“I’ll pass the word to ‘em by walkie-talkie,” Radnor said, “and then get going myself!”
“Good! I’ll call the police too!” Tom said.
As soon as he hung up, Tom dialed police headquarters. The dispatcher promised to have a police car on the way within seconds.
Tom went back to the balcony and found Chow roaring with laughter at the helplessness of the hijackers.
“Brand my runnin’ iron,” the cook chortled, “we sure got them rustlers roped an’ hawg-tied!
HELPLESS HIJACKERS 145
This here repelatron’s even better’n a six-gun fer dealin’ with such varmints!”
Soon he and Tom saw two jeeps from Enterprises racing to the scene.
Before they reached the area where the rays were in effect, Tom turned off the repelatron.
Security men piled from the jeeps and quickly surrounded the thugs. Then a police car from Shopton came speeding to the spot. The hijackers were quickly disarmed, handcuffed, and taken away.
“What a close call!” Tom sighed in relief.
Chow’s portly frame was still shaking with mirth. “Sure wish I coulda seen their faces up close! I’ll bet them owlhoots was the most surprised hombres east or west o’ the Texas Panhandle!”
“It’s the last rustling they’ll do for a while,” Tom agreed. “You can carve another two notches on your skillet, pardner!”
Tom hurried to his sports car and drove to police headquarters. He found Chief Slater and Ames questioning the two prisoners. “Who are they?” Tom asked.
“We got their names from their licenses,” Ames said, “but neither seems to have a police record. And they claim they never heard of Furster.”
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