"Any idea what you're getting into at Scarlet Lake?" Big Mac asked.

"Not much," Rick said truthfully.

Big Mac guffawed. "Well, I'll tell you. Heat, dirt, sidewinders, and
crazy rockets. And if they don't get you, one thing will."

"What's that?" Scotty asked.

"The Earthman."

CHAPTER IV

Scarlet Lake

Rick and Scotty never found out what Big Mac meant by his crack about
the Earthman. He evaded their questions, apparently feeling that he had
said too much. Otherwise he was cordial enough. As the days of waiting
to hear from Lomac passed by, the boys made the Spaceman Casino their
headquarters, hoping to pick up information from the Scarlet Lake people
who hung out there.

Men came and went, but Mac and Pancho were there every night. Once, Rick
commented on their nightly presence at the casino and said jokingly that
work on the base seemed to allow plenty of free time.

"We don't go back to the base every night," Big Mac said. "Pancho and I
do our job when there's work to be done. Other times we do what we want.
If anyone at the base needs us, they know where to come."

Rick thought that over. It seemed reasonable. He asked, "Is it okay to
ask what you do?"

"Sure it's okay. We're radar operators. We track the rockets on a radar
set from a field station." Big Mac pulled a red-checkered handkerchief
from his pocket and blew his nose violently. "Good operators are scarce.
That's why no one bothers us, so long as we're on the job when we're
needed."

[Illustration: no caption - spread over two pages]

Scotty leaned over and picked up something that had dropped to the floor
when Mac pulled out his handkerchief. "You dropped this, Mr. McCline."

Rick identified it easily. It was a tiny transistor, an integral part of
modern electronic apparatus.

Mac took it in his big fingers. "Thanks. I must have stuck it in my
pocket absent-mindedly while we were repairing the equipment."

"Where do you go when you're on a field radar job?" Rick asked. "Just
tell me to mind my own business, if I get into anything classified."

"There's no classification on what we do," Pancho Kelly said. "Only the
results. We go to Careless Mesa. Everyone knows that."

The boys let the conversation lag and ordered dinner. They didn't want
to seem too inquisitive. Constant questions would only make Mac and
Pancho suspicious.

Later, as they rode through the star-studded night in their jeep, Scotty
suddenly asked, "What