“Five minutes to, boss. Brand my pemmican pie, you ought to stop workin’
your brain so hard!
SABOTEUR SEARCH 75
All them squiggles an’ numbers you been figgerin’ out is enough to drive a cow hand loco!”
Tom grinned and laid down his slide rule as the Texan uncovered the lunch dishes. “Mm! Hot roast beef sandwiches and lemon meringue pie! This is more than I bargained for, Chow.”
“Eat up, buckaroo. You need nourishment when you use the old head so much!” Chow eased his rotund bulk onto a lab stool across the workbench from Tom. “Buddy boy says you’re takin’ off for the outpost.”
Tom nodded. “I’ll be gone for a few days. Have to work on something for my space kite.”
“Then take me along, boss,” Chow pleaded. “From what I hear, you may be headin’ into trouble!”
Tom shot an affectionate glance at the Westerner. Chow had developed a strong and loyal attachment to the young inventor ever since the Swifts had first met him on a scientific trip to the Southwest.
“Okay, pardner,” Tom said with a smile. “You’re welcome to come along. But you’ll have to shake a leg. I’m leaving for Fearing Island as soon as I finish this grub.”
“Ya-/zooo/” Chow, who had never lost his zest for adventure, gave a bronc-buster whoop and sent his chef’s hat sailing toward a wall hook. “Me, I’m ready to haul my freight soon as I shuck this hat an’ apron.”
76 COSMIC ASTRONAUTS
At eleven-thirty Tom and Chow drove to the airfield, where Bud was already waiting. Minutes later, they were zooming out from the Atlantic coast by jet toward Fearing Island.
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