"No marker."
Rowley nodded. "That's right. I thought about it at the time and wondered. I thought of mentioning it to Tsu. Know why I didn't?"
Spliid grunted again.
"I thought, if I did, somebody would come out of the trees, bringing a marker. Probably two sticks tied in a cross. Get what I mean?"
"Gimme the shovel," said Spliid.
Rowley handed him the collapsible entrenching tool he had been carrying. The Commander bent his back, scooped at the dirt. He worked swiftly, carefully, almost silently.
"About eighteen inches deep, you said?"
"About."
Spliid fell to again. The metal blade chinked dully on moist clods. After a time, Spliid flashed his light again. His free hand entered the cone of yellow shine, prodded the moist dirt. He was on his knees, reaching far down into the hole he had dug.
"I've gone by loose dirt," he puffed. "There's no body here, Cliff."