"I see, I see," Krandall said. "All right, I'll try to find Wilkes. But, Tom, I don't know how much I can do. It's after business hours. Most places are closed--" "Get them open again," said Morrison. "I can pay for it. And get Jim Remstaater out of trouble, too." "It can't be done just like that. You haven't established any rights to your claim. You haven't even proved that your claim is valuable." "Look at it." Morrison turned the telephone so that Krandall could see the glowing walls of the ravine. "Looks real," Krandall said. "But unfortunately, all that glitters is not goldenstone." "What can we do?" Morrison asked. "We'll have to take it step by step. I'll 'port you the Public Surveyor. He'll check your claim, establish its limits, and make sure no one else has filed on it. You give him a chunk of goldenstone to take back. A big chunk." "How can I cut goldenstone? I don't have any tools." "You'll have to figure out a way. He'll take the chunk back for assaying. If it's rich enough, you're all set." "And if it isn't?" "Perhaps we better not talk about that," Krandall said. "I'll get right to work on this, Tommy. Good luck!" Morrison signed off. He stood up and helped the robot to its feet. "In twenty-three years of service," Williams 4 said, "this is the first time anybody has threatened the life of a government postal employee. I must report this to the police authorities at Venusborg, Mr. Morrison. I have no choice." "I know," Morrison said. "But I guess five or ten years in the penitentiary is better than dying." "I doubt it. I carry mail there, you know. You will have the opportunity of seeing for yourself in about six months." "What?" said Morrison, stunned. "In about six months, after I have completed my mail calls around the planet and returned to Venusborg. A matter like this must be reported in person. But first and foremost, the mails must go through." "Thanks, Williams. I don't know how--" "I am simply performing my duty," the robot said as it climbed into the vortex. "If you are still on Venus in six months, I will be delivering your mail to the penitentiary." "I won't be here," Morrison said. "So long, Williams!" The robot disappeared into the 'porting vortex. Then the vortex disappeared. Morrison was alone in the Venusian twilight. * * * * * He found an outcropping of goldenstone larger than a man's head. He chipped at it with his pistol butt, and tiny particles danced and shimmered in the air. After an hour, he had put four dents in his revolver, but he had barely scratched the highly refractory surface of the goldenstone. The sandwolves began to edge forward. Morrison threw stones at them and shouted in his dry, cracked voice. The wolves retreated. He examined the outcropping again and found a hairline fault running along one edge. He concentrated his blows along the fault. The goldenstone refused to crack.