After recruiting the help of Ted Spring and several crewmen, Tom explained the job and ordered his work party to don their space suits.
Chow Winkler, who was itching for an excuse to join them, slipped into his galley and returned with a coil of rope. “Boss, I ain’t practiced ropin’ since I left Texas. You reckon mebbe I could go outside an’ try throwin’ a few loops while you hombres are workin’?”
Tom grinned at the roly-poly cook. “Sure, pardner. Hop into your space duds!”
One by one, the work party emerged through the station air lock. In spite of the brilliant sunshine which made every object glitter, the space void was an inky black. It was broken only by the steely twinkle of the distant stars and planets.
Two of the crewmen used jet scooters to haul the heavy bale of foil and other equipment. The other members of the work party propelled themselves around by means of the reaction pistols on their suits.
Chow acted especially frisky. “Brand my cosmic sagebrush, I sure wish I had a bronc to ride up here on this sky range!” he proclaimed over his suit radio.
“Then I’d really show you buckaroos some fancy ridin’!”
“Maybe I can oblige,” Bud signaled back. “I’ll tell you where to find a horse in space!”
LARIAT LIFELINE 89
“You funnin’ me again?” Chow demanded.
“No-on the level, Chow,” Bud replied.
“Where kin I find this hoss?”
“A mere nine hundred trillion miles away.” Bud chuckled. “He’s Pegasus, the Winged Horse constellation.”
As Chow glared at the youth through his transparent bubble helmet, Tom explained with a grin, “Bud’s talking about a group of stars.”