“They say that you can get me in to see him,” she said bluntly.

“I imagine I can, at that,” replied Father William.

“Will you?”

“That’s another story altogether,” he said slowly.

“You mean you won’t?”

“I didn’t say that. I said it was another story.” He looked around the room until his gaze fell on the killer’s body. “That heathen came mighty close to getting you a personal meeting with God,” he said. “Mighty close. It’s a damned good thing the Lord was helping keep my eye sharp and my hand steady.”

“I’ve already thanked you. Do you want me to do it again?”

“Well, young lady,” he said, withdrawing his black handkerchief and polishing his poorbox meaningfully, “there are thanks, and then there are thanks.”

She stared at him for a moment, finally comprehending. “One thousand credits,” she said at last.

He smiled. “That’s hardly chapter one of that other story we were talking about.”

“Just remember that it’s a story and not a novel,” she replied. “Two thousand.”

He pursed his lips and considered the offer.

“How’s your cooking?” he asked at last.

“Terrible.”

“Pity.” He stared at her, then shrugged. “What the hell. Between the bounty money and your generous donation, we’re going to see to it that five thousand children on Kellatra Four never come down with drypox or blue fever again.” He bent over, raised his left pants leg, and withdrew a long hunting knife that he had strapped to his calf. “Let me just collect the proof of the pudding for the local constabulary and we’ll be off.” He turned to her. “You do have two thousand credits, don’t you?”

She pulled the notes out of her satchel. “Have we got a deal?” she asked.

He took the money from her, put it in his poorbox, and grinned. “We sure as hell have, praise the Lord!”

9.

Up pops the Swagman, out pops his gun,

Down comes the money, away he does run;

There goes the posse, seeking his den—

Then up pops the Swagman, at it again!

Considering that he ran his own planet and had pretty much of a free hand on ten or fifteen others, you’d have expected the Jolly Swagman to be backed up by a veritable army of outlaws and cutthroats, but he wasn’t. He had informants, of course, and a lot of contacts inside and outside the law, but for the most part he worked alone.

And considering that he worked alone, you’d have expected him to be a giant of a man, sort of a Goldenrod version of ManMountain Bates, but he wasn’t. He was an inch or two shorter than normal and about twenty pounds overweight, and truth to tell he didn’t have a single memorable physical feature, except maybe for his eyes, which were just about colorless.