"Listen, Bob," started Frank in an irritated tone, "I understood when the President told me this operation was secret, but I didn't think he meant for it to be a secret from me. Don't you think its about time for you to fill me in on what's going on?"

"If I told you now, you wouldn't believe me. If you'll just wait another half hour, everything will be clear."

"No. I'm sorry, but that just won't do. I mean, when the President called and said he had a job for me, I dropped everything and went straight to Washington. When he said it was a GS-14 position, I thanked him graciously. I was given an office, a secretary, and the title 'Undersecretary Of Land Rental: Wy-Mon-Dak', but was never told what Wy-Mon-Dak means. Did I complain? No, of course not. I sat in that office for two days, and no one knew what I was suppose to do. Then the President called me again and told me to meet you for this secret mission. I never questioned him-- I just hopped on the plane like I was told."

"Now here I am, in a truck, driving across Montana, and you have the nerve to tell me to wait another thirty minutes! If you don't tell me what's going on, I'm getting out of this pickup truck whether you stop or not."

"Calm down, Frank. I don't see what's the big deal. You're getting paid a huge salary plus expenses, and have probably the second most important job in America," said Bob as he continued to drive the truck down the two lane highway.

"Second most important?" asked Frank. "Who's got the first?"

"Your grandfather."

"The President is not my grandfather," Frank responded angrily, "and how do you figure my job is that important if I don't even know what I do?"

"Okay, Frank, here's the story. You work for me. I'm Director Of Land Management. I work for the Secretary of the Interior, and he works for the President. As your title implies, you are in charge of paying the rent for certain properties that the U.S. government rents, and Wy-Mon-Dak stands for Wyoming-Montana-Dakota."

Frank nodded in acknowledgment. In one minute, Bob had given him more information about his job than anyone else in the entire American government had in almost a week. "So, I oversee the writing of checks to different landlords of government buildings. If that's the case what are we doing in the middle of the Crow Indian Reservation? Surely we don't rent property from them."

Bob let out a small sigh as he realized that explaining the situation would be harder than he had thought. "Frank, do you remember how we got Manhatten Island?"

"Yeah, we bought it from some Indians."

"Right. A Dutch explorer named Peter Minuit thought Manhatten Island would make a good colony. The Canarsee Indians were living on the island, so Minuit paid them $24 worth of beads and trinkets for the land. Now, what made those Indians the legal owners of that land to sell it to Minuit?"

Frank flashed his boss a strange look, and thought for a moment. "I suppose they owned it because they were there."

"Right again. Two centuries later, President Thomas Jefferson bought the Louisiana Purchase from the French for fifteen million dollars. The deal doubled the size on the U.S. and allowed Napolean Bonaparte to concentrate on his conquest of Europe rather than rule of foreign colonies. What made the French the legal owners of Louisiana?"

"They were there?" answered Frank half-heartedly.

"You catch on quick. This is the tough one. While William Seward served as Secretary of the Interior, he made a deal to buy Alaska from the Russians for 7.2 million dollars. Now, what do you think made them the legal owners?"

"I get the point, but I don't understand what you're getting at," stated Frank impatiently.

"Here's the point. America has bought and seized land since the first white man set foot on her soil. We obtained Louisiana from the French; Texas, New Mexico, Arizona, and California from the Spanish; and in 1818, we made a deal with Canada that set our northern border which remains the longest unfortified international border on Earth. At this point the only people that stood between the southern and northern borders, were the Indians-- or that's what we thought."

"The plan was to slaughter the Indians or force them on to reservations, so we could make their land into new states. Unfortunately, we made a dangerous assumption. We assumed that the Indians owned the land because they were there."

"Well, if the Indians didn't own it, then who did?" interrupted Frank.

"I was just getting to that. The Indians tried to explain that the land was owned by Small Pale One That Lives Among The Stars, but the white man wouldn't listen. In early 1872, the rent came due and the Indians explained to the landlord that the white man claimed to own the land now."

"And the landlord was this Small Pale One That Lives Among The Stars, right?" asked Frank in an aggravated voice.

"You really are smart-- I don't care what the rumors say about how you got the job. This guy, Small Pale One, explained to a government representative that he owned Wyoming, Montana, and the Dakota's, and that he didn't care who lived on his land, as long as he got his rent. Well the representative paid him without an argument, made arrangements to meet him in another four years, then rushed back to Washington to tell the President about his encounter."

"Wait a minute!" yelled Frank as a light suddenly popped on in his head. "My title is Undersecretary Of Land Rentals, Wy-Mon-Dak stands for Wyoming-Montana-Dakota, and we're carrying a truck load of stuff into a desolate and deserted part of Montana. You're not going to tell me that we're still renting four states, are you?"

"Yes," answered Bob innocently.

"From this guy's family."

"No. From him."

"This is ridiculous! The guy would have to be over a hundred years old."

"Five."

"Five what?"

"Five hundred years old," explained Bob.

Frank shook his head in disbelief. "You mean to tell me we rent four states from a man that's five hundred years old?"

"Alien."

"I don't care whether he's a citizen or not, its still unbelievable."

Bob laughed. "No, no. I don't mean alien like some Mexican without a green card. I mean alien."

Frank was about to make another statement of disbelief, when Bob's meaning suddenly hit him. A shiver ran up his spine that made the short hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Bob had to be pulling his leg. He had always wondered whether there was life among the stars, but he never thought he'd find out by having to pay some creature from outer space rent. He sat in the passenger seat and stared out the windshield.

Bob noticed Frank's silence and decided to set his mind at ease. "It's a real good deal."

"What do you mean?"

"The rent," said Bob. "It's a real good deal."

Frank turned around and looked out the rear window at the aluminum canisters that filled the truck bed, and wondered how much money would fit in the back of a pickup truck. "How has the government managed to keep this a secret for so long?"

"Only a dozen people know about it. Because it is an appointed position, it has nothing to do with age. That means that you can stay in the job until you die. The job came open because the man who held it before you died two years ago but was never replaced. He was appointed by Nixon, because the man appointed by Eisenhower died. Besides you and the President, the only other people who know are the previous Secretaries of the Interior, my predecessor, and me. Ford, Carter, and Reagan were never told, because when the rent was due, your predecessor took care of it. I've been covering the job until now. When the rent came due this time, you were appointed, and I thought it would be easier to show you what you do than tell you."

"So, how much do we pay? A million dollars? A billion dollars?" asked Frank.

"T-bone steaks."

"Bull!" yelled Frank.

"No... Buffalo. Eight hundred pounds of buffalo filets packed in dry ice and delivered in hermetically sealed aluminum canisters."

"This is too much! I just can't believe this!" mumbled Frank as his mind tried to grasp his boss's statements. "Why didn't we just buy the land?"

"He wouldn't sell."

"Okay, so we rent the land. Fine. What if we refuse to pay?"

"I guess we'd be evicted."

"How do you think this guy's going to evict ten million people."

For a moment Bob drove silently, then in a serious tone he answered, "I guess the same way he evicted General George Custer and the Seventh Cavalry."

"No" yelled Frank.

"Yes. See, the government representative that had paid the alien went to Washington and told them about the deal. President Ulysses Grant didn't think much of it, and ordered George Custer to the arranged spot near the Little Big Horn River. Custer tried to kill the alien and his unit was wiped-out. To cover the fact that they were going to have to rent the land, they blamed Custer's death on the Indians."

"I just can't believe it."

"Do you know anyone that was at the Battle of Little Big Horn?" asked Bob.

"Of course not," answered Frank, "There were no survivors"

"Not true, there was one. All 265 soldiers died in the battle, but one horse, named Comanche, survived the battle. Every other horse was killed; some of them by their own riders so they could use their bodies for cover. A day later, a second party went to make amends with the alien and asked why he didn't kill the last horse. The alien explained that he had spared the horse and asked him to give the government a message. It appears he didn't know that we couldn't talk to horses."

"And we've been paying this alien rent ever since," said Frank as he shook his head in amazement.

"That's right. This is where you come in." Frank straightened up in seat and listened intently as Bob continued. "One of the government's strategies to get rid of the Indians was to kill off the buffalo, so they wouldn't have anything to eat. See, buffalo was the Indian's main food. They also used the skins for their teepees and the horns in their religious ceremonies. So, the government told the hunters that they could kill as many buffalo as they wanted."

"This contributed to the near extinction of these creatures. Buffalo aren't especially pretty animals, and they certainly don't smell good, so no one really cared about them disappearing until the American government realized that without them there would be no rent. To make matters worse, it was pointed out that the alien will only except a certain cut of meat. To get eight hundred pounds of this type of buffalo steak, it takes twenty animals. That is what lead to the big push in the seventies to save the buffalo from extinction. Your job is to make sure that there will always be twenty buffalo to slaughter for the steaks, and still have enough to repopulate the herds. Simple, huh. So simple, even the President's son-in-law could do it."

"Okay," started Frank, disregarding Bob's accusation. "The United States rents a chunk of land that's about ten per cent of the country from some little green man that killed Custer's Cavalry, and only likes his steak cut a certain way."

"He isn't green."

"But the rest is correct?"

"Yes," answered Bob.

Frank rubbed his temples with his finger tips in an effort to get rid of the terrible headache he had suddenly developed. "What does he do with eight hundred pounds of buffalo steaks?"

"It seems that Earth Buffalo is an alien delicacy, that he serves in his restaurant." Frank didn't answer Bob, he just let his head fall against the dash and close his eyes.

Five minutes later, the truck turned off the road and drove through the small valley that had been made by the Little Big Horn River. As usual, the Army and Park service had closed what was now the Custer Battlefield National Monument to prevent anyone from witnessing what was going on. Even the soldiers had been ordered to stay away from the immediate area.

Frank's skin was covered with goosebumbs as Bob drove the truck across the grassy field. He wondered, up until the very last minute, whether or not Bob was lying to him. When he saw the small, grey, flying saucer, he decided he wasn't.

They drove beside the craft and Bob motioned for Frank to step out of the truck with him. A round hole opened on the bottom of the space ship, and an alien figure floated to the ground in a beam of bright light. The creature stood five feet tall, had an oversized head, long arms, and big, bug eyes. It floated across the ground and looked into the bed of the truck without a word.

Bob pulled a government form from his sports coat and unfolded it on the hood. The alien floated to the front of the truck and studied the document. The creature looked at Bob with an annoyed look that for a moment alarmed Frank. Bob's face suddenly contorted in horror and he grabbed his chest. Frank watched in fear as Bob uncontrollably slapped himself about the chest and thighs.

The alien looked into Frank's eyes. Frank wondered what had gone wrong and looked back at Bob. "A pen," whispered Bob, "he needs a pen to sign the rent contract."

Frank reached into his coat and withdrew the monogrammed pen his father had given him for when he graduated from college. He handed it to the alien and watched as the creature signed the document (in triplicate, of course.) When he was through, it looked toward the back of the truck, and the aluminum canisters containing the buffalo steaks floated mystically into the flying saucer.

Bob tore off the last copy of the contract and gave it to the alien. "From now on, you'll be dealing with Frank," he said as he tore the second copy and gave it to Frank.

The alien looked at the pen and noticed Frank's name on the side, then looked at Frank. It smiled slightly, and Frank noticed something very strange about the creature. It handed the pen back to him then floated into the ship. A moment later the hole in the bottom of the craft closed, the landing legs retracted, and the ship lifted from the ground.

As the two men watched the craft fly away, Bob asked "How did you get the job?"

"The President is my wife's father's sister's husband."

Bob continued to stare into space for a moment. "He's your uncle-in-law, by marriage."

Frank looked at Bob and mentally traced his family tree. "Yes," he answered, and the two men stepped into the truck.

Bob drove the truck out, and Frank looked at the aliens strange signature on the rental contract. He thought that the job didn't seem difficult, but was definitely important. Above all, he felt honored to have been selected. But he still felt uneasy when he thought of the unusual detail he'd noticed about the alien when it smiled. He realized that the creature was obviously much more advanced then they were, but he just couldn't imagine how it could eat a buffalo steak without any teeth. At first he considered asking Bob, then he decided to wait and ask the alien... the next time the rent came due.