"But I saw the print."
Watson dismissed such evidence with a wave of his hand. "They made it up, probably. Forget it till you see the animal itself. You'll have time to believe it then. We got enough to worry about already."
Jerry couldn't forget it. But there was a kind of reassurance in such hearty skepticism. With each passing minute, that huge print seemed more unreal.
Halfway through the valley they stopped to look at the river. The bed was half full—muddy, debris-laden, with a sheen of dust on the surface. But it was water—wet, tangible, undeniable.
Watson took off his hat and rubbed his head and swore.
"Good afternoon."
They turned. Joe Merklos was smiling at them.
"Hello," Jerry said. Watson just glowered.
Merklos moved beside them and looked down. His brilliant teeth flashed. "Good, is it not?" The guttural words came out flat, one at a time, as though shaped carefully.