosphere to
diffuse the daylight. Days of weird blending sheen of illumination with
most of the Sun's heat radiating so swiftly from the naked Lunar surface
that the outer temperature still was cold. And day and night, always the
familiar beloved Earth-disc hanging poised up near the zenith. From
thinnest crescent to full Earth, and then steadily back again to
crescent.

All so abnormal, irrational, disturbing to human senses. With the mining
work over, an irritability grew upon Grantline's men. And perhaps since
the human mind is so wonderful, elusive a thing, there lay upon these
men an indefinable sense of impending disaster. Johnny Grantline felt
it. He thought about it now as he sat in the room corner watching Wilks
being forced into the plaget-game, and he found it strong within him.
Unreasonable, ominous depression! Barring the accident which had
disabled his little space-ship when they reached this small crater hole,
his expedition had gone well. His instruments, and the information he
had from the former explorers, had picked up the ore-vein with a scant
month of search.

* * * * *

The vein had now been exhausted; but the treasure was here. Nothing was
left but to wait for the _Planetara_. The men were talking of that now.

"She ought to be well mid-way from here to Ferrok-Shahn by now. When do
you figure she'll be back here, and signal us?"

"Twenty days. Give her another five now to Mars, and five in port.
That's ten. We'll pick her signals in three weeks, mark me."

"Three weeks! Just give me three weeks of reasonable sunrise and sunset!
This cursed Moon! You mean, Williams, next daylight."

"Hah! He's inventing a Lunar language. You'll be a Moon-man yet, if you
live here long enough."

Olaf Swenson, the big blond fellow from the Scandia fiords, came and
flung himself down by Grantline.

"Ay tank they bane without not enough to do, Commander. If the ore y