T. D. Hamm

Summary

T. D. Hamm The survivors (1961)

At least they could dig a hole to get their backs into and break the whistling winds. He felt an irrational comfort at the thought of the coming darkness—at least they wouldn't be able to see the dust-devils. Maybe they could get some talk going and snap Rodriguez out of his melancholy silence. Perhaps they had all been getting too introverted since the series of disasters.
They made camp before dark, digging themselves well in; Bradford and Canham forced themselves into a semblance of cheerfulness as they worked. Rodriguez's face remained dark and unsmiling.
Source: Gutenberg

T. D. Hamm The survivors (1961)

An hour's walking brought no change; always before them lay the silent marsh, inimical in its unending desolation. And beyond it, tantalizingly green, lay the only growing things on Mars.
With some difficulty they managed to find a branch apiece long enough for a probing pole and started out reluctantly, wincing as their feet sank deep in the fetid ooze.
"These boots are damned heavy," Bradford remarked doubtfully.
"You take yours off if you want to," Canham returned emphatically. "I'm damned if I'm going to step on some slimy, poisonous species of fauna in my bare feet."
Source: Gutenberg

T. D. Hamm The survivors (1961)

Canham gave an hysterical giggle. "When 'things get tough'—! Goodnight, Hardrock!"
The two days following went by in a continuous waking nightmare—putting one foot in front of the other foot, inching their way monotonously toward the still invisible Pole. They had left the dust-devils behind—due to some freakishness of the wind, so they figured.
Canham looks like Death on a pale horse, Bradford thought dully. And I probably look worse. He rubbed absently at the dry, scaly pits on his face where the unholy dust had stung him and reverted to his private worry.
Source: Gutenberg

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