the early days of conquest they had even massacred people just for their rings and fillings. They began to understand Terl a little better in his dangerous enterprise to possess the yellow metal for himself. To the humans, the metal meant very little: they had no experience of using it in trade; it was pretty and didn't tarnish and was easily pounded into shape, but stainless steel had a lot more utility. Their own ideas of trade and thrift had to do with useful items that were real wealth.

None of this got them any closer to getting a ton of gold. They frantically test-drilled for the lost vein.

On Day 70 they found the vein again. It had been shifted by some past upheaval two hundred thirty-one feet to the north and only thirty feet from the surface.

They wiped off their sweating faces, the droplets tending to freeze in the bitter winter winds of these altitudes, made a new level area for equipment and a new shaft, and began to drift again along the white quartz. The vein had thinned down to about three feet in width. They drove on, filling the dark air of the drift with white chips and blast fumes.

Jonnie went back to studying the battle reports. They must know Psychlo tactics very precisely. He was once again struck with the oddity of this attack on a “tank” in Denver where no tank existed. He narrowed down the location on the faded satellite photos– they had kept coming off the machine even after the president was dead. Yes, there was smoke at that place.

They had scouted out Denver thoroughly. Typically, Terl had not intended to work in the U.S. Mint to refine his gold; he had set up a place in the basement of the remains of a smelter a few minutes' drive away. He was just using the U.S. Mint as a receipt point.

But all the gold invoices they found in the mines said, “U.S. Mint,” and it seemed to Jonnie that where so much gold was funneled in, there might be further traces there, in case they missed at the lode. Also this tank that didn't exist to the U.S. military might have been guarding the mint.

In a swift foray, he and Dunneldeen swooped down to the U.S. Mint. They had made very sure there were no ground cars or planes as the afternoon faded. They landed in a park in the cover of giant trees and sped on silent feet to the mint.

The place was still. It had been scouted before, but once more they went over it just in case the Psychlos had missed a vault. Inside they found nothing.

They lingered outside in the darkness. Dunneldeen amused himself by prying into the mounds that had once been cars, wondering what they looked like in the days when they could run. Jonnie was thinking about the views Terl had shown him. He went around to the back and played a mine lamp on the ground so it would reflect a dim light up.

Shortly, he was looking at the largest mound. It came to him that this must be the tank the battle plane had

destroyed. The nonexistent tank.

He lifted some turf– blown sand and grass had overlaid it. He cut the turf very carefully so it could be laid back and leave no sign of disturbance. The thing wasn't an ordinary car. It was so thickly built that it had endured the rust of time. The metal was twisted where it had burned out. He had never seen anything like this. It had a slot one might fire out of, but that would be its closest resemblance to a tank. The window frames had bars over them, a bit like a cage. What was this thing? He pried a section of metal aside with a mine crowbar and got inside. The interior had been blackened by fire and floor plates had warped. He pried up a floor plate.

Half a minute later a smiling Jonnie was making a bird call and beckoning for Dunneldeen. He took the Scot inside.

As one might piece together, when the Psychlo attack came, the U.S. Mint had sought to evacuate its vaults.

GOLD! How much?

In extremely heavy ingots, there it had lain neatly for a thousand years. Overlooked, for everyone thought it was a tank.

They estimated its weight with excited heftings. And then their

excitement dimmed.

“It’s less than a tenth of a ton,” said Dunneldeen. “Would Terl be satisfied

with that?”

Jonnie didn't think so. In fact he knew Terl wouldn't. It was also far less than suited their own project.

“A tenth of a loaf is better than none,” said Dunneldeen.

They packed the two hundred pounds of gold in the plane and put the “tank” back together and scattered snow on it and around it to cover tracks.

They now had about three hundred pounds in gold.

They needed a ton.

It was enough to make one take up alchemy, the mythical conversion of lead to gold, said the historian when they returned. And in fact he spent hours that night fruitlessly studying just that.

The parson made a visit to Jonnie's village to prepare the people for the possibility of withdrawal into the old base. He told Jonnie his Aunt Ellen sent her love and for him to be very careful in the wild places he went. Jonnie detected the parson was sweet on Aunt Ellen and privately wished him luck.

They felt bad they couldn't warn other peoples on this planet.

If they failed, man might indeed become extinct.

The shift that went on duty at the end of Day 86 began like any other shift. The vein had been narrowing lately– pinching out. They tried not to be hopeful, but shift ends, when they had not found the pocket yet, were always a bitter disappointment.

Dunneldeen, recovered from the cave-in, was operating a chattering spade bit, sweat streaming off him in the closed, hot confines of the drift. He had a sudden illusion that a drop of sweat had turned color as it dropped into his eye. He switched off the spade bit to clear his vision. He looked again in front of him through the swirling smoke and white dust. The illusion was still there.

But it wasn't an illusion!

A single, round spot of glowing yellow marked the shining white vein.

He put the spade bit against it and turned it on. The chattering edge bit further. He shut it off and walked closer to the vein.

He stood stock-still and then let out a blasting whistle to stop the shift.

He pointed. And then bedlam broke loose!

It was gold!

They had finally hit the second pocket!

The shift abruptly left off shouting and every bit and drill they had down there began to cut into the vein.

The wire gold began to blossom against the white.

An excited call went to the duty watch in town, and in a handful of minutes they had the third shift helping them.

The town went wild.

Every Scot and even two of the old widows helped form a human bucket line out of the mine; weighing, sacking, and loading bag after bag of mixed wire gold and quartz. To the devil with the odd bits of rock. The gold was like twisted springs and small cages of gleaming yellow.

Before sunset on Day 88 they had the whole pocket out.

Sixteen hundred forty-seven pounds, it weighed out, subtracting the rock.

Adding to that the three hundred six pounds they already had, it made one thousand nine hundred fifty-three pounds.

It was short of a ton but it would have to do.

The project was on its way!

They began to oil their assault rifles.

The parson prayed long and earnestly for their success. There were no parallels for odds such as these.