carrier landings.

Rick followed the PAL plane in, and had to fight down his instinctive
feeling to gain altitude when he saw the mountainside rushing at him. He
nearly over-shot the landing strip. But then the Sky Wagon was down, and
he taxied toward the control station.

Scotty wiped his brow. "Some field!"

"Next time will be okay," Rick replied. "But this time I aged ten
years."

The Filipino pilot walked to meet them, grinning. "How do you like
Baguio airport?"

"I've landed on fields I liked better," Rick replied. "Thanks for
leading us in."

"You're welcome. I remember my first landing. Couldn't fly again for a
week. All I could think of was spreading my passengers all over the
hillside. But only the first time is hard. We fly in and out of here
several times a day, and we've never had a serious accident."

"Your air line doesn't go in for accidents," Tony Briotti said. "You
have a remarkable safety record."

"We do our best," the pilot said. "Going into town? I am. I have a car
behind the control shack. Be glad to give you a lift."

"Thanks a million," Rick answered. "First I have to make arrangements
for my plane."

The pilot grinned. "None to make. No hangars, no service except gas.
Just stake it down and lock the door. It will be all right."

It had to be all right. There was nothing else to do. The Spindrifters
took the earth scanner and their personal luggage, then locked the
plane, leaving the alarm activated. As an afterthought, Rick left a
duplicate key with the Filipino field official. Someone might touch it
casually and set the alarm off, and it would sound until the door was
unlocked and relocked again with the key. He explained how it worked and
then joined the pilot and his friends in the official air-line car.

The pilot dropped them at Muller's, a combination boardinghouse and
old-fashioned inn. They checked in, then climbed a nearby hill for a
view of Baguio.

As far as the eye could see, there were mountains. Steep ridges and deep
clefts made a picturesque jumble of the landscape. Beyond, over the
ridge, was the Trinidad Valley, a farm garden area where the American
colony of the Philippines got most of its temperate zone vegetables and
fruit. On the other side of town was the Golden Bowl of Benguet, where
fabulous gold mines were worked by Igorot miners clad only in
breechcloths and hard-rock helmets.

Baguio itself was a modern city in most respects. But the population--a
st