As they jounced along over the jungle path, Bud asked, ” How soon do we get a peek at your camera, Tom? I’m keen to see how it works.”
“You’ll get your chance in an hour or so,” Tom replied. “Dick Folsom and Jack Murray are bringing it over here by truck.”
“By truck?” Bud looked surprised.
Tom nodded. “I forgot we’d be needing one to haul the equipment, but Dad didn’t, lucky for us! He shipped along a husky one-ton job with heavy-72 ELECTRONIC RETROSCOPE
duty tires. It’ll come in handy in this jungle country.”
“How big is this camera contraption o’ yours?” Chow asked curiously.
“Too big,” Tom admitted, “even with my new miniaturized scanner. But I’m sure I can design a more compact model after we’ve tested my first retroscope thoroughly.”
The Americans were greeted by a swarm oŁ smiling, chattering Mayan children as Tom’s jeep pulled into the village.
Chow said he would start off at once to attend to his cooking chores.
“Reckon I’d better start thinkin’ about supper,” he explained.
“So soon?” Tom asked.
Chow’s tanned, leathery face broke into a mysterious smile. “Wai now, seein’
as how we got guests comin’, I think it might be right friendly to greet ‘em with a real native feast, don’t you?”
“It might,” Tom conceded, grinning, “as long as you don’t go too native.”
“No stewed jungle ants, pleasel” Bud added hastily, putting on a horrified look.
“Don’t you worry, Buddy boy,” the chef replied. “You jest leave the menu to old Chow Winkler, the best chuck-wagon cook what ever came out o’ the Lone Star State I”