Lips began to crack. Twice they stopped to sip the water. The second time, Rick looked at her. "How the devil do you know where we are?" "Maybe I don't," she taunted. "You'd better. We've no way of checking on you. But if you double-cross me, I'll strip your clothes off and leave you to the first Sand Vulture that comes along. Understand?" "Don't worry," she answered, "I know the way. I've covered it often enough. There are many little landmarks if you know what to look for." When evening came, Rick let each of them barely wet their lips. Then he said, "I need sleep and I can't trust anyone. So I'm going to hide the water in the desert. If anything happens to me, you'll all die of thirst. Now turn your backs." Leeda heard him scramble off. He soon returned. "Now let's sleep." The below-zero cold of the Martian night challenged the thermo-unit of Leeda's desert suit until she lay shivering. But, worn out from the walk and the emotional events of the day, she finally dropped off to sleep. It was still dark when she awoke. Deliberately making a noise, she listened for someone to challenge her. When no one moved, she slipped off into the desert. It took her several hours at a rapid pace to get back to the bubble-house. Terry's Protecto-suit lay scattered over a wide area. His bones gleamed faintly in the barely discernible Martian moonlight--picked clean by the Sand Vulture and Razor-back Lizards. Flinging herself on the sand, she poured out her grief with dry, racking sobs. The power to cry had long since been sucked out of her by dehydration. Rising at last, she gathered together the things she had come for. When, at last, she returned to the night's camp, the three men were still fast asleep. Next morning, while they sat munching the tasteless emergency food tablets that were carried in the desert, Rick went after the water. Suddenly his cussing rolled across the desert toward them. Leeda smiled quietly. He came back at a half-run. Disgustedly, he flung the flasks at their feet. The sides had gaps ripped in them. "What nitwits," he cursed. "Naturally, the cold froze the water. When it expanded, it tore the flasks apart. You knew this would happen," he accused Leeda. "Of course," she admitted. Fatso struck her across the shoulders, knocking her onto the sand. "None of that, Fatso," Rick commanded. "We need her worse now than ever. Is there any water near?" he asked Leeda. "About two days away. And then it's a gamble whether it will be good to drink. Sometimes the water following the strata from the pole hits a pocket of mineral that's poison. When that happens, The Explorers Guild puts up a Death's Head Sign to warn anyone from drinking it. As you know, they check every water source regularly." "Is it far from your strike?" Jocco asked. "About a day's walk." "Any water at your cave?" Rick questioned.