“We’ll need five more drones and a permanent control board,” he said, “before I’ll be satisfied that the protection here is adequate.”
By the time Tom had worked out the specifications for the drone-control towers and turned them over to the engineers, it was dinnertime. He told his father that he planned to spend the night at the Flying Lab. He drove over in a jeep and was amazed to see a horse tethered near the Sky Queen. He parked and hurried up the ladder to the giant plant.
Reaching the doorway he stared in astonishment. Standing before him, arms folded, stood a tall, well-built Indian wearing buckskins and a denim shirt.
“Tom,” called Sandy over the man’s shoulder, “we were just going to drive over to the plant to find you. This is Chief Rob Featherlight of the local Zuiii tribe.
We visited his reservation today.”
Tom relaxed and smiled. His sister had wasted no time in becoming acquainted with her neighbors. And apparently this neighbor was just as curious about their activities.
“This is a very fine plane,” the young Indian re-124 TOM SWIFT AND HIS GIANT ROBOT
marked, as the group seated themselves in the lounge.
“The chief told us something this afternoon which I think you should hear from him at once, Tom,” Sandy said.
The chief began his story. “There is trouble on my reservation. It has been caused by a large black crow. The bird has been flying overhead every day, just before sunset.”
Tom exchanged glances with the others.
“But this crow,” Featherlight went on, “does not fly like a crow. It banks like a plane does, not like a bird. Sometimes it flies at a speed so great as to bring fear to the hearts of my people. The older members of the council believe the bird to be an evil spirit that has returned to earth in this unnatural form.” The chief paused a moment, then added, “I have been educated at public schools and know better.”