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?"

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