Claude Marshall bit his lip.
"Let's go Joan," he said.
"Where, Claude?"
"Back to the spaceport. We'll get a ruling on this."
"But it's getting dark. Can't we make camp someplace and go back tomorrow?"
"I'm hungry," Billy said.
"We can eat later, Son."
Bruce Whiting continued to regard them sullenly. Then abruptly, his face softened. "Wait," he said. "Don't go. Your wife's right, Mr. Marshall. You can't make the trip after dark. Why don't you and your family camp here for the night.... Alice has supper nearly ready and there's more than enough to go around...."
"We have our own rations," Claude said.
Bruce Whiting spread out his hands. "Look, Mr. Marshall. I know how you feel. I know, because it's the same way I feel. I guess a man can't help the way he feels when something threatens the thing he's been dreaming about all his life. But it isn't my fault that this happened any more than it's your fault. Since the problem concerns both of us, I suggest we sit down and discuss it like intelligent human beings."