"Monk, they call me. Monk O'Hara." He could feel the blood pulsing through his temples. "I am Tooli." She curtsied. "You like me?" "Yeah," Monk, breathed. "I like you a lot." Later, through the ports of his sandcar, he watched her lithe movements as she and her father set up their tent. Throughout the night, his sleep was thin and restless, his mind on fire with the vision of the dark, lovely face. So early this morning he'd gone to her again. "How about some coffee, kid? Got plenty in the sandcar." She crinkled her nose teasingly. "Yes, I like Earth coffee. My bocle come too?" "No, just you, kid. Your old man's busy taking down the tent." She nodded eagerly, smiling. "Yes, I come. I like you." What greater invitation did a man need? But in the sandcar the little fool screamed. The old Martian darted into the car, yanked Monk away from Tooli, and descended on him like an enraged beast. Monk hadn't meant to kill the old Martian. He'd meant only to silence his shrill screams and stop the frenzied flailing of his fists. How could he have known that the thin neck would snap like a rotten stick under his first blow? * * * * * Monk's smile faded. No, he thought, he hadn't acted too wisely. He'd expected the frightened girl to leap out of the sandcar and race away on her _lozelle_--and she had. But he _hadn't_ expected her to return an hour later with a dozen revenge-hungry tribesmen. His mistake had been in letting her escape. He cursed silently. Then he spat. After all, it was over and done. The Martians had trussed him, buried him, and left him to die--but he'd at least been wise enough not to reveal his ace in the hole. His partner, old Stardust Luke, had left yesterday in the auxiliary sandcar to get fresh supplies from Chandler Field. Old Stardust was as honest as a baby and methodical as a clock. He'd return today, late in the afternoon, just as he'd done a dozen times. There was no doubt about the punctual arrival of Stardust. And Stardust would save him before the freezing descent of the Martian night. Monk thought for a moment, then chuckled again. His glee more than overshadowed the inconvenience of his neck-deep burial. For the rescue would be the last good deed of Stardust Luke's life. In fact, it would be his _last_ deed. Period. The old space rat had out-lived his usefulness. If he persisted in wandering over unexplored Martian terrain he'd probably end up in a freezing or sweltering grave anyway. So it wouldn't be murder--not exactly. It would only be giving a bit of impetus to what already seemed inevitable. Monk strained his neck muscles to gaze at the sacks of seed. They would all be his soon. Not half, as now. But _all_. He sucked the cool air deep into his lungs. "Everything's going to be okay," he murmured "--no, not okay, but _perfect_."