138 TOM SWIFT AND HIS GIANT ROBOT
The helicopter rose alongside the sheer wall of Purple Mesa.
“It is steep,” gasped Sandy, “and craggy. No wonder nobody’s been able to climb it to look for the treasure!”
The cliff’s edges had been filed into sharp and fantastic shapes by the countless desert sandstorms. Bud carefully spiraled the Skeeter in for a landing on the flat top of the mesa.
“Oh, look!” cried Phyl. “Here comes a family of vultures. They must nest on the mesa.”
As Bud held the ship steady, he glanced over his shoulder. The birds were not vultures but metal-feathered jets. They were the death-dealing crows, capable of seizing complete control of the helicopter and dashing it to pieces against the rocks.
Suddenly the ship was buffeted around.
“What’s the matter with the Skeeter?” Sandy cried.
“The birds!” yelled Bud. He kicked desperately at the control pedals, but it was no use. The stabilizer rotor was out of control and the cabin began to spin.
“Hang on, we’re going to crash!” Bud shouted in warning.
The helicopter dropped, hit the edge of the mesa, and plummeted down the side!
CHAPTER 17
MAROONED ON THE MESA
THE SKEETER hung on a crag at the edge of the precipice.
“Kick the window!” Bud yelled.
Sandy’s foot flew against the large pane of safety glass. The pane popped out and Sandy tumbled out onto the top of the mesa. Phyl scrambled after her just as the helicopter started to roll down the steep cliff.
The girls watched in horror as the craft, with Bud still trapped inside, grated noisily down the incline. A rotor blade snapped off and went spinning away. A moment later a formation of up-jutting rocks caught the Skeeter like a giant outstretched hand.