“Are you not curious about a shipment of anthracite sculptures in transit from Pisgah to Genovaith Four?” suggested the feathered alien, his lips curled back in what seemed to be a grin.

The Swagman smiled back at him. “I was so curious about it that I gave orders to waylay it when it passed by the Karobus system. That would have occurred, oh, about an hour ago.”

“Truly?”

“Truly,” said the Swagman.

“You are a very resourceful villain, Jolly Swagman,” said Sitting Bull.

“In that case, perhaps I should apply for membership in the Great Sioux Nation,” he replied wryly.

“You are not acceptable,” said Sitting Bull. “Your weapons have been placed in your vehicle.” He turned away and waddled back to his wigwam.

After the feathered alien had disappeared behind a flap in the tent, the Swagman turned to Virtue.

“We’ve got problems,” he announced grimly.

“Oh?”

He nodded. “The Angel’s a lot closer to Santiago than I thought he’d be at this time.”

“Closer than we are?” she demanded.

“Probably.”

“How can that be? If you know who he’s seeing, why didn’t we see this person first?”

“I don’t know who he’s seeing. What I do know is that there are three or four lines of pursuit for someone who’s hunting Santiago. We’re following the one that’s tied in to his smuggling operations; if the Angel’s on Glenovar, he’s following a money trail.” He frowned. “And he’s doing a damned good job of it: he’s gotten as far in four weeks as you have in almost a year—and he didn’t have Cain helping him. I’ve got a feeling that he’s within three or four worlds of someone who can probably give him Santiago’s headquarters planet, and might even be able to toss in his address and room number.”

“Will Altair of Altair be able to do the same for Cain?” asked Virtue.

The Swagman shrugged. “I don’t know. Perhaps.”

“But you doubt it.”

“I really don’t know,” he replied.

Virtue stood up and turned to Sitting Bull’s wigwam.

“Hey. Sitting Bull!” she hollered. “Come back out.”

The alien emerged a moment later.

“What is your price for killing the Angel?” she asked him.

He was silent for a minute, as if weighing his expenses.

“Five million credits,” he announced at last.

“Five million?” she repeated incredulously. “You must be joking! That’s more than the Democracy is offering for any criminal except Santiago!”

“It will take many of my warriors, and most of them will die.” He paused. “The Songbird is a killer, and he is also your partner. Why do you not ask him to kill the Angel?”

“Because I’m asking you,” she snapped, wondering irritably if there was anyone on the Frontier who didn’t know she had teamed up with Cain.

“I have told you my price. Will you pay it?”