Appleton, Victor – Tom Swift Jr 04 – And His Giant Robot

He did not add that he feared for the safety of Sandy and Phyl too. He wished, now, that they had not accompanied him on what was proving to be a hazardous venture.

Meanwhile, the Skeeter was riding the canyon up-THE VULTURES RETURN 137

drafts. Under Bud Barclay’s skillful handling, the helicopter had covered many miles of scenic eroded rock, hovered directly in front of grotesque pink cliffs, and whirled around jagged, fiery-orange stone formations. He windmilled the craft under a natural limestone arch while Sandy snapped pictures and Phyl drew quick sketches.

Later, they passed over Indian pueblo dwellings. The adobe skyscrapers, heaped atop one another, rose like rock-tiered tables out of the loam. Through binoculars Sandy could plainly see the bright-colored blankets that the Indians used for doors.

After passing over a stretch of rolling land dotted with sagebrush, they saw Purple Mesa. It stood like a solid fortress in the lighter-colored landscape.

“We’re almost there!” called Sandy excitedly, as the huge mass loomed before them.

“It’s still a number of miles off,” Bud observed. “Distances are deceiving out here.”

The mesa was indeed several minutes’ flying time away. Alone and brooding, it seemed to bear down upon them as they approached.

“Why, it isn’t purple at all!” exclaimed Phyl. “It seems to be rust-colored.”

“Wait until sunset,” Bud remarked.

“We won’t be here then,” said Phyl, a note of disappointment in her voice.

“Tom made us promise to be back by suppertime.”

“I’ll take the Skeeter up. We’ll hover over the top and look for a landing place,” said Bud.