There were no planes in the sky and I had expected that in 2450 the air would fairly swarm with them. They had been getting pretty thick even back in 1950. And now I saw the streets were free of traffic, too.

We cruised around for half an hour, and during that time the truth was driven home to us. A truth that was plenty hard to take.

That city below us was a dead city! There was no sign of life. Not a single automobile on the street, not a person on the sidewalks.

Herb and I looked at one another, and disbelief must have been written in letters three feet high upon our faces.

'Herb,' I said, 'we gotta find out what this is all about.'

Herb's Adam's apple jiggled up and down his neck.

'Hell,' he said. 'I was figuring on dropping into the Dutchman's and getting me a pick-up.'

It took almost an hour to find anything that looked like an airport, but finally I found one that looked safe enough. It was overgrown with weeds, but the place where the concrete runways had been was still fairly smooth, although the concrete had been broken here and there, and grass and weeds were growing through the cracks.

I took her down as easy as I could, but even at that we hit a place where a slab of concrete had been heaved and just missed a crack-up.

The old fellow with the rifle could have stepped from the pages of a history of early pioneer days except that once in a while the pioneers probably got a haircut.

He came out of the bushes about a mile from the airport, and his rifle hung cradled in his arm. There was something about him that told me he wasn't one to fool with.

'Howdy, strangers,' he said in a voice that had a whiny twang.

'By Heaven,' said Herb, 'it's Daniel Boone himself.'

'You jay birds must be a right smart step from home,' said the old guy, and he didn't sound as if he'd trust us very far.