Tom Swift and His Electronic Retroscope (11 page)

"Thank goodness!"

"Yes. But they are afraid now." The Mayan edged closer, his expression grave. He spoke slowly, reaching for the words in English. "Tom-Swift, you are a good man. I know this was not your fault. Your camera is a wonderful thing indeed. But the
sastun
of Juxtlanpoc, the carved stone upon which we stand in ceremony—these are sacred to Huratlcuyon. As
ahau,
I cannot allow them to be put in danger, not even for a good cause. You will find other carvings here in Yucatan. Perhaps when your machine has been made perfect—"

Tom tried to keep the disappointment from his face and the bitterness from his voice. "I understand, Chief Quetzal. Naturally, the decision is yours."

Doc and Chow hastened to bring first-aid kits from the packs in the hut. Meanwhile, Tom and Ahau Quetzal did their best to calm the excited Mayas.

Fortunately, the only injuries were minor cuts and bruises. As Tom applied antiseptic and bandages, the superstitious victims began to calm down.

When the situation was finally under control, Tom strode determinedly to Hutchcraft, sitting in the shadow of a hut.
"Where did that stone come from?"
he demanded of the archaeologist, as Bud Barclay approached menacingly from his other side.

The man stood, and for once he seemed to have misplaced his bravado. "It wasn’t really a carved stone," Hutchcraft admitted sheepishly. "I found it in back of Castillez’s truck, and thought I’d play a trick on you."

"Mighty fine trick!" Bud growled. Hutchcraft eyed the youth’s broad shoulders and muscular arms, and gulped. "I suppose if someone had lost an eye, you’d be laughing your head off!"

"I didn’t
know
the thing would explode!" Hutchcraft said sulkily. "I only wanted to get even for Chow’s nasty attack on me last night. I thought I could fool you fellows into believing your machine wouldn’t work. Just a harmless prank, that’s all."

Bud received his lame excuses with a snort of disgust.

Tom picked up what was left of the stone. He examined it, together with several of the exploded fragments. "You say you found this in the truck bed?" he asked Hutchcraft.

The Bostonian nodded. "It looked like an ordinary stone. I assumed it was something you’d used to prop up your equipment."

"It’s a form of mica, hydrous silicate," Tom said. "Must have been dumped into the truck on a hauling job some time or other. I guess that explains its blowing up."

"How come?" Bud asked, still suspicious.

Tom sighed at his bad luck. "This stuff breaks down under radiation," he explained. "It must have absorbed too much output from the camera’s scanning beam and exploded. The pieces that hit us are now vermiculite."

"There! You see?" exclaimed Hutchcraft. "Just a freak accident."

Bud and the others listening were not mollified. They turned their backs on the philologist-archaeologist and stalked away in disgust.

Tom resumed his retroscope tests, rolling the camera to the edge of the village clearing so as not to worry the villagers or offend Hu-Quetzal. Several other stones were "photographed." But in every case what had first appeared to be carvings turned out to be natural features.

Tom worked listlessly, and the others from Shopton knew he was reacting to the chief’s edict.

Chow tried to cheer his boss up. "Now listen here, son, you mean that contraption o’ yours kin take a picture o’ what somethin’ looked like a long time ago? Wa-aal then," Chow asked with a grin, "could it make a picture o’ me back when I was a handsome young feller with a full head o’ hair, you s’pose?"

Everyone burst out laughing, including Tom.

"I’ll be satisfied if it does the trick on the Mayan stones," Tom replied. "Assuming we can find a few with something worth looking at."

"Were you not going to begin investigating the place where the ancient highway came to an end?" asked Castillez encouragingly. "Perhaps you will discover something more there—even, perhaps, a trace of the space visitors."

Dr. Liu, standing nearby with his wife, also spoke up. "And I wish to remind you that you may be in a position to assist our project. Should you find anything with even a suggestion of the decorative motif I showed you, I would be very gratified if you would allow me to place it under the lens of this wizard camera of yours."

"I would be honored, sir," Tom replied. "And thanks for trusting me." A thought suddenly struck him. "By the way, I’ve been meaning to ask you—since you arrived in the area, have either of you seen anything of a small, skinny man in the jungle, someone not of this village?" He briefly summarized Max’s story.

Liu and his wife exchanged glances. To Tom’s surprise, it was Jiang Liu who answered. "We have seen no one like that." Her husband confirmed the statement.

"Well, he’s out there, sure as shootin’!" Chow declared.

"Now wait," objected Doc Simpson, "can you really be so sure this ‘giant’ character of yours is on the up-and-up? Maybe he’s a lot smarter than he looks."

Chow snorted. "He’d jest about
have
t’ be!" But then his eyes darted about nervously.

Tom could only shrug.

The day wore on slowly and hotly. Tom made many tests of the retroscope before and after lunch, and then finally rolled the mechanism, with its bulky accoutrements, back to the hut, where it was safely locked down.

While Chow assisted Doc in what he promised were his final series of examinations, Tom and Bud decided to visit the jungle clearing where the paraplane had first landed, hoping to scout-up some clues in the underbrush. As they ambled along the little trail, the towering trees of the tropical rain forest shut out much of the afternoon sunlight, and the dark, steamy atmosphere was noisy with the buzz of insects and the raucous screams of jungle birds. "This is sure no place for a picnic!" Tom said wryly to Bud.

"Oh, I don’t know," Bud joked. "Maybe with a few repelatrons tuned to ‘mosquito’ and some of those electric rifles of yours…"

Suddenly a scream of terror reached their ears! Tom slammed on the brakes, his face turning pale at the agonized sound. "Good grief! What was that?"

"Sounded like a woman screaming!" Bud cried.

The harsh, shrill sound came again. "That’s a human voice all right!" Tom burst out. "But where’s it coming from?"

Anxious to help, the boys decided to separate, crashing off into the underbrush in opposite directions, nervously alive to the possibility of danger.

Tom’s direction turned out to be the right one. The terrified shrieks grew louder as he fought his way through the tangled ferns and underbrush—then suddenly ceased. A moment later, at a spot hemmed in by dense growth and rocks, Tom burst upon a frightening scene. A man lay face-down and unconscious on the ground, barely visible in the greenish gloom and lush plantlife. Over him reared a huge jaguar, its claws ready for the kill! The man had evidently cornered the jaguar and infuriated it.

Good night, that must be the same baby who cornered us before!
Tom thought in a controlled panic. The young inventor’s heart was hammering, but he kept cool. He had to somehow distract the fierce cat from its helpless prey. In desperation, he yanked a sturdy, pointed branch off a nearby tree. It parted from the trunk with a sharp
Crack!
.

The jaguar was primed to protect itself. At the sound it leapt into the air and came down whirling to face its new enemy. The jaguar was snarling with fury—still full of fight!

It charged straight at Tom!

Flinging himself backwards against a thick trunk and dropping on one knee, he aimed his stick like a rifle, jamming its butt-end against the trunk to brace it. The sharp point gouged into the beast’s snout as it pounced. It was a clean hit—first blood! But the enraged animal refused to go down. Instead, convulsively writhing off to the side and backing away a dozen yards, the jaguar seemed to gain strength from its added fury at being wounded. Regrouping, the beast charged again with a throaty roar!

His mind blank with terror, Tom awaited the maddened jaguar. Its first charge had almost grazed his leg with a lightning sweep of one paw. Tom shuddered—this time those terrible claws and teeth would rip his flesh to the bone!

Yet the jungle brought forth a new surprise. Something small suddenly flashed across the clearing, almost nicking the jaguar’s head as it passed. The big cat again put on the brakes and turned aside, screeching a warning at its attacker.

And then a second missile—like the first one, a fist-sized rock—came streaking across the clearing. This time it hit the jaguar right between the eyes with a loud
thunk!

With a strangled cry, the beast dropped in its tracks.

Bud appeared at Tom’s shoulder, a third rock at the ready. "Ohhh man, I’ve never been so glad to see a pass connect in my life!" gasped the ex-footballer. He woozily fell back against the same tree trunk Tom was leaning on.

The boys looked at one another, white-faced and trembling—and broke out laughing!

"C’mon, catnip kid, let’s get out of here!" Bud chortled, grabbing his pal’s arm. They beat a frantic retreat into the underbrush—then, not far along, Tom suddenly called a halt.

"Bud, there’s a man lying back there. We can’t just leave him! I’m sure the jaguar is only momentarily out of it."

"You’re right," the other replied. "If the poor guy’s still alive, we’ll have to drag him along."

With thudding hearts they returned to the edge of the clearing. The jaguar lay just as he had fallen, the man a ways beyond him. As the two worked their way around through the brush, they kept fearful eyes on the downed cat. Yet it didn’t twitch a muscle.

"Bud," said Tom abruptly. "The jaguar’s not breathing! It’s dead!"

Bud was relieved, yet puzzled. "Skipper, I’ve got a good arm, but not
that
good! I’m pretty sure I had that rock set on ‘stun’."

Ignoring Bud’s warning hiss of dismay, Tom cautiously edged into the clearing and half-circled the fallen jaguar. There was no doubt but that the beast, frightful yet beautiful, was dead. To Bud’s surprise, Tom stepped up close to the jaguar’s carcass and bent down.

When he stood again, Tom was holding in his hand a blood-drenched arrow! "This is what killed it," Tom pronounced. "Bet it had the arrow sticking in its belly even before I showed up. And get a load of this, flyboy."

Even from yards away, Bud could make out that the arrow was tipped with a sliver of diamond crystal!

"Just like the other one," he breathed.

Tom nodded. "Yep. What our pal Hutchcraft called a
t’cunda."

"Then that man lying there must be the one who shot it off—our enemy!"

Tom paused, then slowly shook his head. "Then where’s his bow? I think it’d have to be pretty big."

The two youths approached the prone figure, lying face down. A groan startled them, and the man suddenly turned over.

"Good grief!" Tom exclaimed as he hurried toward the semiconscious man on the ground. "It’s Magnificent Max!" Shaking his head, the long-haired giant lay sprawled in a clumsy heap. As Tom and Bud reached his side, the ex-wrestler stirred and moaned, then sat up and looked at his rescuers.

"Where am I?" Max mumbled. As his brain cleared, his eyes fell on the dead jaguar. "Oh, yeah… I remember now, boys. I was having a fight with that man-killer!"

Heaving himself to his feet, with Tom’s help, the giant threw out his bare chest proudly. "Man alive, what a terrific struggle!" he gasped. "That jaguar went straight for my throat! I grabbed his fur in clumps, threw him right, threw him left! He was down on his back—up he jumped again! Boy oh boy! But I finally killed him, with nothing but my bare hands!"

"Now just a minute, Max," Tom said quietly. "Don’t you think this cave-man bit has gone far enough? That jaguar was killed by a fancy arrow. You were out cold."

"Naw! Can’t be, kid! Can it?" Max’s face fell sheepishly. "Oh-
kay,
so I like to talk big," he muttered. "Guess I’m just trying to build myself up, as much in the ego department as in my muscles. You’ve got to admit, though, that man-killer never hurt me a bit!"

Tom gave no quarter. "You were just lucky," he replied.

Bud added, "All that high-pitched screaming you did must have unnerved him. Then, when he finally closed in on you, you fainted."

"Okay, you’re right. I’m pretty much a vegetarian; meat-eaters scare me, I’ll admit it. Well, anyhow"—Max thrust out a huge hand and shook Tom’s in a bone-crushing grip—"I’m glad you came along. Guess I won’t try to corner a jaguar again!—not that I was tryin’ this time. Thanks for saving my life, though!"

"The phantom archer gets the credit for that, Max. Did you happen to see anybody around?—the skinny guy, for instance?"

Max shook his head. "No, but then—the fact is, without m’ glasses on, I don’t see all that well."

Bud stifled a laugh at the image. "You wear glasses, jungle king?"

The giant nodded. "Yeah. And listen—you won’t let any o’ this get around, willya, guys? I gotta keep up my rep with those Mayas." He leaned closer and lowered his voice. "They kinda make me nervous. Kids too, sometimes, y’know?"

"Forget it," Tom responded with a smile. "After all, me and my stick didn’t accomplish much. I’m sure you’ll keep
that
under your hat, won’t you?"

"‘Loincloth’!" Bud prompted.

"You bet your boots I will!" the giant boomed. "Say, how about dropping over to my cave for that visit we were talking about? It’s not far from here."

Tom hesitated. Seeing this, Max added, "Aw, c’mon, you two. I got a nice place. And besides, I got somethin’ hidden there that I haven’t shown anybody, ever! You’ve earned the right to see it. But when you do,
you may not want t’ believe your eyes!"

TOM and Bud exchanged veiled glances, which they fervently hoped Max didn’t catch. Although the jungle strong man seemed genuinely grateful and friendly, the two still did not trust him completely. To keep from appearing rude, the young inventor explained that right now he was in a hurry to return to his experimental plane to perform some checks on it. "You see, Max, tomorrow I plan to use it to fly the medical subjects we’ve identified over to where my big jet is parked. We’re sort’ve on a schedule." He refrained from mentioning his plan to look around at the plane’s former site for clues to the identity of the archer.