Ross had ordinarily the most even of tempers, but four days of canoe travel in the wilds of North Quebec had begun to rasp it. On this, their fourth stop on the bank of the river to camp for the night, he lost control and for a few moments stood and spoke to his two companions in blistering terms.
His black eyes snapped and his darkly unshaven handsome young face worked as he spoke. The two biologists listened to him without reply at first. Gray's blond young countenance was indignant but Woodin, the older biologist, just listened im-passively with his gray eyes level on Ross's angry face.
When Ross stopped for breath, Woodin's calm voice struck in. "Are you fin-ished?"
Ross gulped as though about to resume his tirade, then abruptly got hold of himself. "Yes, I'm finished," he said sullenly.
"Then listen to me," said Woodin, like a middle-aged father admonishing a sulky child.
"You're working yourself up for nothing. Neither Gray nor I have made one complaint yet. Neither of us has once said that we disbelieve what you told us."
"You haven't said you disbelieve, no!" Ross exclaimed with anger suddenly re-flaring. "But don't you suppose I can tell what you're thinking?
"You think I told you a fairy story about the things I saw from my plane, don't you? You think I dragged you two up here on the wildest wild-goose chase, to look for incredible creatures that could never have existed. You believe that, don't you?"
"Oh, damn these mosquitoes!" said Gray, slapping viciously at his neck and star-ing with unfriendly eyes at the aviator.
Woodin took command. "We'll go over this after we've made camp. Jim, get out the dufflebags. Ross,
will you rustle firewood?"
They both glared at him and at each other, but grudgingly they obeyed. The tension eased for the time.
