Bruce Whiting examined them carefully; first the neat rows of fine print, then the dozen glossy color-photos which had been taken on the property from strategic angles. He shook his head and turned to his son. "Get _our_ titles, Frank," he said. The boy left, returning within seconds with a similar manila envelope. Bruce Whiting opened it and pushed a handful of papers at Claude. While his wife and son watched, Claude Marshall went through the papers methodically.... They were all there. All the measurements; looking like duplicates, backed up by photos that had apparently been developed from the same negatives.... He glanced at his wife. "Something's wrong, Joan," he said. "Mr. Whiting has a claim on this land too. It's just like ours.... Exactly!" "But I don't understand, Claude." "It's not too hard to understand, Mrs. Marshall," Whiting said. "It just means that someone in Washington loused up the detail. They're always making mistakes like that.... I figure some clerk--" "But what are we supposed to _do_?" Bruce Whiting moved his shoulders. "I don't know, Mrs. Marshall. I just don't know.... After all we were here _first_. Why don't you take it up with the Colonization Director?... Maybe there's another tract he could give you." "I don't want another tract," Claude said flatly. "I want this one." "So do I, Mr. Marshall." "But the land's mine!" "Is it? How about _my_ title? It's just as valid as yours." "That'll be for the law to decide," Claude said grimly. "And we'll fight you on it. By God, we'll fight you on it all the way from here to Washington and back!" "That's up to you, of course. In the meantime, may I remind you that I hold possession?" 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." "Mr. Whiting's right," Joan said. "After all it isn't his fault--"