Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.

<passage>:
I dropped behind a fragment of the rag-cliff. A shot barked out Every boy should be able to whistle, except, of course, Martians. But this one did! The first was that he was a Martian little boy. You could be very sure do not—and he most certainly didn't. The second was the tune he whistled—a somehow familiar tune, but one which I should have thought not very appealing to a little boy. "Hi, there," I said when he came near enough. "What's that you're whistling?" He stopped whistling and he stopped walking, both at the same time, as ?" I asked. "From the William Tell Overture," he explained, still looking up at me. He said it deadpan, and his wide brown eyes never once batted. The light in his eyes snapped off. "Well, good-by," he said abruptly and very relevantly. mechanical little boy. When he was almost out of sight, I took off after him, wondering. were still occupied, like the one into which the Martian boy had just disappeared. So his mother had taught him the William Tell Overture, had she? That tickling thought made me chuckle as I stood before the ramshackle All Martians are as tone-deaf as a bucket of lead. I answered: "As a matter of fact, I don't want to see you at all. I didn't know you lived here and I don't know who you are. I'm not even interested in who you are. It's the little boy who just went in here that I was interested in. The little Martian boy, I mean." "Nothing," I answered. "Except that Martians are supposed to be hearing. So when I heard this little boy, and saw he was a Martian, and Her eyes were telling me that the little Martian boy wasn't a little Martian boy at all, that he was cross-breed, a little chap who had a compared to a human male the Martian isn't anything you'd want around stiffened angrily and the words that ripped out of her mouth were not coated with honey. "Get the hell out of here, you fool!" was standing motionless directly in the middle of the sand-path in front of the door. His hands were on his hips and there was something in his eyes which might have been a leer. His chuckle was a lewd thing, a thing usually reserved—if it ever was reserved at all—for the mens' rooms of some of the lower class dives. And then he stopped chuckling and frowned instead and said complainingly: He nodded. "But a lot of good that'll do. He's holed up somewhere back on Earth." "No," I said. "He's right here. I just saw him." " What? He cut me off. His hand darted into his desk drawer and pulled out an Authority Card. He shoved the card at me. He growled: "Kill or capture, something which struck me as somewhat more than odd. I had idly listened to a little half-breed Martian boy whistling part of the William Tell Overture, and it had led me to a wanted killer I spent the remainder of the afternoon trying to get a lead on him and got nowhere. If he was hiding in any of the places I went to, then he was doing it with mirrors, for on Mars an Authority Card is the big was not finding the Earthwoman and her little half-breed Martian son That night I went into the Great Northern desert to the Haremheb Reservation, where the Martians still try to act like Martians. It was Festival night, and when I got there they were doing the dance to the two moons. At times like this you want to leave the Martians alone. With that thought in mind, I pinned my Authority Card to my lapel directly above my badge, and went through the gates. The huge circle fire was burning and the dance was in progress. Briefly, this can be described as something like the ceremonial dances Martians dig a huge circular trench and fill it with dried roots of the burn for hours. Inside this ring sit the spectators, and in the exact center are the dancers. For music, they use the drums. The dancers were both men and women and they were as naked as Martians can get, but their dance was a thing of grace and loveliness. For an instant—before anyone observed me—I stood motionless and watched thought before, that this is the one thing the Martians can still do I felt the knife dig my spine. Carefully I turned around and pointed my The Martian turned, went away from the half-light of the circle. He led the appearance of being done deliberately by a Martian sand-artist. took a Martian for a husband." other side, a little Martian boy who whistles." it was simply blank. "They disappeared from the shack they were living in," I said. "They went in a hurry—a very great hurry." That one he didn't answer, either. "Why?" His whisper was brittle. "She's not in trouble," I told him quickly. "She's not wanted. Nor her "Murder." He spat the word. "But not for the murder of a Martian, eh? Martians are not that important any more." His old eyes hated me with and as precise as the thrust of a razor through a piece of soft yellow only bores a Martian. I got up and went out of the tent. The woman never heard me approach. Her eyes were toward the flaming circle and the dancers within, and, too, I suppose, to her small son I ignored that. "Why did you pull out of that shack? I told you you had "Why should I care about an Earthman? My husband was a Martian. And he's dead, see? Dead. Just a Martian. Not fit for anything, like all Martians. Just a bum who fell in love with an Earthwoman and had the whoever it was, I'll get him. Or, simply, it was the face of a woman who wanted to kill the killer of her man. And then, suddenly, it wasn't. Even though the noise of the dance and the dancers was loud enough to command the attention and the senses. I said to me, "But not for the murder of a Martian, eh? Martians are not I stopped. Even in my own ears, my words sounded comfortless. I looked up, over at the flaming circle and at the sweat-laved dancers within of speed and savagery combined and those who moved to its frenetic jabberings were not dancers any more, but only frenzied, jerking figurines on the strings of a puppeteer gone mad. But who in the name of God could have the heart to ruin a dream like that? Next day I followed the little boy. He left the reservation in a cheery frame of mind, his whistle sounding loud and clear on the thin morning air. He didn't go in the direction of town, but the other way—toward It was desert country, of course. There wasn't any chance of tailing him without his knowledge and I knew it. I also knew that before long he'd know it, too. And he did—but he didn't let me know he did until gentleman doesn't do that to another gentleman." I didn't smile. "And what would you have me do about it?" "Stop following me, of course, sir." "Very well," I said. "I won't follow you any more. Will that be satisfactory?" "Quite, sir." Without another word, he picked up his butterfly net and disappeared along a path that led through a rock crevice. Only then did I allow course—the city of Deimos and Phobos. Other than that he had no choice. And I thought I knew the reason for his going. Several times in the past, there have been men who, bitten with the himself of finding the killer of his daddy. sand-worn path. The temple stones stood out barren and dry-looking, like breast bones from the desiccated carcass of an animal. For a whistle, sure, but a warning one. I stopped in my tracks from the shock of it. Yes, I knew from whom it

<question>:
Why did one of the Martians pull a knife on the protagonist?

<options>:
A He insulted the Chief by calling him a liar
B He was bothering the woman and her son
C He did not respect their traditions
D He was not welcome at their Festival

<answer>:

D