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+
+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75758 ***
+
+
+
+
+DAMES
+
+By MURRAY LEINSTER
+
+Author of “Buck Comes Home,” etc.
+
+    The Man Swimming In the Fog Found Himself in As Much of
+    a Fog in Another Matter. Hell--Dames!
+
+
+Even before the echoes came, the man felt gloomily certain that he was
+going to drown. When they did come, the nearest one--the one on which
+his hopes were set--was definitely farther away than it had been. And
+that meant that it was quite useless to swim. A current was carrying him
+away from whatever headland echoed the distant steamer’s fog-horn.
+
+He could not see anything. A thick pall of mist hung about him,
+curiously tinted by an unseen sun. It allowed him to view a circle
+twenty feet from his eyes in every direction. In that circle there was
+nothing but oily water, stirring sluggishly in long swells of
+complicated outline. The distant steamer hooted, and echoes came, and
+somewhere he heard the staccato beat of a power-boat’s motor. Fishermen
+in the Inside Passage take no account of fog. But the power boat was far
+away, and the nearest echo was still farther this time than before, and
+the man knew more gloomily still that there was no possible way for him
+to escape drowning.
+
+He turned on his back to float. He had not shed his clothing before, and
+it was too late to do it now. He had to paddle to keep his head
+above-water. When his strength gave out and he could not paddle any
+longer, he would drown. He swore a little--rather resentfully than in
+desperation--and paddled. Only his face showed drawn and weary.
+
+The steamer’s fog-horn grew more distant and more distant still. The
+echoes grew fainter. The man who was presently to drown seemed to
+concentrate all his attention upon the mere feat of staying at the top
+of the water for as long a time as possible. But he had already been
+swimming for a very long time. Presently he struggled a little. His face
+went under. He thrashed, and ripples spread about him. He floated once
+more. He spat out water, weakly, and continued to paddle.
+
+His eyes were peevish, and once he spoke aloud to the encircling mist.
+One word, and that with a scornful bitterness: “Dames!” It was as if he
+epitomized his own life. His ears were below the surface, so he heard
+nothing at all. There was little to hear except the single staccato
+power boat. But he did not even hear that. He paddled.
+
+He went under again. Again he thrashed, and floated once more. But he
+was near the end. Presently his mouth opened convulsively. The motor
+boat was near, but he was hardly able to hear it. He went under. His
+arms thrashed feebly. He came up and made choked sounds. He came up yet
+again and uttered a cry which was not altogether human. From that time
+onward it seemed as if his body fought for life without any help from
+his intelligence. He fought the water blindly. He splashed weakly, and
+struggled and writhed.
+
+The cry and the splashing was enough to cause the power boat to swerve.
+It came gliding out of the mist just as the struggles of the exhausted
+body were about to cease. A hand reached out swiftly and stayed the
+sinking of that body. A rather small hand, but a capable one. The
+putt-putt-putting of the motor stopped. Then a dim figure in the mist
+struggled manfully to draw the utterly limp figure of the swimmer into
+the boat.
+
+                 *       *       *       *       *
+
+He dropped on the floor-boards of the power boat and watched with a
+desperate alertness for some sign of suspicion or of doubt in his
+rescuer. A girl had rescued him. If she was pretty, he did not notice
+it. For one reason, he was exhausted.
+
+She reached forward to the engine and cut the ignition. She listened
+sharply to the racket of echoes that came back through the fog, even
+after their source had ceased. She cut the spark in again before the
+fly-wheel had stopped. The engine resumed with a valorous uproar. She
+considered, frowning. Then her face cleared.
+
+“About right.”
+
+She swung the tiller. The man understood. She was using the echoes as he
+had tried to use them; as the steamer no longer audible used them; as a
+means of guidance in the fog. The boat swerved. Wraiths of mist flowed
+past. The fog remained impenetrable. The world seemed curiously hushed,
+save for the racket of the motor and its echoes.
+
+“I came over from the mainland,” said the girl. “On my way the fog came
+down, but I kept on. We’re used to it, around here.”
+
+“Where are you takin’ me?” asked the man.
+
+“Home,” said the girl briefly. “I’ve got to attend to the chickens.
+Maybe the fog’ll lift and I can get you back to the mainland before
+long. Ours is the only house on our island. Is it important for you to
+get back quickly?”
+
+The man hesitated. Then he said, “I don’t know. It depends on what”--he
+licked his lips--“on what my prisoner did.”
+
+The girl peered at him through the mist.
+
+“Prisoner?”
+
+“I’m a sort of G-man,” said the man, not altogether convincingly. “I was
+takin’ a prisoner down to Seattle by boat. We were up on deck together
+an’ I wasn’t looking close, so--well, I guess he slugged me. The first
+thing I knew I was in the water an’ the steamer was a long way off. I
+heard echoes an’ I headed for ’em, swimmin’. It was the only chance I
+had.”
+
+The girl looked at him again. She cut the motor momentarily. The echoes
+were deafening in the interval before the resumption of the motor-roar.
+
+“You did pretty well, at that,” she observed. “What do you think your
+prisoner did?”
+
+“He--uh--well,” said the man lamely, “maybe he jumped over himself, with
+a life-preserver. Or maybe he just hid. Without me to raise a fuss, he
+might just walk ashore when the steamer docks.”
+
+                 *       *       *       *       *
+
+Through the racket of the motor there came the staggered beating of an
+echo almost as loud as the motor itself. The girl cut off the engine
+altogether. Echoes resounded startlingly, and as startlingly died away
+to nothing. The power boat went on of its own momentum, with a sound of
+bubbling at its bow. There was a curious, muffled silence. Then the
+boat’s keel grated loudly on sand and pebbles. It stopped short,
+crunching.
+
+“Here we are,” said the girl.
+
+The man got up with tremendous effort. The girl sat still for an
+instant. She regarded him steadily.
+
+“Did you ever hear of Butch Traynor?” The man jerked his head around.
+
+“Butch Traynor? No. Why?”
+
+“I just wondered,” said the girl. “You G-men ought to get after him.”
+
+The man got out of the boat into six inches of water. The feel of
+solidness under his feet was peculiar. He saw a stretch of sand, with
+ripples lapping at it. A vaguely darker area in the fog which was
+probably a headland. He hauled tiredly at the boat. The girl stepped up
+to the bow and jumped lightly ashore. The man followed her up on the
+beach and tethered the boat to stakes--drying-stakes for nets--which
+came close down to the water’s edge. The girl vanished. Moving about,
+the man saw vague shapes dimly through the mist. Rocks. A boat drawn up
+and turned over for repair. He heard cacklings somewhere near. A minor
+tumult of flapping, unseen wings. The clatter of a tin pan. He heard the
+girl moving about. A door opened and closed. Presently a pump squeaked.
+All this in invisibility.
+
+He blundered toward the noises. The girl started when she saw him. She
+made a swift, frightened movement. Then she said:
+
+“Oh, it’s you!”
+
+She turned away. He said, almost humbly:
+
+“Is there any chance of gettin’--uh--some dry clo’es?”
+
+She hesitated.
+
+“I suppose so. I’ll look.”
+
+She moved off through the mist. He followed her, chilled and exhausted.
+He saw a house take form gradually through the fog. A small house,
+hardly more than a cabin. Three--four rooms, perhaps. There was
+something missing, though. It was seconds before the man realized that
+there was no smoke coming from the chimney. The fog was undisturbed
+above the stubby brick stack.
+
+She came out of the house. She stood quite still. After an instant he
+identified the pose. She was listening. He listened, too. No sound
+except the formless noises of a flock of newly-fed fowl. The indefinite,
+liquid sound of the water about the boat. Occasional, unrythmic tapping
+noises which were the drips of condensed mist from overhanging objects.
+
+“You can go in,” said the girl briefly “The room on the right. I’ve put
+out some of my father’s things. They won’t fit so well, but they’re
+dry.”
+
+The man went inside the cabin. The smell was of emptiness. The house was
+furnished frugally, but it had not the odor of occupancy. He went into
+the room on the right. There were clothes laid out. Fisherman’s clothes.
+He stripped off his own wet garments and clothed himself in them. He went
+out again.
+
+The girl was standing on the tiny porch, again, listening. She held up
+her hand.
+
+“Wait!--I think I hear a boat.”
+
+                 *       *       *       *       *
+
+The man strained his ears. He heard nothing but the same muffled sounds
+of the fog; ripples on the beach, and irregular dripping impacts, and
+the noise of the chickens feeding. But as the girl stood immobile, her
+face frowningly intent, he thought he heard a motor too. He could not be
+sure if it was real or imaginary. In any case it was infinitely faint.
+
+“I’m not sure,” said the girl abruptly. Then she added, with a trace of
+grimness, “If it is a boat, it’s Butch Traynor.”
+
+The man said:
+
+“This Butch Traynor. You mean he might come here? An’--uh--you don’t
+want him to?”
+
+“Yes,” said the girl.
+
+She made an impatient, irresolute gesture.
+
+“But,” said the man, “what does he want?”
+
+The girl said, “Me.”
+
+“But----”
+
+“Have you got a revolver?” she demanded.
+
+He shook his head.
+
+“I guess--I guess my pris’ner took it after he’d knocked me out.” Then
+he added uneasily, “This--uh--Butch Traynor--”
+
+“He says he wants to marry me,” said the girl hardly. “He says so! But
+he’s got a bad name, and he’s earned it. If a man cuts another man’s
+fishing-nets away, he’s pretty low. Butch Traynor’s done that.
+
+“He’s done other things. There’s talk of a killing or two that can’t be
+proved on him. And he says he wants to marry me!”
+
+“But--uh--”
+
+“If you want to believe it,” said the girl. She added fiercely, “He says
+he’ll make me! My father made him stop coming here, but if he thought I
+was here alone he’d come after me. He says he’s going to make me marry
+him. You figure out how!”
+
+The man made an uneasy gesture.
+
+“My father broke his leg,” said the girl resentfully. “A bad break. We
+had to take him over to the mainland. My mother’s staying there with
+him. I’ve been coming back here every day or so to attend to the
+chickens. If Butch Traynor heard I came over today--”
+
+She stopped, again to listen. Her brow was dark. The man did not look at
+her, though she was good enough to look at. Sun-browned and full-bodied
+and firm-fleshed and young. Her hands clenched.
+
+She seemed almost to tremble with inner rage. But she listened keenly.
+
+“We could start back now,” said the man uneasily. “He couldn’t see you
+in the fog. You could use a--compass, maybe. An’ he would go right past
+you without knowin’ it.”
+
+“With a motor making as much noise as mine does?” demanded the girl.
+“His boat’s faster, too.”
+
+“You could listen for his engine,” said the man urgently, “an’ if you
+heard it, cut yours off an’ drift. He couldn’t find you then!”
+
+“I’ve got to attend to things here!” said the girl fiercely. “This is
+all we have to live on, while my father’s helpless.”
+
+                 *       *       *       *       *
+
+She moved off into the mist. The man stood still. Twice he licked his
+lips affrightedly as if at some inner vision. The girl opened the door
+of some invisible structure behind the pall of white. The man heard her
+moving about. She went to the chicken-yard again. More cacklings and
+flutterings. She was in the chicken-yard for a long time. Time always
+passes more slowly to a man when he is waiting for a woman to accomplish
+something in which he takes no interest. To this man it seemed an age,
+an aeon, in which he stood in the blank white fog while indefinite
+noises told of cryptic things the girl was doing. Gathering eggs;
+doubtless. Filling water-trays; probably. Refilling whatever devices
+gave the chickens feed. Doing this thing and that.
+
+It seemed hours that he stood there, alone. Actually, he was so weary
+that it was painful merely to stand. And he listened more for the
+completion of the girl’s tasks than for any outer sound, so that when he
+did notice the noise of a motor it was very near. It was not faint. It
+was not distant. It was a plainly audible chugg-chugg-chugg-chugg that
+was steady and rhythmic and coming closer.
+
+He heard it, startled. He went in search of the girl, calling guardedly.
+He came upon her standing with a bucket of eggs in her hand, listening
+as he had listened. Her eyes were bright and hard. She breathed quickly.
+
+“I heard a boat,” said the man, uncertainly.
+
+“It’s Butch Traynor,” said the girl, tight-lipped. “I know the motor.
+He’s--after me.”
+
+“We can--uh--get your boat started,” said the man.
+
+“Are you afraid?” she asked bitterly.
+
+“I don’t want any more trouble,” said the man, humbly. “I had plenty
+already.”
+
+The girl said in queenly scorn, “Go and hide, then! I’ll----”
+
+She put down the bucket and hurried away into the mist. The man
+followed, again and very tiredly. He saw her coming out of the cottage.
+She thrust something out of sight inside her dress. The man saw the
+glint of steel. A knife, probably.
+
+“Go and hide!” she repeated bitterly. “He’d be bound to catch up to me
+some time. He’s been following me around long enough!”
+
+She hurried away once more, deathly pale, her hands shaking, her eyes
+like flames. The man went slowly after her. He had been exhausted. He
+was not much less than exhausted now.
+
+                 *       *       *       *       *
+
+The sound of the motor out on the water stopped abruptly. It started
+again, and stopped, and started. For echoes.
+
+Its timbre changed. The boat out there in the white mist had changed
+its course. Now echoes came from every side through the fog; sharp and
+ringing repetitions of the motor’s sound. And now, too, and very
+abruptly, the color of the mist altered. It had been faintly golden from
+an unseen sun. That golden tint deepened.
+
+The man reached the sand-and-pebble beach and saw the girl standing in
+desperate defiance, facing the water. The oily ripples of the little bay
+were blue, now, instead of slaty gray.
+
+The motor in the invisible boat cut off. A man moved, out there in the
+fog. There were bubbling sounds, of a cutwater parting the surface. A
+grinding sound. A shadow in the mist.
+
+                 *       *       *       *       *
+
+The man moved heavily toward the source of the sound. A figure loomed
+through the now-golden fog, running along the beach. The man looked at a
+drawn, unshaven face which stared at him unbelievingly.
+
+“Who the hell are you?” demanded a taut voice.
+
+The man who had so nearly drowned said hungrily:
+
+“Listen! They tell me you’re in trouble with the law. You bumped off a
+couple men--”
+
+“Who the hell are you?” cried Butch Traynor fiercely. “What’re you doing
+here? Where’s Ellen? What’ve you done with her?”
+
+“N-nothin’,” said the man. He swallowed, and went on desperately.
+“Listen! If you’re in trouble with the law--”
+
+The girl’s voice came, strained and defiant:
+
+“You Butch Traynor, what’re you doing on our land? Didn’t my father tell
+you to stay away?”
+
+The new man said savagely, “I came here for you, and by God I’m going to
+take you away with me!”
+
+“Listen!” said the man from the water, desperately, “If you’re in
+trouble with the law, I want to--”
+
+Butch Traynor went swiftly to the girl. He seized her two arms in his
+hands and said hoarsely:
+
+“I’ve argued enough! I can’t stand any more! I won’t stand any more! Are
+you comin’ peaceful, or--”
+
+The girl did not shrink. She cried passionately:
+
+“If you did carry me off, if I couldn’t kill you I’d kill myself! But
+you won’t! That man there is a detective. A Federal man! He’s seen
+enough now--”
+
+Butch Traynor turned upon the man who had so nearly been drowned. He was
+a young man, Butch Traynor. His muscles were hard and his jaw was
+craggy. His clothes were rough and his manner grim. He looked at the man
+from the water. Then he released the girl and came purposefully toward
+him. His hands worked.
+
+“Listen!” said the man from the water, humbly. “She’s got me wrong. She
+picked me up from the water just now, drownin’. I’d jumped off the
+steamer for Seattle. I ain’t a G-man. I’m--”
+
+                 *       *       *       *       *
+
+Butch Traynor stared at him with little ugly lights in his eyes; the
+battle light of the male who is brought to desperation by a woman and
+seeks combat as a necessary, explosive alleviation of his state. He
+continued to advance. The small waves rippled on the shore. The
+fog-wraiths drifted by, damp and clammy and golden-white from the
+sunlight above. The girl stood still. Butch Traynor was very near,
+crouched a little, his lips twisted in a silent snarl.
+
+“Listen!” stammered the man from the water. “I--bumped off a guy an’
+beat it. They caught me up in Seward. A bull was bringin’ me down to
+Seattle for trial an’--an’ I jumped off the ship. Tryin’ to make a
+getaway. I’d rather die drownin’ than go through with all that. If you
+got trouble with the law, like she said--”
+
+Butch Traynor put out his hands and closed them about the other man’s
+throat. The knees of the man from the water buckled under him. “Say,
+listen!” he panted, choking. “Listen--”
+
+He sagged to the ground as Butch Traynor contemptuously released him.
+Butch Traynor went back to the girl.
+
+“Your brave defender,” he said bitterly, “won’t fight. I’m taking you
+along. You can walk to the boat if you will. You might want to. But
+you’re going!”
+
+The man from the water beat on the ground with his fists, raging
+suddenly. Then he got heavily to his feet.
+
+“I’ll kill you,” cried the girl fiercely, “or else myself! You know I
+will!”
+
+“You lie,” said Butch Traynor with an elaborate, raging courtesy, “you
+used to care for me. Then you got some damned idea in your head--”
+
+“Beast!” panted the girl. “Take your hands off me!”
+
+“Then walk! To the boat!”
+
+There was the sound of a scuffle. The man from the water clutched a
+heavy stone. He made whispering, raging noises to himself. He moved very
+heavily--exhaustedly--through the mist to the two figures who swayed
+together. The girl cried out in a voice filled with hate:
+
+“I tell you--”
+
+The man from the water raised his stone and struck terribly, from
+behind. It should have crushed in Butch Traynor’s skull. But an
+unexpected movement, in the struggle with the girl, made it partly miss.
+It did not brain Butch Traynor. Instead, the stone only scraped his
+skull. But it landed with paralyzing force upon his shoulder.
+
+It numbed that whole arm. And the girl, struggling, jerked free her
+hand. It darted out of sight and back into view again. Steel flashed. It
+struck. Butch Traynor swore. His right arm had been numbed before the
+stroke landed.
+
+Then the girl gasped.
+
+                 *       *       *       *       *
+
+There was a half-second of silence. The man from the water half drew
+back in panic as Butch Traynor whirled upon him. Desperately he raised
+the stone again. Then something like a wildcat sprang upon him. It was
+the girl. She swarmed upon the man with the stone, striking and
+scratching and crying out incoherently. He gave back dazedly, and
+dropped the stone, and would have run away but that he tripped and fell
+sprawling.
+
+Butch Traynor pulled her off. There was blood running down his shirt,
+and at sight of it the girl cried out again and struggled to be free.
+But her panted rage was directed at the man from the water.
+
+“He’d have killed you, Butch!” she gasped fiercely. “He tried to brain
+you from behind! He--”
+
+“Yeah,” said Butch Traynor savagely, “while you knifed me from the
+front!”
+
+The blood on his shirt spread rapidly. The girl went deathly pale.
+
+“I’ll--I’ll bandage it, Butch. I--thought you’d catch my hand. I--knew
+you were strong and quick.”
+
+Butch Traynor’s face was very savagely grim.
+
+“Go get the bandage,” he ordered curtly. “No need bleedin’. An’ no need
+of your lyin’, either. Go on!”
+
+She turned. She ran. She came back with white cloth she was tearing into
+strips as she ran. The man on the ground watched dumbly. Then a look of
+cunning expectation came on his face. It oddly matched the granite-like
+expression on the face of Butch Traynor. The girl was panting--half
+sobbing.
+
+“I hurried, Butch,” she said desperately. “Is it still bleeding?”
+
+Butch Traynor’s jaws clamped tightly.
+
+“Maybe,” he said deliberately, “maybe I’d better do the bandagin’
+myself. You might have some kinda trick in mind. You used to care some
+about me, but now--”
+
+“I do!” panted the girl, more desperately still. Her fingers trembled as
+she tore at his ripped shirt to bare the wound she herself had made.
+“I--I do! Listen, Butch! Granny Holmes told you I was coming over here
+today. She told you I’d be by myself! Did--didn’t she?”
+
+He watched her grimly, while she swiftly made a compress and put it in
+place with shaking hands.
+
+“I told her to do it,” she panted. “We’d--quarreled. And--I wouldn’t
+give in. But--I wanted you to make me give in! Don’t you see? If you
+loved me enough you wouldn’t let me lose you! You’d--you’d make me marry
+you!”
+
+Butch Traynor regarded her as grimly as before. He was young, and his
+face was drawn. He looked at her with no softening of his expression.
+
+“L-listen, Butch!” she cried. “There’s that man there! I--picked him up,
+swimming. He told me he was a G-man. But he told you he’s an--an escaped
+prisoner. There’ll be a reward for him! You can--get money for taking
+him in. I’ll tie him up for you! I’ll run the boat! I’ll do anything--”
+
+“How about marryin’ me?” asked Butch Traynor grimly.
+
+She clung to him, pressing close. And she sobbed.
+
+“Oh, Butch! Yes! Please! Please!”
+
+                 *       *       *       *       *
+
+The fog was thinner. Instead of a horizon of twenty feet, with all
+beyond it emptiness, now one could see almost forty feet with clarity,
+and distinguish vague shapes at sixty. The golden tint was more
+pronounced. The waves were still oily, and the small uncertain swells
+were still mere undersurface surgings of the water. Now and again
+irregular lanes of clear vision opened in the mist. Some times one might
+see, momentarily, for as much as a hundred yards.
+
+The shore, though, remained quite unseen until the power boat was almost
+upon it. Then Butch Traynor cut the ignition. The two boats--the
+rearmost one towed--went on with diminishing speed until the prow of the
+first touched land.
+
+“You get out here,” said Butch Traynor grimly. “I don’t know anything
+about you, an’ I don’t want to know. But I’m not havin’ my wife in court
+tellin’ how she picked you up swimmin’. Get out!”
+
+The man from the water got up shakily. But he stopped to say in a last
+flicker of hope:
+
+“Listen! She said y’were in trouble with the law. An’ if y’ are, why--”
+
+“Hell!” said Butch Traynor. “You can’t believe a crazy woman. She was
+crazy. Crazy mad. With me. That’s all.”
+
+The girl said urgently, “He tried to kill you, Butch! You oughtn’t let
+him go!”
+
+“So did you try to kill me,” said Butch Traynor curtly. To the man he
+added, “Git!”
+
+He shoved off the boat with his one good arm. The man from the water
+heard its motor catch. It backed out, with the other, empty boat bumping
+clumsily about it. It started off down the coast. The man on shore saw
+it move into one of the erratic lanes of clearness in the golden mist.
+Sunlight actually struck upon it. The two figures in it were clearly
+visible. The girl sat almost humbly before the man, who held the tiller.
+Just before they vanished in the lessening mist, she reached over and
+stroked his hand hopefully.
+
+The man on shore turned. The mist was thinning. Before it thinned too
+much he had to be far away and hidden. He had to stay hidden until the
+world believed him drowned. His chances were not excellent, but they
+were fair. He began to climb the leaf-littered bank, on the top of which
+virgin timber began.
+
+But as he climbed and before he became absorbed again in the business of
+being a fugitive, for one fleeting instant he thought of the pair he had
+just left. And he spat.
+
+“Dames!” said the murderer disgustedly. “Hell!”
+
+
+[Transcriber’s note: This story appeared in the August 10, 1939 issue
+of Short Stories magazine.]
+
+
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75758 ***
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+<body>
+<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75758 ***</div>
+
+<figure class="illustration70">
+  <img src="images/image1.jpg" alt="Two men on a beach at night">
+</figure>
+
+<h1 style='font-variant:small-caps;'>Dames</h1>
+
+<div style='text-align:center;'>
+By MURRAY LEINSTER
+</div>
+
+<div style='text-align:center;font-size:0.9em;font-style:italic;'>
+Author of “Buck Comes Home,” etc.
+</div>
+
+<blockquote>
+The Man Swimming In the Fog Found Himself in As Much of
+a Fog in Another Matter. Hell&mdash;Dames!
+</blockquote>
+
+<p>Even before the echoes came, the man felt gloomily certain that he was
+going to drown. When they did come, the nearest one&mdash;the one on which
+his hopes were set&mdash;was definitely farther away than it had been. And
+that meant that it was quite useless to swim. A current was carrying him
+away from whatever headland echoed the distant steamer’s fog-horn.</p>
+
+<p>He could not see anything. A thick pall of mist hung about him,
+curiously tinted by an unseen sun. It allowed him to view a circle
+twenty feet from his eyes in every direction. In that circle there was
+nothing but oily water, stirring sluggishly in long swells of
+complicated outline. The distant steamer hooted, and echoes came, and
+somewhere he heard the staccato beat of a power-boat’s motor. Fishermen
+in the Inside Passage take no account of fog. But the power boat was far
+away, and the nearest echo was still farther this time than before, and
+the man knew more gloomily still that there was no possible way for him
+to escape drowning.</p>
+
+<p>He turned on his back to float. He had not shed his clothing before, and
+it was too late to do it now. He had to paddle to keep his head
+above-water. When his strength gave out and he could not paddle any
+longer, he would drown. He swore a little&mdash;rather resentfully than in
+desperation&mdash;and paddled. Only his face showed drawn and weary.</p>
+
+<p>The steamer’s fog-horn grew more distant and more distant still. The
+echoes grew fainter. The man who was presently to drown seemed to
+concentrate all his attention upon the mere feat of staying at the top
+of the water for as long a time as possible. But he had already been
+swimming for a very long time. Presently he struggled a little. His face
+went under. He thrashed, and ripples spread about him. He floated once
+more. He spat out water, weakly, and continued to paddle.</p>
+
+<p>His eyes were peevish, and once he spoke aloud to the encircling mist.
+One word, and that with a scornful bitterness: “Dames!” It was as if he
+epitomized his own life. His ears were below the surface, so he heard
+nothing at all. There was little to hear except the single staccato
+power boat. But he did not even hear that. He paddled.</p>
+
+<p>He went under again. Again he thrashed, and floated once more. But he
+was near the end. Presently his mouth opened convulsively. The motor
+boat was near, but he was hardly able to hear it. He went under. His
+arms thrashed feebly. He came up and made choked sounds. He came up yet
+again and uttered a cry which was not altogether human. From that time
+onward it seemed as if his body fought for life without any help from
+his intelligence. He fought the water blindly. He splashed weakly, and
+struggled and writhed.</p>
+
+<p>The cry and the splashing was enough to cause the power boat to swerve.
+It came gliding out of the mist just as the struggles of the exhausted
+body were about to cease. A hand reached out swiftly and stayed the
+sinking of that body. A rather small hand, but a capable one. The
+putt-putt-putting of the motor stopped. Then a dim figure in the mist
+struggled manfully to draw the utterly limp figure of the swimmer into
+the boat.
+
+<hr class='tb'>
+
+<p>He dropped on the floor-boards of the power boat and watched with a
+desperate alertness for some sign of suspicion or of doubt in his
+rescuer. A girl had rescued him. If she was pretty, he did not notice
+it. For one reason, he was exhausted.</p>
+
+<p>She reached forward to the engine and cut the ignition. She listened
+sharply to the racket of echoes that came back through the fog, even
+after their source had ceased. She cut the spark in again before the
+fly-wheel had stopped. The engine resumed with a valorous uproar. She
+considered, frowning. Then her face cleared.</p>
+
+<p>“About right.”</p>
+
+<p>She swung the tiller. The man understood. She was using the echoes as he
+had tried to use them; as the steamer no longer audible used them; as a
+means of guidance in the fog. The boat swerved. Wraiths of mist flowed
+past. The fog remained impenetrable. The world seemed curiously hushed,
+save for the racket of the motor and its echoes.</p>
+
+<p>“I came over from the mainland,” said the girl. “On my way the fog came
+down, but I kept on. We’re used to it, around here.”</p>
+
+<p>“Where are you takin’ me?” asked the man.</p>
+
+<p>“Home,” said the girl briefly. “I’ve got to attend to the chickens.
+Maybe the fog’ll lift and I can get you back to the mainland before
+long. Ours is the only house on our island. Is it important for you to
+get back quickly?”</p>
+
+<p>The man hesitated. Then he said, “I don’t know. It depends on what”&mdash;he
+licked his lips&mdash;“on what my prisoner did.”</p>
+
+<p>The girl peered at him through the mist.</p>
+
+<p>“Prisoner?”</p>
+
+<p>“I’m a sort of G-man,” said the man, not altogether convincingly. “I was
+takin’ a prisoner down to Seattle by boat. We were up on deck together
+an’ I wasn’t looking close, so&mdash;well, I guess he slugged me. The first
+thing I knew I was in the water an’ the steamer was a long way off. I
+heard echoes an’ I headed for ’em, swimmin’. It was the only chance I
+had.”</p>
+
+<p>The girl looked at him again. She cut the motor momentarily. The echoes
+were deafening in the interval before the resumption of the motor-roar.</p>
+
+<p>“You did pretty well, at that,” she observed. “What do you think your
+prisoner did?”</p>
+
+<p>“He&mdash;uh&mdash;well,” said the man lamely, “maybe he jumped over himself, with
+a life-preserver. Or maybe he just hid. Without me to raise a fuss, he
+might just walk ashore when the steamer docks.”
+
+<hr class='tb'>
+
+<p>Through the racket of the motor there came the staggered beating of an
+echo almost as loud as the motor itself. The girl cut off the engine
+altogether. Echoes resounded startlingly, and as startlingly died away
+to nothing. The power boat went on of its own momentum, with a sound of
+bubbling at its bow. There was a curious, muffled silence. Then the
+boat’s keel grated loudly on sand and pebbles. It stopped short,
+crunching.</p>
+
+<p>“Here we are,” said the girl.</p>
+
+<p>The man got up with tremendous effort. The girl sat still for an
+instant. She regarded him steadily.</p>
+
+<p>“Did you ever hear of Butch Traynor?” The man jerked his head around.</p>
+
+<p>“Butch Traynor? No. Why?”</p>
+
+<p>“I just wondered,” said the girl. “You G-men ought to get after him.”</p>
+
+<p>The man got out of the boat into six inches of water. The feel of
+solidness under his feet was peculiar. He saw a stretch of sand, with
+ripples lapping at it. A vaguely darker area in the fog which was
+probably a headland. He hauled tiredly at the boat. The girl stepped up
+to the bow and jumped lightly ashore. The man followed her up on the
+beach and tethered the boat to stakes&mdash;drying-stakes for nets&mdash;which
+came close down to the water’s edge. The girl vanished. Moving about,
+the man saw vague shapes dimly through the mist. Rocks. A boat drawn up
+and turned over for repair. He heard cacklings somewhere near. A minor
+tumult of flapping, unseen wings. The clatter of a tin pan. He heard the
+girl moving about. A door opened and closed. Presently a pump squeaked.
+All this in invisibility.</p>
+
+<p>He blundered toward the noises. The girl started when she saw him. She
+made a swift, frightened movement. Then she said:</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, it’s you!”</p>
+
+<p>She turned away. He said, almost humbly:</p>
+
+<p>“Is there any chance of gettin’&mdash;uh&mdash;some dry clo’es?”</p>
+
+<p>She hesitated.</p>
+
+<p>“I suppose so. I’ll look.”</p>
+
+<p>She moved off through the mist. He followed her, chilled and exhausted.
+He saw a house take form gradually through the fog. A small house,
+hardly more than a cabin. Three&mdash;four rooms, perhaps. There was
+something missing, though. It was seconds before the man realized that
+there was no smoke coming from the chimney. The fog was undisturbed
+above the stubby brick stack.</p>
+
+<p>She came out of the house. She stood quite still. After an instant he
+identified the pose. She was listening. He listened, too. No sound
+except the formless noises of a flock of newly-fed fowl. The indefinite,
+liquid sound of the water about the boat. Occasional, unrythmic tapping
+noises which were the drips of condensed mist from overhanging objects.</p>
+
+<p>“You can go in,” said the girl briefly “The room on the right. I’ve put
+out some of my father’s things. They won’t fit so well, but they’re
+dry.”</p>
+
+<p>The man went inside the cabin. The smell was of emptiness. The house was
+furnished frugally, but it had not the odor of occupancy. He went into
+the room on the right. There were clothes laid out. Fisherman’s clothes.
+He stripped off his own wet garments and clothed himself in them. He went
+out again.</p>
+
+<p>The girl was standing on the tiny porch, again, listening. She held up
+her hand.</p>
+
+<p>“Wait!&mdash;I think I hear a boat.”
+
+<hr class='tb'>
+
+<p>The man strained his ears. He heard nothing but the same muffled sounds
+of the fog; ripples on the beach, and irregular dripping impacts, and
+the noise of the chickens feeding. But as the girl stood immobile, her
+face frowningly intent, he thought he heard a motor too. He could not be
+sure if it was real or imaginary. In any case it was infinitely faint.</p>
+
+<p>“I’m not sure,” said the girl abruptly. Then she added, with a trace of
+grimness, “If it is a boat, it’s Butch Traynor.”</p>
+
+<p>The man said:</p>
+
+<p>“This Butch Traynor. You mean he might come here? An’&mdash;uh&mdash;you don’t
+want him to?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes,” said the girl.</p>
+
+<p>She made an impatient, irresolute gesture.</p>
+
+<p>“But,” said the man, “what does he want?”</p>
+
+<p>The girl said, “Me.”</p>
+
+<p>“But&mdash;&mdash;”</p>
+
+<p>“Have you got a revolver?” she demanded.</p>
+
+<p>He shook his head.</p>
+
+<p>“I guess&mdash;I guess my pris’ner took it after he’d knocked me out.” Then
+he added uneasily, “This&mdash;uh&mdash;Butch Traynor&mdash;”</p>
+
+<p>“He says he wants to marry me,” said the girl hardly. “He says so! But
+he’s got a bad name, and he’s earned it. If a man cuts another man’s
+fishing-nets away, he’s pretty low. Butch Traynor’s done that.</p>
+
+<p>“He’s done other things. There’s talk of a killing or two that can’t be
+proved on him. And he says he wants to marry me!”</p>
+
+<p>“But&mdash;uh&mdash;”</p>
+
+<p>“If you want to believe it,” said the girl. She added fiercely, “He says
+he’ll make me! My father made him stop coming here, but if he thought I
+was here alone he’d come after me. He says he’s going to make me marry
+him. You figure out how!”</p>
+
+<p>The man made an uneasy gesture.</p>
+
+<p>“My father broke his leg,” said the girl resentfully. “A bad break. We
+had to take him over to the mainland. My mother’s staying there with
+him. I’ve been coming back here every day or so to attend to the
+chickens. If Butch Traynor heard I came over today&mdash;”</p>
+
+<p>She stopped, again to listen. Her brow was dark. The man did not look at
+her, though she was good enough to look at. Sun-browned and full-bodied
+and firm-fleshed and young. Her hands clenched.</p>
+
+<p>She seemed almost to tremble with inner rage. But she listened keenly.</p>
+
+<p>“We could start back now,” said the man uneasily. “He couldn’t see you
+in the fog. You could use a&mdash;compass, maybe. An’ he would go right past
+you without knowin’ it.”</p>
+
+<p>“With a motor making as much noise as mine does?” demanded the girl.
+“His boat’s faster, too.”</p>
+
+<p>“You could listen for his engine,” said the man urgently, “an’ if you
+heard it, cut yours off an’ drift. He couldn’t find you then!”</p>
+
+<p>“I’ve got to attend to things here!” said the girl fiercely. “This is
+all we have to live on, while my father’s helpless.”
+
+<hr class='tb'>
+
+<p>She moved off into the mist. The man stood still. Twice he licked his
+lips affrightedly as if at some inner vision. The girl opened the door
+of some invisible structure behind the pall of white. The man heard her
+moving about. She went to the chicken-yard again. More cacklings and
+flutterings. She was in the chicken-yard for a long time. Time always
+passes more slowly to a man when he is waiting for a woman to accomplish
+something in which he takes no interest. To this man it seemed an age,
+an aeon, in which he stood in the blank white fog while indefinite
+noises told of cryptic things the girl was doing. Gathering eggs;
+doubtless. Filling water-trays; probably. Refilling whatever devices
+gave the chickens feed. Doing this thing and that.</p>
+
+<p>It seemed hours that he stood there, alone. Actually, he was so weary
+that it was painful merely to stand. And he listened more for the
+completion of the girl’s tasks than for any outer sound, so that when he
+did notice the noise of a motor it was very near. It was not faint. It
+was not distant. It was a plainly audible chugg-chugg-chugg-chugg that
+was steady and rhythmic and coming closer.</p>
+
+<p>He heard it, startled. He went in search of the girl, calling guardedly.
+He came upon her standing with a bucket of eggs in her hand, listening
+as he had listened. Her eyes were bright and hard. She breathed quickly.</p>
+
+<p>“I heard a boat,” said the man, uncertainly.</p>
+
+<p>“It’s Butch Traynor,” said the girl, tight-lipped. “I know the motor.
+He’s&mdash;after me.”</p>
+
+<p>“We can&mdash;uh&mdash;get your boat started,” said the man.</p>
+
+<p>“Are you afraid?” she asked bitterly.</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t want any more trouble,” said the man, humbly. “I had plenty
+already.”</p>
+
+<p>The girl said in queenly scorn, “Go and hide, then! I’ll&mdash;&mdash;”</p>
+
+<p>She put down the bucket and hurried away into the mist. The man
+followed, again and very tiredly. He saw her coming out of the cottage.
+She thrust something out of sight inside her dress. The man saw the
+glint of steel. A knife, probably.</p>
+
+<p>“Go and hide!” she repeated bitterly. “He’d be bound to catch up to me
+some time. He’s been following me around long enough!”</p>
+
+<p>She hurried away once more, deathly pale, her hands shaking, her eyes
+like flames. The man went slowly after her. He had been exhausted. He
+was not much less than exhausted now.
+
+<hr class='tb'>
+
+<p>The sound of the motor out on the water stopped abruptly. It started
+again, and stopped, and started. For echoes.</p>
+
+<p>Its timbre changed. The boat out there in the white mist had changed
+its course. Now echoes came from every side through the fog; sharp and
+ringing repetitions of the motor’s sound. And now, too, and very
+abruptly, the color of the mist altered. It had been faintly golden from
+an unseen sun. That golden tint deepened.</p>
+
+<p>The man reached the sand-and-pebble beach and saw the girl standing in
+desperate defiance, facing the water. The oily ripples of the little bay
+were blue, now, instead of slaty gray.</p>
+
+<p>The motor in the invisible boat cut off. A man moved, out there in the
+fog. There were bubbling sounds, of a cutwater parting the surface. A
+grinding sound. A shadow in the mist.
+
+<hr class='tb'>
+
+<p>The man moved heavily toward the source of the sound. A figure loomed
+through the now-golden fog, running along the beach. The man looked at a
+drawn, unshaven face which stared at him unbelievingly.</p>
+
+<p>“Who the hell are you?” demanded a taut voice.</p>
+
+<p>The man who had so nearly drowned said hungrily:</p>
+
+<p>“Listen! They tell me you’re in trouble with the law. You bumped off a
+couple men&mdash;”</p>
+
+<p>“Who the hell are you?” cried Butch Traynor fiercely. “What’re you doing
+here? Where’s Ellen? What’ve you done with her?”</p>
+
+<p>“N-nothin’,” said the man. He swallowed, and went on desperately.
+“Listen! If you’re in trouble with the law&mdash;”</p>
+
+<p>The girl’s voice came, strained and defiant:</p>
+
+<p>“You Butch Traynor, what’re you doing on our land? Didn’t my father tell
+you to stay away?”</p>
+
+<p>The new man said savagely, “I came here for you, and by God I’m going to
+take you away with me!”</p>
+
+<p>“Listen!” said the man from the water, desperately, “If you’re in
+trouble with the law, I want to&mdash;”</p>
+
+<p>Butch Traynor went swiftly to the girl. He seized her two arms in his
+hands and said hoarsely:</p>
+
+<p>“I’ve argued enough! I can’t stand any more! I won’t stand any more! Are
+you comin’ peaceful, or&mdash;”</p>
+
+<p>The girl did not shrink. She cried passionately:</p>
+
+<p>“If you did carry me off, if I couldn’t kill you I’d kill myself! But
+you won’t! That man there is a detective. A Federal man! He’s seen
+enough now&mdash;”</p>
+
+<p>Butch Traynor turned upon the man who had so nearly been drowned. He was
+a young man, Butch Traynor. His muscles were hard and his jaw was
+craggy. His clothes were rough and his manner grim. He looked at the man
+from the water. Then he released the girl and came purposefully toward
+him. His hands worked.</p>
+
+<p>“Listen!” said the man from the water, humbly. “She’s got me wrong. She
+picked me up from the water just now, drownin’. I’d jumped off the
+steamer for Seattle. I ain’t a G-man. I’m&mdash;”
+
+<hr class='tb'>
+
+<p>Butch Traynor stared at him with little ugly lights in his eyes; the
+battle light of the male who is brought to desperation by a woman and
+seeks combat as a necessary, explosive alleviation of his state. He
+continued to advance. The small waves rippled on the shore. The
+fog-wraiths drifted by, damp and clammy and golden-white from the
+sunlight above. The girl stood still. Butch Traynor was very near,
+crouched a little, his lips twisted in a silent snarl.</p>
+
+<p>“Listen!” stammered the man from the water. “I&mdash;bumped off a guy an’
+beat it. They caught me up in Seward. A bull was bringin’ me down to
+Seattle for trial an’&mdash;an’ I jumped off the ship. Tryin’ to make a
+getaway. I’d rather die drownin’ than go through with all that. If you
+got trouble with the law, like she said&mdash;”</p>
+
+<p>Butch Traynor put out his hands and closed them about the other man’s
+throat. The knees of the man from the water buckled under him. “Say,
+listen!” he panted, choking. “Listen&mdash;”</p>
+
+<p>He sagged to the ground as Butch Traynor contemptuously released him.
+Butch Traynor went back to the girl.</p>
+
+<p>“Your brave defender,” he said bitterly, “won’t fight. I’m taking you
+along. You can walk to the boat if you will. You might want to. But
+you’re going!”</p>
+
+<p>The man from the water beat on the ground with his fists, raging
+suddenly. Then he got heavily to his feet.</p>
+
+<p>“I’ll kill you,” cried the girl fiercely, “or else myself! You know I
+will!”</p>
+
+<p>“You lie,” said Butch Traynor with an elaborate, raging courtesy, “you
+used to care for me. Then you got some damned idea in your head&mdash;”</p>
+
+<p>“Beast!” panted the girl. “Take your hands off me!”</p>
+
+<p>“Then walk! To the boat!”</p>
+
+<p>There was the sound of a scuffle. The man from the water clutched a
+heavy stone. He made whispering, raging noises to himself. He moved very
+heavily&mdash;exhaustedly&mdash;through the mist to the two figures who swayed
+together. The girl cried out in a voice filled with hate:</p>
+
+<p>“I tell you&mdash;”</p>
+
+<p>The man from the water raised his stone and struck terribly, from
+behind. It should have crushed in Butch Traynor’s skull. But an
+unexpected movement, in the struggle with the girl, made it partly miss.
+It did not brain Butch Traynor. Instead, the stone only scraped his
+skull. But it landed with paralyzing force upon his shoulder.</p>
+
+<p>It numbed that whole arm. And the girl, struggling, jerked free her
+hand. It darted out of sight and back into view again. Steel flashed. It
+struck. Butch Traynor swore. His right arm had been numbed before the
+stroke landed.</p>
+
+<p>Then the girl gasped.
+
+<hr class='tb'>
+
+<p>There was a half-second of silence. The man from the water half drew
+back in panic as Butch Traynor whirled upon him. Desperately he raised
+the stone again. Then something like a wildcat sprang upon him. It was
+the girl. She swarmed upon the man with the stone, striking and
+scratching and crying out incoherently. He gave back dazedly, and
+dropped the stone, and would have run away but that he tripped and fell
+sprawling.</p>
+
+<p>Butch Traynor pulled her off. There was blood running down his shirt,
+and at sight of it the girl cried out again and struggled to be free.
+But her panted rage was directed at the man from the water.</p>
+
+<p>“He’d have killed you, Butch!” she gasped fiercely. “He tried to brain
+you from behind! He&mdash;”</p>
+
+<p>“Yeah,” said Butch Traynor savagely, “while you knifed me from the
+front!”</p>
+
+<p>The blood on his shirt spread rapidly. The girl went deathly pale.</p>
+
+<p>“I’ll&mdash;I’ll bandage it, Butch. I&mdash;thought you’d catch my hand. I&mdash;knew
+you were strong and quick.”</p>
+
+<p>Butch Traynor’s face was very savagely grim.</p>
+
+<p>“Go get the bandage,” he ordered curtly. “No need bleedin’. An’ no need
+of your lyin’, either. Go on!”</p>
+
+<p>She turned. She ran. She came back with white cloth she was tearing into
+strips as she ran. The man on the ground watched dumbly. Then a look of
+cunning expectation came on his face. It oddly matched the granite-like
+expression on the face of Butch Traynor. The girl was panting&mdash;half
+sobbing.</p>
+
+<p>“I hurried, Butch,” she said desperately. “Is it still bleeding?”</p>
+
+<p>Butch Traynor’s jaws clamped tightly.</p>
+
+<p>“Maybe,” he said deliberately, “maybe I’d better do the bandagin’
+myself. You might have some kinda trick in mind. You used to care some
+about me, but now&mdash;”</p>
+
+<p>“I do!” panted the girl, more desperately still. Her fingers trembled as
+she tore at his ripped shirt to bare the wound she herself had made.
+“I&mdash;I do! Listen, Butch! Granny Holmes told you I was coming over here
+today. She told you I’d be by myself! Did&mdash;didn’t she?”</p>
+
+<p>He watched her grimly, while she swiftly made a compress and put it in
+place with shaking hands.</p>
+
+<p>“I told her to do it,” she panted. “We’d&mdash;quarreled. And&mdash;I wouldn’t
+give in. But&mdash;I wanted you to make me give in! Don’t you see? If you
+loved me enough you wouldn’t let me lose you! You’d&mdash;you’d make me marry
+you!”</p>
+
+<p>Butch Traynor regarded her as grimly as before. He was young, and his
+face was drawn. He looked at her with no softening of his expression.</p>
+
+<p>“L-listen, Butch!” she cried. “There’s that man there! I&mdash;picked him up,
+swimming. He told me he was a G-man. But he told you he’s an&mdash;an escaped
+prisoner. There’ll be a reward for him! You can&mdash;get money for taking
+him in. I’ll tie him up for you! I’ll run the boat! I’ll do anything&mdash;”</p>
+
+<p>“How about marryin’ me?” asked Butch Traynor grimly.</p>
+
+<p>She clung to him, pressing close. And she sobbed.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, Butch! Yes! Please! Please!”
+
+<hr class='tb'>
+
+<p>The fog was thinner. Instead of a horizon of twenty feet, with all
+beyond it emptiness, now one could see almost forty feet with clarity,
+and distinguish vague shapes at sixty. The golden tint was more
+pronounced. The waves were still oily, and the small uncertain swells
+were still mere undersurface surgings of the water. Now and again
+irregular lanes of clear vision opened in the mist. Some times one might
+see, momentarily, for as much as a hundred yards.</p>
+
+<p>The shore, though, remained quite unseen until the power boat was almost
+upon it. Then Butch Traynor cut the ignition. The two boats&mdash;the
+rearmost one towed&mdash;went on with diminishing speed until the prow of the
+first touched land.</p>
+
+<p>“You get out here,” said Butch Traynor grimly. “I don’t know anything
+about you, an’ I don’t want to know. But I’m not havin’ my wife in court
+tellin’ how she picked you up swimmin’. Get out!”</p>
+
+<p>The man from the water got up shakily. But he stopped to say in a last
+flicker of hope:</p>
+
+<p>“Listen! She said y’were in trouble with the law. An’ if y’ are, why&mdash;”</p>
+
+<p>“Hell!” said Butch Traynor. “You can’t believe a crazy woman. She was
+crazy. Crazy mad. With me. That’s all.”</p>
+
+<p>The girl said urgently, “He tried to kill you, Butch! You oughtn’t let
+him go!”</p>
+
+<p>“So did you try to kill me,” said Butch Traynor curtly. To the man he
+added, “Git!”</p>
+
+<p>He shoved off the boat with his one good arm. The man from the water
+heard its motor catch. It backed out, with the other, empty boat bumping
+clumsily about it. It started off down the coast. The man on shore saw
+it move into one of the erratic lanes of clearness in the golden mist.
+Sunlight actually struck upon it. The two figures in it were clearly
+visible. The girl sat almost humbly before the man, who held the tiller.
+Just before they vanished in the lessening mist, she reached over and
+stroked his hand hopefully.</p>
+
+<p>The man on shore turned. The mist was thinning. Before it thinned too
+much he had to be far away and hidden. He had to stay hidden until the
+world believed him drowned. His chances were not excellent, but they
+were fair. He began to climb the leaf-littered bank, on the top of which
+virgin timber began.</p>
+
+<p>But as he climbed and before he became absorbed again in the business of
+being a fugitive, for one fleeting instant he thought of the pair he had
+just left. And he spat.</p>
+
+<p>“Dames!” said the murderer disgustedly. “Hell!”</p>
+
+<div class='tn'>
+<p>Transcriber’s note: This story appeared in the August 10, 1939 issue
+of <i>Short Stories</i> magazine.</p>
+</div>
+
+<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75758 ***</div>
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+Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for
+book #75758 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/75758)