t of the Southwest--enough land to
absorb Earth's overflow like _that_!" He snapped his fingers. "I speak,
gentlemen, of Texas, 1957!"

"What if the Texans _object_?"

"They have no choice. The Time Door is strictly a one-way passage. I saw
to that. It will be utterly impossible for anyone in 1957 to re-enter
our world of 2057. And now--the Past awaits!"

He tossed aside his professorial robes. Under them Cydwick Ohms wore an
ancient and bizarre costume: black riding boots, highly polished and
trimmed in silver; wool chaps; a wide, jewel-studded belt with an
immense buckle; a brightly checked shirt topped by a blazing red
bandana. Briskly, he snapped a tall ten-gallon hat on his head, and
stepped to the Time Door.

Gripping an ebony handle, he tugged upward. The huge metal door oiled
slowly back. "Time," said Cydwick Ohms simply, gesturing toward the gray
nothingness beyond the door.

The reporters and photographers surged forward, notebooks and cameras at
the ready. "What if the door swings shut after you're gone?" one of them
asked.

"A groundless fear, boy," assured Ohms. "I have seen to it that the Time
Door can never be closed. And now--good-bye, gentlemen. Or, to use the
proper colloquialism--_so long, hombres!_"

Ohms bowed from the waist, gave his ten-gallon hat a final tug, and took
a single step forward.

And did _not_ disappear.

He stood, blinking. Then he swore, beat upon the unyielding wall of
grayness with clenched fists, and fell back, panting, to his desk.

"I've failed!" he moaned in a lost voice. "The C. Cydwick Ohms Time Door
is a botch!" He buried his head in trembling hands.

The reporters and photographers began to file out.

Suddenly the professor raised his head. "_Listen!_" he warned.

A slow rumbling, muted with distance, emanated from the dense grayness
of the Time Door. Faint yips and whoopings were distinct above the
rumble. The sounds grew steadily--to a thousand beating drums--to a
rolling sea of thunder!

Shrieking, the reporters and photographers scattered for the stairs.

Ah, another knotty problem to be solved, mused Professor Cydwick Ohms,
swinging, with some difficulty, onto one of three thousand Texas steers
stampeding into the laboratory.

Transcriber's Note:

This etext was produced from _Fantastic Universe_ November 1956.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S.
copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling