The afternoon editions of the _News_ that day featured the stories Tim
and Ralph had written of their adventures in rescuing the air mail
pilots. Pictures of Ralph's plane landing and of Ralph and Tim helping
George Mitchell were spread all over the second page.
But long before the presses started their daily run Tim was in the air
again, refreshed by at least part of a night's sleep. Ralph, exhausted
by his adventures and lack of sleep, went to bed as soon as he finished
writing his story.
After returning to the airport, Tim prepared to take his cowboy friends
back to the Circle Four Ranch.
Hank Cummins, the owner of the Circle Four, was waiting for Tim at the
field.
"Just had a telephone call from the ranch," he said, "and by the time we
get there they'll have the mail down where we can pick it up."
"That will be fine," exclaimed Tim. "I'll have it back here by late
afternoon."
Tim warmed up the _Good News_ and motioned for the ranchman and Curly to
climb into the forward cockpit.
"Better strap yourselves in," he warned them. "This ship steps out and
we're going places. If we happen to hit some rough air you'll think
you're riding a bronco."
Curly grinned as though he thought Tim was joking but the flying
reporter insisted that the cowboy strap himself in the plane.
The _Good News_ was pulsating with power and Tim decided to give his new
friends a thrill or two.
He opened the throttle and the plane dusted down the field like a scared
jackrabbit. Tim pulled back hard on the stick and the powerful motor
took them almost straight into the sky. Up and up they spiraled, clawing
for altitude and getting it by leaps and bounds.
Five hundred, seven-fifty, one thousand, fifteen hundred and then two
thousand. They were flashing away from the earth at a dizzying pace.
When the plane was about the two thousand foot level, Tim levelled off
and headed in the direction of the Circle Four.
The air speed indicator started to climb. There was a favoring wind to
boost them along and the needle advanced steadily. They breezed along at
a hundred and eighty miles an hour and when Tim pushed the speed up to
one hundred and ninety miles an hour Curly turned around. His face was
white and scared looking. He motioned for Tim to slow down and the
flying reporter shut off the motor.
"I don't want to get home in a minute," yelled the cowboy. "Take your
time, take your time. All I've got to do when we get home is chase
cows."
Tim grinned and shook his head.
"You haven't seen anything yet," he cried. "If you think a horse can
buck, watch this."
The flying reporter switched on the motor again and fed fuel into the
white-hot cylinders. Their speed increased until they were flashing
through the sky at two hundred and five miles an hour. Curly and Hank
Cummins were clinging to the combing of the front cockpit, their
knuckles white from the desperation of their grip.
Tim eased up on the throttle and slowed down to the sedate pace of one
hundred and fifty miles an hour. Curly and Hank settled down in their
seats, only to lose their hats when Tim swung the _Good News_ into a
loop. From that he dropped into a falling leaf and ended up by flying
upside down.
"Can a bronco do stunts like that?" asked Tim when the _Good News_ was
again on an even line of flight.
"One or two," Curly managed to say, "but they can't buck upside down for
that long a time. Take me home. I'll be glad to get out of this sky
horse."
The _Good News_ fairly snapped the miles out of its exhaust and it was
only a short time after they had left the field at Atkinson when Tim
brought the plane to rest in the meadow below the ranch buildings.
Boots and Jim were waiting for him with the sacks of mail they had taken
from the wreckage of Lewis' plane in the Great Smokies.
Tim checked the sacks.
"Every one of them here and nothing damaged," he said. "By night they'll
be on their way east again by air mail."
Hank Cummins urged him to go to the ranch house for a warm lunch, but
Tim refused the invitation.
"Then pay us a visit this summer when you have your vacation," insisted
the owner of the Circle Four. "Come out here with the boys. They'll
teach you how to ride and rope and maybe do a little fancy shooting.
There's good fishing in the streams back in the hills and maybe, if the
rustling that started last summer keeps on, you might run into a little
excitement."
"In that case," smiled Tim, "I wouldn't be surprised if you had a couple
of reporters spending their vacations with you this summer."
"Nothing would please me more," said the genial ranchman, "and be sure
and drop in whenever you fly this way."
"Thanks for all you've done," said Tim, "and if we can ever do you a
favor, don't hesitate to call on us."
With the air mail pouches in the forward cockpit Tim headed the _Good
News_ for home. The headwind slowed him somewhat but even with that
handicap he was back in Atkinson by mid-afternoon.
A special section of the air mail eastbound had just come in and the
salvage mail was placed aboard it to continue the journey to eastern
cities.
When the air mail had taken off, Hunter turned to Tim.
"I'm writing a complete report and forwarding it to headquarters," said
the field manager. "It was certainly great of you and Ralph to help out
as you did. Lewis might have died and Mitchell certainly would have had
a rough time of it before we could have reached them if you fellows
hadn't volunteered."
"We're always ready in an emergency," said Tim. "Besides, we got some
dandy stories for the paper."
"The company will reward you in some way," said Hunter, "And they won't
be stingy about it when they read my report."
"Don't lay it on too thick," urged Tim.
"Not very much," grinned Hunter as he went into his office.
Tim was about to leave the field when Hunter called that he was wanted
on the phone. When Tim answered he recognized the voice of Captain Ned
Raymond of the state police.
"I'd like to see you at the Hotel Jefferson right away. Same room as
before," said the Captain.
"I'm just starting for town," replied Tim. "I'll be there in fifteen or
twenty minutes."
Captain Raymond was pacing up and down the narrow confines of room 309
when Tim entered.
"Glad to see you again, Murphy," said the state police official. "Sit
down," and he waved toward the bed.
Captain Raymond continued his pacing, chewing nervously at the end of a
heavy pencil.
"Trouble brewing," he said in the sharp, short way of his. "Got a tip
from Chicago today. We'll have to keep a sharp lookout."
"Just what for?" asked Tim.
"That's it, that's it," exploded the fiery policeman. "If I knew where
to look, but I don't."
"Then we'll have to sit back and wait for something to happen." said
Tim.
"But keep our eyes open," added Captain Raymond. "My tip is that some of
the members of the Sky Hawk's gang have worked out a new scheme of some
kind and are planning a lot of robberies. Going to make a wholesale
business out of it. Our part of the country has been picked first
because it will be easy for them to make a getaway. The mountains west
of here, the river east. Good hiding for anyone who is evading the law."
Tim waited while Captain Raymond continued his pacing of the room.
"You have that plane of yours ready to go at a minute's notice," said
the trooper.
"It's always ready," replied Tim, "For we never know just when a big
story will break and we'll need the plane."
"Good, good. And have no fear but what you'll get all the excitement you
want in a short time."
"I've had about all I want for a while," smiled Tim and he told of what
he and Ralph had gone through in the rescue of the air mail flyers.
"That's the stuff," explained Captain Raymond. "You boys are just the
types we need. I know I can count on you to come through in an
emergency. Guess that's all for this time. I just wanted to warn you to
expect trouble soon. If you want to get in touch with me at any time
telephone the troop barracks at Harris. If I'm not there, they'll know
where to locate me within a few minutes."
When Tim left the hotel it was with the knowledge that he would soon be
in conflict with members of the Sky Hawk's old band. He knew they would
be formidable foes but there was no fear in his heart.
The flying reporter returned to the _News_ office and started writing
his aviation column for the following day. He was tired and made slow
progress, but he had a little more than a column of material ready when
he closed his desk at six o'clock.
Dan Watkins, the head of the copy desk and one of Tim's closest friends,
was waiting for him.
"Where are you going to eat tonight?" asked the copy chief.
"Anyplace where it is quiet," replied Tim. "My head feels a little
light."
"Then some clam chowder could just about hit the spot with you,"
suggested Watkins and they left the _News_ building and walked to a
small, cozy restaurant on a nearby sidestreet. The quiet and the soft
lights eased Tim's taut nerves and he felt his whole body relaxing.
"You've had some mighty busy days," commented Watkins when they were
comfortably seated.
"Busy but lots of fun," replied Tim.
"How about the chances you've been taking?"
"They weren't chances," said the flying reporter. "I always had a sturdy
plane and I tried to use good judgment. Once or twice, I'll admit that I
took chances but in those cases the object far surpassed the risk."
"I heard the business manager and the managing editor talking about you
today," said Watkins.
"Isn't my work up to standard?" asked Tim.
"It wasn't about your work it was about you."
"What do you mean?"
"Both of them are worried about your health. They are afraid you're
working too hard and when the managing editor and the business manager
start to worry about your health you can bet your bottom dollar you're
valuable to the paper. With me, I could have a nervous breakdown and
they'd never bat an eye. Probably be glad to get rid of me."
"Don't talk like that, Dan," pleaded Tim. "You know that's not so. Why
you're the balance wheel of the editorial office. Carson wouldn't know
what to do if anything happened to you. He depends on you to keep things
running smoothly, see that the boys all cover their assignments and that
the copy goes steadily to the machines."
"We won't argue over that," smiled the copy chief, "But you should have
heard those two going at it this afternoon. The business manager fairly
ripped into Carson."
"What for?"
"For letting you be sworn into the state police."
"You know that!"
"Of course."
"But how?"
"It's my business to know things like that. Anyway, the business manager
said the state police could take care of themselves and that you were
too valuable for the paper to lose. He said that hundreds of people took
the _News_ just to read about the adventures you and Ralph go through."
"What did Carson say?" asked Tim.
"Oh he explained what the state troopers were up against and they had it
hot and heavy for a while. All of which gets back to what I wanted to
say to you. Be careful, Tim, on this state police job. The troopers are
paid to take chances with criminals; you're not. Help them where you can
but don't risk your own life unnecessarily."
"I don't intend to take unnecessary risks," said Tim, "but you know how
I feel about crime. Anything I can do to stop it or, after it is
committed, to bring the criminals to justice, I'll do."
"I realize that, Tim, and I admire you for it," said Watkins. "All I ask
is that you be careful. The _News_ has done a great deal for you and it
will do a great deal more if you give it a chance."
Routine work filled the next ten days and there was no further news from
Captain Raymond of the state police. The warm winds of spring swept in
from the south and the last traces of the late winter blizzard
disappeared. The grass sprang up and the trees started to leaf.
During the lunch hour the reporters gathered on the south side of the
_News_ building to exchange yarns and gossip. Gray skies of winter had
been replaced by the cheerful ones of spring and life on the paper moved
smoothly. The menace of the Sky Hawk's gang had almost been forgotten
when Tim was given an assignment that was to lead to many a strange and
thrilling adventure.