"Hm. It's irregular, but I daresay we ... Where is the money?"
"Right here," Morrison said. "You recognize it, don't you? It's goldenstone!"
"I am sick and tired of the tricks you prospectors think you can put over on us. Holding up a handful of pebbles—"
"But this is really goldenstone! Can't you see it?"
"I am a businessman," Mr. Boyard said, "not a jeweler. I wouldn't know goldenstone from goldenrod."
The video screen went blank.
Frantically, Morrison tried to reach the operator. There was nothing, not even a dial tone. His telephone was disconnected.
He put the instrument down and surveyed his situation. The narrow crevice into which he had fallen ran straight for about twenty yards, then curved to the left. No cave was visible in the steep walls, no place where he could build a barricade.
He heard a movement behind him. Whirling around, he saw a huge old wolf in full charge. Without a moment's hesitation, Morrison drew and fired, blasting off the top of the beast's head.