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.

Chow's eyes narrowed. He had detected something strange in the way Tom
addressed the fellow as "mister," and had also noticed how the man kept
one hand hidden in his pocket. Looking to Tom for a lead, Chow suddenly
noticed the young inventor make a quick "thumbs down" gesture.

"My name is..." The man's voice fell to a mumble, obscuring the
syllables. "Frankly I am not yet sure I desire a job here, but being an
engineer, I thought perhaps--"

[Illustration (Tom and Chow fight the intruder)]

The man's gaze switched back to Tom, and in that instant Chow jumped the
intruder. With surprising agility for his rotund bulk, the cook bore
down on him and let fly a gnarled fist at the stranger's jaw. Tom
followed up like lightning, grabbing the man's wrist and yanking his
hand out of his pocket.

He was clutching a snub-nosed automatic. Tom twisted it from his grasp
as the man landed, writhing on the hard ground. Chow quickly pinned his
other arm and drove a knee into the man's solar plexus.

"Jest lie quiet now, you varmint, or you may git yourself roughed up a
bit," Chow warned, then added, "Who is he, Tom?"

"Search me. He stopped my car on the road and forced me to drive him in