“Well, brand my navy beans,” the cook cried, “Tom’s done it again!”
“Now all we can do is wait for an answer,” Tom sighed. He glanced at his watch. “We’d better hit the blue, Bud, if we’re going to solve the mystery of the smoke signals. Hanson, will you take over here?”
“I won’t leave the set,” the engineer promised.
Tom and Bud donned warm clothes, and Chow insisted upon stuffing the pockets of their flying suits with sandwiches. He filled two thermos bottles with steaming cocoa and carried them to the helicopter. As Bud thanked him, he said with a grin:
180 TOM SWIFT AND HIS FLYING LAB
“This will hold us for a while if we’re captured, Chow.”
The cook’s eyes bulged. “Hey, jest a minute! You sure gave me a different idee.
Those blasted rebels are s’posed to be caught nappin’. Ain’t that it?”
“Stop worrying.” Tom smiled. “You’re right, Chow. Bud and I are going to find out if Dad and Roberts are prisoners somewhere near where we saw those smoke signals. If so, we’ll free them and bring them here.”
Chow was pacified. “Okay. Good luck!”
He and the two fliers swung open the rear doors of the Sky Queen’s hangar and wheeled the helicopter down the portable runway. In a few minutes Tom and Bud were off on Operation Smoke Signal.
CHAPTER XXIII
PRISONERS
THE MIDGET helicopter soared up through the canyon. Tom had to use extreme care in the darkness not to smash a blade against the walls, but with the ease of long practice and experience he soon had the craft clear of the gorge.
After pausing in mid-air to get his bearings from the various mountain peaks, he set his course toward the spot where he hoped to make the rescue. After cruising for ten minutes, he turned to Bud and said: “I think this is the place. How about turning on the lights so we can pick out that landing area?”
Bud switched on the ultraviolet searchlights and both boys strained their eyes for the rectangular patch they had outlined the morning before. Nothing showed up.
“That’s funny,” Tom muttered.
He cruised over the mountainous region for several minutes without seeing any sign of the fluorescent dye.
181
182 TOM SWIFT AND HIS FLYING LAB
“Hope that stuff wasn’t a dud,” Bud remarked worriedly.
“No, I’m sure it couldn’t be,” Tom replied. “Look! There it is!”
Almost directly beneath them a narrow strip of purplish light gleamed steadily.
“Now we get to work,” Bud said. “I wonder what we’ll find.”
Tom, serious and equally curious, cut the forward thrust of the Skeeter, and the little ship descended slowly into the center of the field. There was only the faintest indication of a jar as the craft landed. The searchlights were turned off, the ignition locked, and the boys, with Tom carrying a coil of strong rope, scrambled out.
“Got your flashlight, Bud?” Tom whispered, as they moved cautiously away from the helicopter.
“Yes. But we’d better not use lights unless we have to.”
“Right.”
“Which way shall we head?” Bud asked.
“The smoke signals came from over on our left. Let’s try that direction.”
With Tom in the lead, they advanced cautiously. Once Bud kicked a loose stone, which clattered in the stillness as it rolled a short distance. For minutes afterward, the boys stood still, waiting for some sign that they had been heard. When no one appeared, however, Bud said in a low voice: “No harm done. Let’s go!”
Tiptoeing along and feeling their way with each PRISONERS 183
foot before putting any weight on it, they inched their way among the rocks.
“Hss-s-st, Bud!” Tom’s hand, reaching back, tightened convulsively on his friend’s shoulder. “Look!”
To their right, around a ledge of rock, were two spots of brightness, close together. The next moment they seemed to shrink to pin points. They went out for a second, then reappeared.
“Eyes!” he hissed to Bud. “An animal!”
He clicked on his flashlight. Beaming it directly ahead, he picked up the snarling face of a South American mountain lion. The beast lowered its head, growled deep in its throat, turned, and slunk away from the light.
“Wow!” Bud murmured. “Nice, friendly little cat! Hope we don’t run into any more of those! What now?”
“Keep moving,” Tom instructed. As he snapped off the flashlight, he said, “I see a light way off there!”
A tiny flicker of illumination was visible in the distance. Carefully the boys walked toward it, until they could see the embers of a small campfire glowing just ahead among the rocks and stumps of the uneven ground.
“An iron gate! Just beyond the fire. It’s set right into the rock wall of the cliff!”
“And there’s the sentrycurled up against the rocks there by the fire!”
“He’s sound asleep!”
Stealthily the boys crept forward until they were 184 TOM SWIFT AND HIS FLYING LAB
almost on top of the native watchman. On one arm was strapped an unusual wrist watch which they both recognized as the property of Mr. Swift!
“Cover the guard’s mouth with your hand before he can yell,” Tom directed Bud. “I’ll grab his arms.”
As one they leaped from their hiding place and landed on the inert form.
Before the man could utter a sound or make any protest, he was completely overpowered. With rope and a handkerchief from Tom’s pocket, the two bound and gagged him. He thrashed about, his black eyes gleaming balefully.
“Here are some keys,” murmured Bud as he went through the man’s pockets.
“And a whistle. No gun.”
“One of these keys should fit the lock in this gate,” Tom said. “Let’s try them.”
They tried first one and then another of the keys. After what seemed an eternity, one clicked in the lock, and they were able to swing the huge gate open.
Tom considered the situation. He wondered if there were more guards inside.
“One of us ought to stay here and watch while the other goes inside,” he decided. “All right with you, Bud, if I investigate?”
The copilot nodded and took his post.
“If anyone comes, blow the whistle,” Tom whispered, and went through the gateway.
Tom snapped on his flashlight, peering through the gloom for a hasty impression of the layout. There was nothing in the cave, but far inside he could see the outline of a door.
Cautiously he moved toward this new barrier. The cave proved to be longer than he had thought. But as
Before the guard could utter a sound he was overpowered 186 TOM SWIFT AND HIS FLYING LAB
he walked, the ceiling and floor began to converge. Finally Tom had to crouch almost double as he neared the door. Finding it locked, he again tried the watchman’s keys. The first three would not fit into the lock, but the fourth opened it with a grating sound.
“Who’s there?” a voice called, as Tom extinguished his light and pushed the door open.
The man spoke English without the trace of an accent. Deciding to take a chance, Tom replied:
“A friend from the United States.”
“Then come in,” the other invited.
Tom turned on his flashlight and swung its beam around. Lying on blankets on the cold earthen floor, and now arising eagerly to greet the visitor, were four men. Tom knew one of them.
“John Roberts!” he cried, rushing over to him.
“Tom Swift! Wherehow?”
Roberts jumped to his feet and wrung his friend’s hand. Then he introduced the others, all South American scientists.
“How did you get past the guard?” Roberts asked.
“Bud Barclay and I took care of him. Bud’s waiting outside. John, have you seen my father?”
“Your father? No,” Roberts replied. “Isn’t he with you?”
“I haven’t been able to contact him for some time. I’m afraid he’s a prisoner.
The guard outside was wearing his watch.”
“The rebels haven’t mentioned him,” Roberts said, “so the guard probably found the watch or stole it.”
PRISONERS 187
“Then maybe Dad isn’t their prisoner and is all right!” Tom said hopefully. “By the way, when do you expect your jailers back?”
“Not before morning and perhaps not then,” Roberts answered. “Often a couple of days go by and we see no one except the guard. It gets dreadfully cold here, so he sometimes brings us a small pile of wood to make a fire. He also brings our food, which is only a little corn-meal mush.”
For the first time Tom realized how weak and haggard the men were. They would not be able to walk very far. From his jacket pockets he took the sandwiches Chow had given him and also some food pellets which he always carried for emergencies. He was sorry that he had not brought the thermos bottles too. While the men ate, he told them that Bud and he had come because of S O S smoke signals and asked if the men were responsible for them.