A tall, white-haired man looked up from a huge desk. He rose quickly, smiling, and held out his hand. "I've been wanting to see you, Lou. No one knew how to find you in the Ring." Flint shook his hand, pulled up a chair, and started right in. "This tract of planetoids of mine out in the Ring--do I own them--legally--or don't I?" The Governor looked down at his hands, inspected his fingernails. "That's what I wanted to see you about, Lou." When he met Flint's eyes it was with a look that said he was about to face an unpleasant task. "Your father spent half his life hunting space bat out there--he claimed several planetoids, I believe." "Twenty-two of them," Flint stated. "And I know that after your father died," the Governor continued, "you took over and have been hunting bat yourself ever since--a mighty long wild-goose chase I call it, but that's your business. Anyway, your father was one of the pioneers here, Lou. I'll always--" "Governor, if you've got bad news, spill it." "All right. I'll give it to you straight. You don't have any legal claim to those planetoids. The Saturnian Government has never recognized squatters' rights out there and I'm afraid there's no time to fight it out with Congress now." He hesitated. "Your land is being sold to an Earth fur corporation for a million dollars." Flint sat there staring at the Governor for a long moment. Then abruptly he got to his feet. "They're the guys I've been running into ever since feather-deer became the fur coat rage on Earth." He spoke through his teeth. "I've seen their work--thousands of raw, skinned carcasses strewn about the woods--vultures everywhere. They're butchers! In two months there won't be a feather-deer left in the Ring. They'll be extinct. Do you think I'm going to stand by and watch that happen?" He leaned over the desk, resting on his big fists. "I'm a hunter, but I hunt animals that can fight back--tigodons, baragators, swamp wolves--not these helpless little things you can run down and kill with a club." The Governor shook his white head sadly. "I'm truly sorry, Lou. I wish there were something I could do but the owner of this fur outfit is coming in on tonight's space liner. He wants to go out to the Ring just as soon as he arrives. I've been asked to find a guide." "One million dollars," Flint thought aloud. "It's entirely a matter of money." "I'm afraid it is. If you could only get a space bat _now_, Lou--doesn't that Earth circus still offer a million to anybody who captures one alive?" "Yeah," Flint said dejectedly. "But nobody's ever captured a space bat, dead or alive." He stuck his hands deep in his pockets and walked around the room, staring at the floor. Suddenly he halted in his tracks. Then he whirled back to the desk. "If I get a million dollars to you before this guy gives you his check, is the place mine?" The Governor's smile was puzzled. "Well, I could probably arrange it, but--"