So I did not use my strongest juju. The bridge was wrecked. But Sho-sho-go has not dared to harm me! Now I will build the bridge again. This time I will plant some very strong grigris in the hot mud. I promise you these grigris will swallow up any more thunderbolts that Sho-sho-go may send!”
Tom ended by saying that extra rations would be given out that day, so his Ngombian friends could enjoy a great feast while he was working to prepare his grigris.
The news was greeted with loud cheers, clapping, and stamping. From the looks on the natives’
DINOSAUR STAMPEDE 155
faces, Tom’s speech appeared to have changed their minds.
“Brand my elephant stew, you handled ‘em jest right, boss!” Chow chuckled. “Like I always say, the way to any hombre’s heart is through his stomach-African or American!”
“Let’s hope your grigris turn out to be just as successful,” Creel put in dryly. “If they don’t, it may take more than food to get these men back on the job.”
Tom said nothing, but Bud snorted angrily, “Stop being such a dill pickle, Creel!”
Bud and Tom flew back to Imbolu. There he set to work at once in his Flying Lab, designing the devices to “swallow thunderbolts.” Bud watched as the young inventor sketched out a strange-looking design at his drawing board.
“What in the name of science is it?” Bud asked.
Tom chuckled. “Just an ordinary lightning rod. But it’s supposed to be a high-powered magic gizmo, remember? So it has to look the part.”
Instead of being a straight vertical rod, Tom’s device zigzagged and spiraled crazily.
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