He picked up a pebble. Even in its rough state he could see the deep luminous golden glow, the fiery red and purple flecks deep in the shining stone.
"Make sure," Morrison told himself. "No false alarms, no visions, no wild hopes. Make sure."
He broke off a chunk of rock with the butt of his revolver. It still looked like goldenstone. He took out his testing kit and spilled a few drops of white solution on the rock. The solution foamed green.
"Goldenstone, sure as sure," Morrison said, looking around at the glowing cliff walls. "Hey, I'm rich!"
He took out his telephone. With trembling fingers he dialed Krandall's number.
"Max!" Morrison shouted. "I've hit it! I've hit the real stuff!"
"My name is not Max," a voice over the telephone said.
"Huh?"
"My name is Boyard," the man said.
The video screen cleared, and Morrison saw a thin, sallow-faced man with a hairline mustache.