Jones had been in the ship, and Holden, and Alicia
Simms. Everybody else had been exploring. Their attitude had been
exactly that of sight-seers and tourists. But they could have gotten
back before the take-off.
Apparently they had. Nobody seemed to have returned to the burned-over
space since the ship's departure. The blast of the rockets had erased
all previous tracks, but still there was a thin layer of ash resettled
over the clearing. Footprints would have been visible in it. Anybody
remaining would have come here. Nobody had. Babs and Cochrane were left
alone.
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.
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