“Um. Anyhow the fire extinguishers dug him out-only he sneezed and knocked two men down. After that we used more fire extinguishers to turn him down Hamilton, meaning to herd him into open country where he couldn’t do so much damage. . . seeing as how we couldn’t find you. We were making out pretty well, with only an occasional lamp post knocked down, or ground car stepped on, or such, when we came to where we meant to turn him off on Hillcrest and head him back to your place. But he got away from us and headed out onto the viaduct, ran into the guard rail and went off, and. . . well, you’ll see, right now. Here we are.”
Half a dozen police cars were hovering over the end of the viaduct Surrounding the area were many private air cars and an air bus or two; the patrol cars were keeping them back from the scene. There were several hundred harness flyers as well, darting like bats in and out among the vehicles and making the police problem more difficult On the ground a few regular police, supplemented by emergency safety officers wearing arm bands, were trying to hold the crowd back and were diverting traffic away from the viaduct and from the freight road that ran under it down the arroyo. Sergeant Mendoza’s driver threaded his way through the cars in the air, while speaking into a hushophone on his chest. Chief Dreiser’s bright red command car detached itself from the knot over the end of the viaduct and approached them.
Both cars stopped, a few yards apart and a hundred feet above the viaduct. John Thomas could see the big gap in the railing where Lummox had gone over, but could not see Lummox himself; the viaduct blocked his view. The door of the command car opened and Chief Dreiser leaned out; he looked harassed and his bald head was covered with sweat. “Tell the Stuart boy to stick his head out.”
John Thomas ran a window down and did so. “Here, sir.”
“Lad, can you control that monster?”
“Certainly, sir.”
“I hope you’re right. Mendoza! Land him. Let him try it.”
“Yes, Chief.” Mendoza spoke to the driver, who moved the car past the viaduct and started letting down beyond it. Lummox could be seen then; he had taken refuge under the end of the bridge, making himself small. . . for him. John Thomas leaned out and called to him,
“Lum! Lummie boy! Come to papa.”
The creature stirred and the end of the viaduct stirred with him. About twelve feet of his front end emerged from under the structure and he looked around wildly.
“Here, Lum! Up here!”
Lummox caught sight of his friend and split his head in an idiot grin. Sergeant Mendoza snapped, “Put her down, Slats. Let’s get this over.”
The driver lowered a bit, then said anxiously, “That’s enough, Sergeant. I saw that critter rear up earlier.”
“All right, all right.” Mendoza opened the door and kicked out a rope ladder used in rescue work. “Can you go down that, son?”
“Sure.” With Mendoza to give him a hand John Thomas shinnied out of the door and got a grip on the ladder. He felt his way down and came to the point where there was no more ladder; he was still six feet above Lummox’s head. He looked down. “Heads up, baby. Take me down.”
Lummox lifted another pair of legs from the ground and carefully placed his broad skull under John Thomas, who stepped onto it, staggering a little and grabbing for a hand hold. Lummox lowered him gently to the ground.
John Thomas jumped off and turned to face him. Well, the fall apparently had not hurt Lum any; that was a relief. He would get him home first and then go over him inch by inch.
In the meantime Lummox was nuzzling his legs and making a sound remarkably like a purr. John looked stern. “Bad Lummie! Bad, bad Lummie. . . you’re a mess, aren’t you?”
Lummox looked embarrassed. He lowered his head to the ground, looked up at his friend, and opened his mouth wide. “I didn’t mean to,” he protested in his baby-girl voice.