"We'll all be contaminated," whispered Mrs. Ericson.
"Just stay clear. You have to contact them directly to be contaminated," Don said.
He stopped five feet from the old man and raised his quirt. The old man looked only at Madeleine, then shook his head slowly up and down as though reaffirming some special secret. As though he shared some secret with her.
"Five credits," the old man said, in a loud whisper. "And I'll read the sands for you. The Martian sands know all your secrets and the timelessness of your dreams. Let them speak to you, through me, for five credits."
Don swung the quirt savagely. It was heavy, and it thudded and smacked across the old man's face and chest. He fell in the middle of the trail.
The sun wheeled crazily. Madeleine could hear her mother screaming and her father yelling as she moved, as though in a trance, toward the old man. Her feet slipped, stumbled in the shale. The old man crawled a little, got up, fell again.
She was screaming at Don to stop.
The old man had fallen to one side and the trail was clear now.
"Let him alone! Let him alone!" Madeleine screamed. "He's out of the way!"
"Madeleine!" Mr. Ericson shouted. "Come back! Get away from that beggar, right now, or we return to Earth in the morning!"