He skirted wide around the rocks where he had found Brian. No reason to spoil the day by a second glimpse of that grisly sight.
Once or twice it seemed to him that he was being followed but he dismissed the notion as nerves.
Perhaps, he thought, it's Daniels' ghost. And with a harsh laugh he toasted Daniels' ghost in the cool water. He toasted Selo and the commandant and the quolla merchant who would soon give him a fortune for the stones in the chamois bag.
The wind clawed at him with gritty fingers and his boots seemed to sink deeper and deeper into the yielding dust. Every step was an effort and he could feel the slow encroachment of dehydration.
At the auxiliary water cache he promised himself he would use a little of the water to dampen his face.
He finished the last of his water in the thermiteens about nine hours after he had left the humidi-hut. He had drunk more than usual but he decided that his thirst had been aggravated by the storm.
The familiar marker that stood guard over the auxiliary water supply loomed through the shifting murk. He half ran the last few yards, feeling already the soothing coolness of the dampened cloth against his fevered cheek.
He stopped a few paces from the water cache and stared.
The door of the little thermi-safe stood open and there in the drifting dust lay the emptied auxiliary water kegs.
He threw himself to the ground and seized one of the emptied containers. The dust around it was still moist. Someone, short minutes ago, had broken into this cache and deliberately emptied the water into the dust. Someone....