"You will be what you call in
this country a dead duck!" the stranger warned. "I will then let myself
in with your key!"
Tight-lipped, Tom drove on another half mile, then turned in at the
private gate. The man got out with him as Tom walked up to the gate and
beamed his electronic key at the hidden mechanism. Instantly the gate
swung open, then closed again automatically after the car passed
through.
Tom parked in his usual spot. The stranger kept his hand in his pocket,
still covering Tom but glancing around cautiously. The sprawling
experimental station was a vast four-mile-square area with a cluster of
gleaming modern laboratory buildings and workshops. In the distance, a
tall glassed-in control tower overlooked Enterprises' long runways for
jet planes.
Suddenly the stranger stiffened. A paunchy, bowlegged figure, topped by
a white Texas sombrero, was coming straight toward them.
Tom's heart gave a leap of hope. The man was Chow Winkler, formerly a
chuck-wagon cook and now head chef for the Swifts' expeditions.
"Hi, boss!" Chow bellowed in his foghorn voice. As usual he was wearing
a gaudy cowboy shirt. "Who's the new buckaroo?" the cook added,
squinting at the stranger with open but friendly curiosity.
"Why--actually I don't know his name yet, but he's looking for a job,"
Tom replied. Turning to the stranger, he added, "What _is_ your name,
mister?"
The stranger glared from Tom to Chow, as if not certain what to answer.
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