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The Angelmaker saw the appealing mass of quivering flesh and struck, instantly darting its head back and striking again. Maisie, snorting with the effort to turn her head and look back over her shoulder, squealed again and backed towards the poised snake. It hissed loudly and struck another time, perhaps wondering in some dim corner of its vestigial brain why this appealing dinner did not drop down to be eaten. If the Angelmaker had known a bit more about pigs, it might have acted differently. Instead it struck again, and by now most of its venom was gone.

While the Mule-Foot is not a lardy type, it is a sturdy breed, and the females do run to fat. Maisie was plumper than most. Her hindquarters — what some crude carnivorous types might call her hams— were coated with heavy fat. And there is no blood circulation through fat. The venom had been deposited in the fat, where it could not reach the bloodstream and could do no injury. Eventually it would be neutralized by her body chemistry and disposed of. Right now Maisie was turning the tables. The Angelmaker struck again — listlessly, because its venom was gone. Maisie heaved her bulk about and chopped down with her hooves — strong, sharp-edged weapons. While snakes may like to kill pigs, pigs also greatly enjoy eating snakes. Squealing and bouncing heavily, Maisie landed on the snake's spine and neatly amputated its head. The body still writhed and she attacked again, chopping with her hooves until the snake had been cut into a number of now motionless segments. Only then did she stop attacking and begin to mumble happily to herself while she ate them. It was a big snake, and she allowed Curly and Jasmine to help her with it. Bron waited for them to finish before moving out, because the feast was calming them down. Only when the last chunk had vanished did he turn and start back for the camp. He kept looking back over his shoulder and found that it was a great relief — for all of them — to start down the slope away from the Ghost Plateau.

When they reached the rest of the herd, there were grunts of greeting. The most intelligent beasts remembered the promised candy and crowded around waiting for it.

Bron opened a case of the mineral and vitamin-reinforced delicacy. While distributing it, he heard the buzz of his phone — very dimly, because he had yet to unpack it from its carrying case.

When he had filled out all the homesteading forms he had of course put down his phone number, since this was as much a part of him as was his name. Everyone was given a phone number at birth, and it was his for life. With the computer-controlled circuits anyone, anywhere on a planet, could he reached by the dialing of a single number. But who could be calling him here? As far as he knew, only Lea Davies had his number. He pulled out the compact phone — no bigger than his hand, including its lifetime atomic battery — and flipped up the small screen. This activated the phone, and static rustled from the speaker while a colored image appeared on the screen.

"Now, I was just thinkin' 'bout you, Miss Davies," he said. "Ain't that a coincidence."

"Very.” she said, barely moving her lips when she spoke, as though groping for words. She was a pretty girl, but looking too haggard now. Her brother's death had hit her hard. "I must see you. . Mr. Wurber. As soon as possible."

"Now, that's right friendly, Miss Lea_; I'm lookin' forward to that."

"I need your help, but we mustn't be seen talking together. Can you come as soon as it's dark, alone, to the rear entrance of the municipal building? I'll meet you there."

"I'll be there — you can count on me," he said, and he rung off.

What was this about? Did the girl know something no one else knew? It was possible. But why him? Unless the Governor had told her about P.I.G. — which was very possible, since she was his only assistant. And on top of that she was very attractive, when she wasn't crying. As soon as he had fed the herd, he broke out some clean clothes and his razor.

Bron left at dusk, and Queeny lifted her head to watch him go. She would be in charge until he came back — the rest of the pigs knew and expected that — and she had Curly and Moe ready to take care of any trouble that might arise. Curly was sleeping off the day's exertions, whistling placidly through his nose, — and next to him little Jasmine was also asleep, even more tired and sedated by a large Miltown. The situation was well in hand.

Approaching the municipal building from its unlighted rear was no problem, since he had been over the same ground just the previous evening. All this running about and missing sleep was getting to him at last, and he choked off a yawn with his fist.

"Miss Lea, are you there?" he called softly, pushing open the unlocked door. The hall beyond was black, and he hesitated.