By nightfall the special repelatron housings were ready. Tom tuned the transmitters to repel the chemical compound which Mr. Swift had analyzed, then had them bolted to the skyway spans.
Next day the spans were towed through the air to the bog area. Meanwhile, native work crews had been flown in to clear a space for a regular transmitter unit on each side of the morass.
After these units had been set up, Tom poured a half-mile span on each side of the hot mud. Then began the work of raising the five prefabricated spans into position between them. Each had to be bonded with a “weld” of fresh Durafoam.
“Tom, this is really slick!” Bud stared admiringly at the first two spans. They now extended out over the bog, supported in mid-air by their own built-in transmitters. “When the whole thing’s finished, it’ll be a ‘flying bridge’!”
“Good name for it, Bud.” The young inventor
ISO REPELATRON SKYWAY
called a halt to the work for a midafternoon snack of sandwiches and lemonade.
“Let’s hope we don’t run into any hitches,” he added.
Suddenly Chow cocked an ear. “Brand my beeswax, there go them jungle drums again!”
Darcy Creel listened to the throbbing sound. Then, with an odd glance at Tom, he translated: “They’re foretelling the doom of the young white juju man for daring to defy the jungle gods.”
Tom shrugged off the sinister prophecy.
By late in the day the “flying bridge” was completed, spanning the whole hot-mud area. Tom and his companions were jubilant at his success. The sky, however, had gradually grown darker with menacing cumulus clouds.
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