



Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online
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                          THE LAST TRESPASSER

                             By JIM HARMON

                     _There was nothing wrong with
                  him that a Rider could not cure ...
                     and the rougher, the better!_

           [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
               Worlds of If Science Fiction, July 1960.
         Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
         the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]


They would not believe Malloy was alone in there, in the padded cell.
That made it worse.

Malloy was in his month for lying on his stomach to avoid bed sores. He
was walking from Peoria, Illinois, to Detroit, Michigan, currently and
he had just reached Chicago. It was fine to see State Street again, and
the jewelry stores stuck in the alcoves of churches with the handsomely
barred windows