m to the coast. A great explosion, they
told him, had torn the River Nascopee from its bed and diverted its
course. The lakes that it fed had all dried up.

* * * * *

Blinded by perspiration, sweltering under the heavy burden of their
outfit, goaded almost to frenzy by the black flies and mosquitoes,
Hooker and Marc and Edouard staggered through the brush, following the
monorail. They had already reached the summit of the Height of Land and
where now working down the northern slope in the direction of Ungava.
The land was barren beyond the imagination of the unimaginative Bennie.
Small dwarfed trees struggled for a footing amid the lichen-covered
outcroppings and sun-dried moss of the hollows. The slightest rise
showed mile upon mile of great waste undulating interminably in every
direction. The heat shimmering off the rocks was almost suffocating. At
noon on September 10th they threw themselves into the shade of a narrow
ledge, boiled some tea, and smoked their pipes, wildly fanning the air
to drive away the swarms of insects that attacked them.

Hooker was half drunk from lack of sleep and water. Already once or
twice he had caught himself wandering when talking to Marc and Edouard.
The whole thing was like a horrible, disgusting nightmare. And then he
suddenly became aware that the two Indians were staring intently through
the clouds of mosquitoes over the tree tops to the eastward. Through the
sweat that trickled into his eyes he tried to make out what they could
see. But he could discern nothing except mosquitoes. And then he thought
he saw a mosquito larger than all the others. He waved at it, but it
remained where it was. A slight breeze momentarily wafted the swarm
away, and he still saw the big mosquito hovering over the horizon. Then
he heard Marc cry out:

"_Quelque chose vol en l'air!_"

He rubbed the moisture out of his eyes and stared at the mosquito, which
was growing bigger every minute. With the velocity of a projectile, this
monstrous insect, or whatever it was, came sweeping up behind them from
the Height of Land, soaring into the zenith in a great parabola, until
with a shiver of excitement Bennie recognized that it was the Flying
Ring.

"It's him," he chattered emphatically, if ungrammatically.

Marc and Edouard nodded.

"_Oui, oui!_" they cried in unison. "_C'est celui que vous cherchez!_"

"_Il retourne chez lui_," said Marc.

And then Bennie, without of