_Strange_, he thought. _I don't remember any saplings. I thought I drove in under a row of trees...._ He squinted into the misty early morning gloom. His car was gone. That wasn't too surprising; the cops had impounded it, no doubt. He stepped down, glanced at the ground ahead. It was smooth, with a faint footpath cut through the grass. There was no mud, no sign of tire tracks-- The horizon seemed to spin suddenly. _My God!!_ Tremaine thought _I've left myself in the year 1901...!_ * * * * * He whirled, leaped up on the porch, slammed through the door and along the hall, scrambled through the still-open panel, bounded down the stairs and into the cave-- The Repellor was gone. Tremaine leaped forward with a cry--and under his eyes, the great mirror twinkled, winked out. The black box of the hyperwave receiver lay alone on the floor, beside the empty rocker. The light of the kerosene lamp reflected from the featureless wall. Tremaine turned, stumbled up the steps, out into the air. The sun showed a crimson edge just peeping above distant hills. 1901, Tremaine thought. _The century has just turned. Somewhere a young fellow named Ford is getting ready to put the nation on wheels, and two boys named Wright are about to give it wings. No one ever heard of a World War, or the roaring Twenties, or Prohibition, or FDR, or the Dust Bowl, or Pearl Harbor. And Hiroshima and Nagasaki are just two cities in distant floral Japan...._ He walked down the path, stood by the rutted dirt road. Placid cows nuzzled damp grass in the meadow beyond it. In the distance a train hooted. _There are railroads_, Tremaine thought. _But no jet planes, no radio, no movies, no automatic dish-washers. But then there's no TV, either. That makes up for a lot. And there are no police waiting to grill me, and no murder charge, and no neurotic nest of bureaucrats waiting to welcome me back...._ He drew a deep breath. The air was sweet. _I'm here_, he thought. _I feel the breeze on my face and the firm sod underfoot. It's real, and it's all there is now, so I might as well take it calmly. After all, a man with my education ought to be able to do well in this day and age!_ Whistling, Tremaine started the ten-mile walk into town. End of Project Gutenberg's The Long Remembered Thunder, by Keith Laumer