"Didn't have anything against him, Ma'am. Had to do it. Showed we meant business. Easier to handle one than two of you anyway." The eyes of the tubby man who answered her kept flickering anxiously upward toward the Sand Vulture. "That thing as dangerous as they say?"
Leeda turned to the third and youngest man. His glance was fixed hypnotically on the death on the ground. His skin was pale and his forehead beaded with sweat. She repeated, "What did you do it for?"
"Got into trouble at Canalport. Heard a rumor that you and your husband had struck a pocket of Martian Sunbursts. Fixed up a deal with a ship's cargo master to smuggle us back to Earth if we turned your stuff over to him. He jetted us out here. Left a while ago." The fat man itched frantically as he answered her. They all itched, Leeda noticed. It took a long time on Mars before anyone became used to the dust that penetrated even the Protecto-suits. It produced an agony that demanded attention; followed by festering sores.
"You talk too much, Fatso," the tall one said angrily.
"What's the difference, Rick?" Fatso said philosophically. "Won't do her any good."
Rick turned to Leeda. "At least you know the score. Do you want to tell us where the stuff is, or are you going to make it tough on yourself?"
Eyes like a Razor-back Sand Lizard, Leeda thought. "Out by our diggings," she answered readily. His eyes moved to the plastic bubble-house that she and Terry had called home when they weren't digging. "Search the place if you don't believe me," she suggested. "We never brought any of them back here with us. We cached them in the cave until we were ready to go home."
"Then you did strike it?" the young man interrupted eagerly.
She nodded.
Rick turned to the young man. "Search the house, Jocco. She may be lying."