Ellis rammed his webbed gray hand down into the pouch that hung at his side. When it emerged again a sharp fragment of black glassy rock lay in his palm. He grinned at Masson's amazement.
"One of the Frogs," he said, "that we captured yesterday had this on a loop of leather around his neck. With the few words we have learned and signs I learned that a mountain of this material lies toward the east."
"Land!" was all Masson could gasp. Reverently he fingered the bit of glassy obsidian. His eyes blinked with excitement and his grotesque slash of a mouth quivered.
"What are we waiting for?" he demanded eagerly. "Let's get going."
Ellis laughed tolerantly. "The island lies some distance away," he said. "We will need good rafts, or, better, canoes. Hostile natives probably live in the mud-lands surrounding the island."
"Let's get to work on it then," urged Glade Masson. "We can kill a lot of these alligator-jawed vallids and use their skins for boat covering. The Eskimos do that. And we can make shields of their hides, too. We'll need extra arrows, food, and other supplies."
"Go to it," laughed Ellis. "Ten or fifteen of the younger men will probably want to go along." He blinked his round black eyes solemnly. "And you're the guy that was satisfied with things as they are."
The little flotilla of skin-covered canoes threaded its way among the misty islets of pale green thidin vines. Ten of the unwieldy craft there were, and in all save the two larger boats two powerfully muscled Frogs sat. The larger boats carried three paddlers and were well-laden with dried vallid flesh, broiled thidin shoots, and heaps of the scarlet-mottled orange nik-nik fruit.
"Hear about Susan Martin?" inquired Ellis as he dipped his paddle rhythmically into the sullen waters of the mist-shrouded sea.