Tom Swift Jr - And His Giant Robot Part 2

As the giant stabilized, Tom and his father rushed in front of him. A stupefied man stood there, his mouth wide open.

"Brand my lil ole panhandle!" he exclaimed. "I thought some Texas Ranger's ghost was goin' to tackle me!"

"Chow!" roared Tom, a broad smile of relief spreading over his face. "You old coyote cooker! When did you ride into town?"

"Jest tumbled in an' I don't recollect you ever eatin' any o' my coyote cutlets, Tom Swift!"

Chow Winkler, the stout, former chuck-wagon cook who tended the galley on the Flying Lab and went along on many of Tom's journeys, mopped his

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AMAZING FINGERPRINTS 21.

forehead with a large red neckerchief. "Whew!" he said. "Feller can't even come lopin' along your conveyor belt without gettin' skeered half to death."

"So you haven't met Tom's giant?" Mr. Swift said. "Where have you been, Chow?"

"Visitin" some ranch friends. Woulda stayed, too, if I'd knowed I was goin' to b.u.mp into this here monster. What is it anyway, Tom?"

"A robot that will move and act like a person," Tom explained. "Only difference is that my mechanical man will work where it's too dangerous for a human being to go."

Warily Chow moved closer to the robot. "That sounds real good, Tom," he drawled. Eying its immensity, he said, "Glad I don't have to cook for this here giant. Say, maybe you-all could rig up one o' these come roundup time next year in Texas. My friends sure could use a mee-chanical cowpuncher for ropin' an'

brandin'."

"I'll do better than that, Chow," said Tom, laughing. "How about my entering one in the Southwest Rodeo for you? I'll fix the controls so he'll never get thrown by any bronc!"

"That's right nice o' you, Tom," said Chow, grinning. "Tell you what. He kin wear my new red-an'-yellow plaid s.h.i.+rt. He'd sure look more civilized that way."

"But we'll wait until he has a head," said Tom. "I'd hate to scare your cowboy friends."

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"Say, I'll bet a lil ole prairie dog you folks ain't had lunch. How 'bout a bowl o'

my rattlesnake soup?" he asked jokingly.

"No, thanks," said Tom. "I'd rather be bitten by a new idea. That I could use!"

"Reckon I could cook up most everythin' but that!" Chow waved to the scientists and entered the private laboratory galley of which he was the proud master.

While Chow prepared a substantial lunch of hamburgers and onions, the Swifts tried further experiments with the robot. Then, after eating, the two inventors separated. Mr. Swift returned to his office, while Tom worked in his laboratory on plans for improving the relotrol.

At six o'clock he returned to his office and learned that his father had gone home. At this moment Bud dashed in.

"I have news!" he reported excitedly. "Slim finally located the plane, after all.

He combed the area in a jeep and found the jet hidden in a woods about ten miles from here."

"What!" Tom cried. "That close? Was anyone seen near it?"

"Slim says that the plane seems deserted, but he's waiting for you before going aboard."

Tom grabbed his two-way short-wave set. In a moment he was talking to Slim, getting exact directions to the spot in the woods where the jet had been located.

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"I'll be right over with a crew," Tom told him. "Stay around but don't get too close. This may be a trap."

Tom clicked off the set and called Phil Radnor, chief security police officer of the Enterprises plant. Radnor said that he would organize a group of reliable men and join the boys at the main entrance gate.

A motorcade was formed and was soon weaving a rapid but careful path through the highway traffic outside Shopton. Up front in a jeep were Tom and Bud. Seated behind them, alert and ready for any sudden action, sat Radnor and a guard. The second vehicle contained several mechanics and laborers.

Following it was a large truck pulling an aircraft trailer. To the top of this flat conveyance an entire plane, with the wings dismantled, could be lashed and towed away.

The cavalcade swung off the main highway onto a narrow, rutted road, densely lined with trees whose branches intertwined overhead. The pace of the vehicles slowed down and their headlights stabbed through the gathering dusk, groping around bends in the road.

Slim was waiting in the shadows. He guided the boys and the security guards on foot through the woods and into a long, narrow clearing. At the end of it stood Tom's jet plane, the forward half between giant trees with spreading branches.

Tom swung himself onto the right wing. Cautiously he made his 24 .

way to the canopy and beamed his flashlight inside. No one was aboard.

"The bubble's open. I'm going inside," Tom said.

He lifted the canopy and stepped down into the plane. Bud followed. A quick look around revealed that nothing had been damaged, but the relotrol was missing.

"Stolen!" Tom declared.

"Could it have fallen out?" suggested Bud hopefully.

"Not a chance. I'll bet that it was taken by the same person who was manipulating the crow."

Bud looked incredulous. "But who would want your relotrol, Tom?"

"I don't know, Bud, but I mean to find out! Rad probably brought a fingerprint kit. We'll use that."

Cautiously he made his way to the canopy AMAZING FINGERPRINTS.

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Tom called to the security officer and asked him. "Yes, I have one," Radnor replied. "I'll get it."

When he returned the security officer dusted the c.o.c.kpit interior and certain surface sections of the fuselage. A number of fingerprints appeared.

"No doubt some of these belong to you boys," he said. "But there seem to be several different sets of prints. We'll take them all."

After the prints had been lifted, Radnor said, "We'll compare these with the file at the plant. Any unknown ones we'll check with the local police. If they can't help, we'll fly them to Was.h.i.+ngton at once for identification."

Phil Radnor started back to the plant immediately. Tom and Bud remained to supervise the work of removing the plane. First the men had to cut and beamed his flashlight inside 26 .

through the woods, hacking out a path for the trailer truck with electric saws.

This accomplished, they drove the truck in and the task of dismantling the triangular-shaped wings began. Finally everything was loaded and the plane was returned to its berth at Swift Enterprises.

Tom and Bud immediately began an inspection of the motors, cables, and electrical equipment. There was not a clue to the strange kidnaping.

"There's only one chance of finding out who did this," Tom said.

"What's that?"

"The fingerprints."

"It'll turn out that they belong to some scientific crook like those international spies you captured," Bud ventured.

The young inventor shrugged. Then, before he could make a reply, Bud exclaimed, "Do you know what time it is? Nine o'clock and we haven't had any dinner! Go on home, genius, and feed that brain of yours."

"Okay."

Tom dropped Bud off at an aunt's with whom he had been staying, since Bud's parents now lived in California. Then Tom drove to his own large, comfortable home. As he pulled into the garage he met his sister Sandra just coming from the kennels where the Swifts kept two fine bloodhounds.

"Hi, Sis! What's for dinner?" Tom asked.

"You mean what was for dinner, Tom. We had AMAZING FINGERPRINTS 27.

steak and French fried potatoes," said Sandy. She was a year younger than Tom and had the same light-colored hair and blue eyes as her brother. She laughed. "I'll fix something for you."

"Thanks, Sis. You'll save my life! Boy, I'm starved!"

They walked into the house together and Tom went at once to greet his pretty mother. She was in the living room with Mr. Swift.

"Sorry I'm so late," Tom said.

Mrs. Swift smiled. "I understand, dear. Your father thought you might be off hunting for the lost plane again."

"Yes, I was," he replied.

"How did you make out?" Mr. Swift asked, looking up from some papers he was reading.

They listened in amazement to their son's story. He concluded by saying, "The plane itself wasn't damaged, but my relotrol is gone. We dusted for fingerprints and-"

"Oh, say," Sandy interrupted, coming in from the kitchen. "Phil Radnor called you on the videophone just a few minutes ago. He wants to talk to you about fingerprint verification. He said that it was urgent, so I told him you'd call back as soon as you came in."

Tom reached for the direct private videophone coaxial to the plant. He waited while one of his operators in the main building terminal made the switching connections on the huge cable board, which linked the company's coast-to-coast private television 28 .

network. When Radnor's face appeared on the screen, he looked excited and distraught.

"What is it, Rad?" Tom asked.

"I have a report for you from the police. Some of the prints identified belong to an escaped Federal prisoner!"

"What!"

"He's 'Flash' Ludens of the Briggin gang."

"The Briggin gang!" Tom exclaimed. "They're the cleverest, most dangerous bank robbers at large today!"

"That's the outfit," Radnor said. "The other two members are 'Slick' Steck and Tins' Zoltan."

Tom was completely mystified. "Rad," he said slowly, "what would bank robbers want with my relotrol? It doesn't make sense!"

CHAPTER 4.

MENACING BIRDS.

BY MORNING not only the Swift family but the whole Enterprises organization was buzzing with the exciting news that a well-known bank robber, and perhaps his confederates, was now an enemy of Tom's.

In his office, the young inventor was talking with Bud, Radnor, and young Harlan Ames, head of the plant's security division. They were looking at rogues'

gallery pictures of the Briggin gang supplied by the Shopton police.

"They're not a very pretty crew," commented Ames. "But they make up for it with their clever trickery." The security chief smiled wryly. "According to reports, this Briggin mob has made a peculiar switch of operations-graduated from guns to science, it seems. They now call themselves gentlemen scientists of the underworld."

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