“Now open the door to the cargo space,” he ordered.
As Tom did so, the Indian quickly removed the cap and tossed the open can in among the wrangling huskies.
Instantly Tom bolted the door and almost at once the clamor of the dogs began to die down. Soon it ceased completely.
“I’ll go in now and attend to them,” said the Indian. “But first, I advise you young people to go back to the pilot’s compartment. When I open this door, the smell of chloroform will just about knock you over!”
“Don’t worry,” Tom said, smiling. “The exhaust fans of our air-conditioning system will take care of that. If you think the dogs are unconscious, I’ll air the ship out now.”
When the Indian nodded, the young inventor turned a knob on the control panel. Instantly the ventilator fans hummed, forcing the bad air from the Sky Queen.
“All right, I think it’s safe now,” the Indian announced. Accompanied by Tom and Bud, he made his way into the cargo compartment. Most of the dogs were still sleeping; some were partly conscious. Three were gashed and bleeding from the fangs of the half-crazed husky that had broken into the other stalls.
The Indian dressed their wounds and made them
A CALL FROM WASHINGTON 12?
comfortable, murmuring reassuring words to them in native dialect as he worked.
“How long will they stay groggy?” Tom asked.
“Another couple of hours at least. In any case, they’re all securely tied now, so I think there’s nothing more to worry about.”
It was past midnight when they arrived back at Shopton. The air seemed warm and muggy after the bracing climate of Alaska.
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