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know. Fact is kind of nice to talk to you fellers. These guys really look nasty, criminals you say …’
    ‘Pops, we ain’t got all day. If you didn’t see them they could still be hiding on your farm. Maybe in your barn?’
    ‘No way they could do that. Them’s
porcuswine
out there. Most ornerycritters in creation.’
    ‘We still got to look. Orders are to search every building in the vicinity.’
    The policemen started our way and there was a screech like an insane siren and the thud of sharp hooves. Around the corner of the barn – quills rattling with anger – came our friend of the night before. He charged and the police dived for their floater. The angry boar crashed into it, sendingit rocking across the yard with a great dent in its side. The farmer nodded happily.
    ‘Told you weren’t no one in the barn. Little Larry here, he don’t cotton onto strangers. But drop by any time you’re in the neighbourhood, fellers …’
    He had to shout the last words because the floater was heading west with Little Larry in snorting pursuit.
    ‘Now that is what I call beautiful,’ Stinger said,awe in his voice. I nodded in silent agreement. Even the dullest of lives contains moments of pure glory.
    Enough fun; time to work. I chewed on a straw and stretched out on the warm hay. ‘Porcuswine are nice when you know them.’
    ‘The police don’t seem to think so,’ Stinger said.
    ‘Guess not. That was the best thing I ever saw. I don’t exactly get along with the police.’
    ‘Who does? What yougot sent up for, Jimmy?’
    ‘Bank robbery. Did you ever hold up a bank?’
    He whistled appreciation and shook his head
no
. ‘Not my style. I wouldn’t know what to do first. Mudslugging’s my style. Ain’t been beat in nine years.’
    ‘Knocking around the way you do you must meet a lot of people. Did you ever meet Smelly Schmuck?’ I extemporised rapidly. ‘He and I did some banks in Graham State.’
    ‘Nevermet him. Never even heard of him. You’re the first bank robber I ever met.’
    ‘Really? Well, I guess there aren’t that many of us these days. But you must know some safecrackers. Or groundcar thieves?’
    All I got for my efforts was another shake of the head. ‘The only time I ever meet guys like you is in jail. I know some gamblers, they go around the mudslugging fights. But they’re all two-buckers,losers. I did know one once who swore he knew The Bishop, long time ago.’
    ‘The Bishop?’ I said, blinking rapidly, trying to sum up what little I knew of the ecclesiastical hierarchy. ‘I don’t go to church much these days …’
    ‘Not that kind of bishop. I mean The Bishop, the geezer used to clean out banks and things. Thought you would have heard of him?’
    ‘Before my time, I guess.’
    ‘Before everyone’stime. This was years ago. Cops never got him, I hear. This two-bucker bragged he knew The Bishop, said that he had retired and was lying low. He must of been lying, two-bucker like him.’
    Stinger knew no more than this and I hesitated to pump him too hard. Our conversation died away and we both dozed on and off until dark. We were thirsty and hungry, but knew that we had to remain undercover duringdaylight. I chewed on my straw and tried not to think of large beers and bottles of cold water, but thought about The Bishop instead. It was a thin lead, but it was all that I had. By the time the sun went down I was hungry and thirsty and thoroughly depressed. My prison escapade had turned out to be a dangerous fiasco. Jails were for losers – that’s about all I had found out. And in order todiscover this fact I had risked life and limb. Never again. I took a silent oath to stay away from prison and the minions of the law in the future. Good criminals don’t get caught. Like The Bishop, whoever he might be.
    When the last trace of light was gone from the sky, we eased the barn door open. A bubbling grunt reached our ears and agreat form blocked our exit. Stinger gasped and I