I have a task of great difficulty, he thought to himself. I'll get busy on it after lunch. "Mother, haven't we anything to eat?"

"Mother, tell me of women."

"Women! Why . . . , eh, what in the world do you want to know?

She blushed slightly, frowned.

"Well, you spoke of Pandora. I am sure there are other women in history. Tell me of them."

She blinked, then smiled. "Oh, of course. History is replete with stories of great women. Let me think."

"What is greatness? Hera, wife of Zeus, of course. Venus, G.o.ddess of Love, certainly. The Amazons, who dominated men, perhaps. There are so many, and they vary in their greatness."

"Let me tell you true, Mother. I have a task laid on by Zeus, to punish the mighty Atlas. I would find for him a wife, a gift of happiness, of misery. Thus there would be punishment, but lightened by womanly touch. Where would I look for such a one?"

"Zeus! At times I am angry, even at the G.o.ds. Atlas did faithfully support his master. Yet Zeus has rewarded him with an unending toil! A fit mate for Atlas? I can think of only one, and that one who would resist such wedded bliss."

"You know of one! Her name, Mother, and I will find her!"

"You are eager, but beware. She has been courted by many, won by none. Her name is Atalanta. Huntress, runner, wrestler - skilled in arts of man and of woman. Yes, you might well search for Atalanta."

He was committed. Find Atalanta, woo her for Atlas, arrange the nuptials - and convince Zeus that he had fulfilled his task.

Little details must be worked out. A plan of action developed.

A purported weakness of Atalanta - a love for golden apples - might well be exploited. Vulcan agreed to fashion these in his shop, and with his usual skill fashioned them in exquisite form.

Demo looked at them and was so enticed that he had a mind to keep them. Wisdom prevailed, and merely placed them in his pouch.

He inquired widely of those who might know, searched widely for the land wherein she dwelt. In due time he was rewarded. And finally he reached the very village she called home.

The dwellings were scattered, separated by green meadows and forest. Each small domicile resembled in its own way the home where he lived with his Mother.

But he did not find her in one of these.

They met in the square of the little village. He was astonished. With her reputation for physical superiority he expected - well, it doesn't matter.

What he found was a beautiful woman, tall and slender. Not muscle-bound, she. Not the heavy wrestler. Nor the huge-biceped brute he had visualized.

They talked.

"Ah, young sojourner. What brings you to our land? Do you seek adventure, riches? You'll not find them here, I a.s.sure you. But, while you tary, join with me in a race." She challenged him, as she did all newcomers to the village. Race with her, and if he but win she would acquiesce to his every demand.

Demo blinked. It was going to be so easy. Amazing! He had expected to cajole, beg, lie - even, terrible thought, to carry her off against her will.

The race began unpropitiously.

She darted ahead, turned with a smile - a sarcastic, mocking one.

"My, shall I help you? Perhaps your brogans are too heavy. Or is it those huge feet?"

Quickly he tossed one of the golden apples before her, slightly off to the side. The legends proved true.

She quickly deviated from the path, picked up the apple, continued on her way.

Happily, in those moments he gained. She was now only steps ahead!

Once more Demo tossed an apple. This time it went even more off the path. Nevertheless she ran after it, returned to the race.

She laughed.

"You think to distract me? I have but begun to run. But don't worry, I'll wait for you at the finish line."

And now they were abreast!

He tossed once more, the last of the apples.

His eyes widened. The fox imp rose from the roadside bushes, seized the apple, and disappeared again, chortling.

Atalanta would now be concerned only with the race! How could he possibly beat her! Ah, if only he had one more of the golden apples. Sadly he staggered on. There was no way he could beat her!

He had failed!

He reckoned not with Vulcan's skill!

Atalanta lost all thought of the race, ran madly after the fox imp. The imp, looking back, saw her quick approach and dropped the apple. It skipped sideways, dashed into the forest without a glance behind.

Atalanta seized the last apple, returned to the race to find herself bested. With good grace she bowed to the winner.

The nuptials were performed by a local priest. He wanted no pay, merely the reputation of having married the mighty Atlas to Atalanta.

As Atlas shifted the world on his shoulder Atalanta squeezed his brawny arm. The adoration on her face brought happiness to his eyes.

A perfect match, thought Demo.

"Give him a wife! I sent you to find the most horrible of tortures. How dare you suggest we reward his impiety by providing him with a wife! I've a mind to have you replace him for just a few hours, with the burden of the world on your shoulders!"

Zeus was, to put it kindly, miffed.

"But, Sire, think! If Atlas had such a wife as Hera . . . ?"