There were still temblors, but the sharper shocks no longer came.  There was conflagration in the wood, where the lurching ship had left a long fresh streak of forest-fire.  The two castaways stared at the round, empty landing-place.  Overhead, the blue sky turned yellow—­but where the smoke from the eruption rose, the sky early became a brownish red—­and presently the yellow faded to gold.  Unburned green foliage all about was singularly beautiful in that golden glow.  But it was more beautiful still as the sky turned rose-pink and then carmine in turn, and then crimson from one horizon to the other save where the volcanic smoke-cloud marred the color.  Then the east darkened, and became a red so deep as to be practically black, and unfamiliar bright stars began to peep through it.

Before darkness was complete, Cochrane dragged burning branches from the edge of the new fire—­the heat was searing—­and built a new and smaller fire in the place where the ship had been.

“This isn’t for warmth,” he explained briefly, “but so we’ll have light if we need it.  And it isn’t likely that animals will be anything but afraid of it.”

He went off to drag charred masses of burnable stuff from the burned-out first forest fire.  He built a sort of rampart in the very center of the clearing.  He brought great heaps of scorched wood.  He did not know how much was needed to keep the fire going until dawn.

When he finished, Babs was silently at work trying to find out how to keep the fire going.  The burning parts had to be kept together.  One branch, burning alone, died out.  Two red-hot brands in contact kept each other alight.

“I’m sorry we haven’t anything to eat,” Cochrane told her.

“I’m not hungry,” she assured him.  “What are we going to do now?”

“There’s nothing to do until morning.”  Unconsciously, Cochrane looked grim.  “Then there’ll be plenty.  Food, for one thing.  We don’t know, actually, whether or not there’s anything really edible on this planet—­for us.  It could be that there are fruits or possibly stalks or leaves that would be nourishing.  Only—­we don’t know which is which.  We have to be careful.  We might pick something like poison ivy!”

Babs said: 

“But the ship will come back!”

“Of course,” agreed Cochrane.  “But it may take them some time to find us.  This is a pretty big planet, you know.”

He estimated his supply of burnable stuff.  He improved the rampart he had made at first.  Babs stared at him.  After four or five minutes he stepped back.

“You can lean against this,” he explained.  “You can watch the fire quite comfortably.  And it’s a sort of wall.  The fire will light one side of you and the wall will feel comforting behind you when you get sleepy.”

Babs nodded.  She swallowed.

“I—­think I see what you mean when you say they may have trouble finding us, because this planet is so large.”