The flying reporters headed into the east toward the valley of the Cedar
river.
Tim's mind was working rapidly. The robbery had all the signs of having
been done by Shanghai Sam and Pierre Petard. The smooth efficiency with
which they had worked and the perfection of their escape pointed to the
plans of men well versed in crime.
The _Good News_ roared over the village from which the bandit car had
last been reported and Tim swung the plane low. Excited residents
pointed down a road that angled away to the right. Tim kept the _Good
News_ low and they sped along the country highway, every nerve tensed
for some glimpse of the bandit machine.
They were not more than fifteen miles from the village and in a desolate
part of the state when they saw smoke rising from the highway ahead of
them.
With a startled cry Tim realized what had happened. The bandits' car had
been wrecked and had then caught on fire. Even though Shanghai Sam and
Pierre Petard were villains of the deepest dye, he had no desire to wish
any man death under a flaming car.
The _Good News_ circled slowly over the twisted, red-hot wreckage of the
machine. There was no sign of life and Tim decided to attempt a landing
in a small, level space nearby.
The pilot of the _Good News_ brought his ship down in the field and made
a quick stop.
Ralph, white-faced and shaking, turned to face Tim.
"Do you think they were caught in the wreckage?" he asked.
"Can't tell," replied Tim. "We'll have a look."
The reporters crashed through the underbrush along the road and came
upon the smouldering remains of the car. They made a careful survey but
could find no trace of anyone having been trapped under the machine.
"Don't tramp all over the road," Tim warned his companion. "There may be
some footprints we'll want to follow. I've a hunch this burning car was
nothing more than a clever ruse to throw pursuers off the trail. We've
wasted plenty of time landing and getting over here. In the meantime,
the bandits are well on their way in some other kind of a machine."
"They didn't get away in a car," said Ralph. "Look at the road. There
hasn't been a wagon or auto along since the light rain last night.
They've taken to the brush."
"We'll never find them in the brush," promised Tim. "They're too clever
for that. A posse would smoke them out. We'll have a look around and see
what we can find."
They discovered the footprints of two men but the marks looked as though
someone had made a hasty attempt to cover them up. When the trail
entered the brush the footprints were soon lost to view.
"We'll swing around the car in circles," said Tim. "In that way we ought
to come upon their trail somewhere. Keep an eye on the direction it was
headed when we lost it."
Ralph nodded and disappeared in the closely matted underbrush.
Tim could hear his companion's footsteps growing fainter and fainter
until they could be heard no longer. The flying reporter moved
carefully, eyes on the alert for any sign which might give him some clue
on how the bandits had escaped after wrecking and setting fire to their
machine.
He found what he was looking for in a small clearing in the underbrush.
There were two parallel marks, spaced about six feet apart, and
extending for thirty or forty feet. They were exactly like the marks
which he had found near the scene of the attempted holdup of the
midnight mail only a few days before.
Tim cupped his hands and called lustily for Ralph. An answering cry came
for a distance and five minutes later Ralph threshed his way through the
heavy scrub.
"Look at those," Tim cried exultantly. "Same thing we saw near the
railroad right-of-way after they tried to hold up the mail train. When
we find out what they mean and what they were made by we'll have the
secret of these robberies."
"They look like they had been made by the wheels of an airplane," said
Ralph, "but no plane could take off in such a short distance."
"How about an autogyro?" suggested Tim.
"Good heavens," exclaimed Ralph. "I'll bet you've got the solution."
"I only wish I had," smiled Tim, shaking his head. "When I first saw
those marks the day after the burning of the timber along the railroad
right-of-way I thought of an autogyro. When I looked up their
capabilities I found that they wouldn't fit into the picture. No, Ralph,
it's not an autogyro."
"But whatever makes those marks must help them to escape," said Ralph.
"We can only guess at that," Tim warned him. "Those marks might, just
possibly, be coincidence and not be connected with the bandits."
"You'll never make me believe that," said Ralph.
"And I probably never will myself," conceded Tim, "but I'm not going to
take anything for granted. We're up against something that is going to
test our brains and our nerves to the utmost."
The young reporters continued their search but after half an hour had
discovered nothing which would aid them.
"We'd better get back to our plane and report where we found the bandit
car," said Tim.
"All right," agreed Ralph, "but before we do I want to take a final look
at the wreck of their machine. It's cooled off somewhat and I'd like to
look it over. There may be some marks on the body that will give us a
clue."
The wind had been rising steadily and was whipping through the
underbrush, whining a symphony all its own. Then the young reporters
caught a sudden alarming smell of smoke and heard the crackling of
flames.
"Someone must be near us," said Ralph. "I smell smoke and can hear a
fire."
The words were hardly out of his mouth when a sheet of flame, whipped by
the angry wind, leaped into the air.
"The fire from the car has spread to the underbrush," cried Tim. "Quick,
Ralph, or we'll be cut off from our plane."
In another second their danger was clearer. Some vagrant tongue of
flame, gnawing at the woodwork of the car, had reached out and fired the
underbrush. The shower of the preceding night had been only enough to
dampen the dust of the road and the brush and weeds were quickly
devoured by the spreading flames.
Tim and Ralph raced through the underbrush, tearing their clothes to
shreds as they crashed against stumps or fought their way out of tangles
of briars. Their faces were scratched and bleeding but they did not
stop. Their life depended on their legs and they used every ounce of
their strength in the grim race against the fire.
The flames were roaring hungrily, advancing on them with a terrible
certainty of purpose.
The reporters' lungs ached cruelly as the boys plunged on, gasping for
the breath that was needed to give them the strength to continue. The
clearing in which they had left the _Good News_ should be near at hand
but still they crashed through the undergrowth. On and on they stumbled,
the crackling of the flames spurring them to new effort.
"I'm all in," gasped Ralph as he dropped in a pitiful huddle. "Go on,
Tim, go on! I'll make it out of here somehow."
"Get up, Ralph, get up!" cried Tim as he tugged at his companion's limp
body.
"The fire," he screamed, "the fire! We can't stay here! We must go on!"
Ralph made a brave effort to get to his feet and with Tim supporting him
stumbled on. Clouds of smoke billowed around them, filling their lungs,
and waves of heat beat down upon them as the wind swept the fire nearer
and nearer.
With cries of relief they staggered into the small, level place where
they had left the _Good News_. The biplane was waiting for them, eager
to sweep them up into the air and away from the fire.
The boys tumbled into their places and Tim snapped on the switches. The
motor coughed once or twice and then roared into its sweet, even song of
power.
There was no time to turn the plane around, no time to wonder if there
was room to take off. There was only time for one thing; to jam the
throttle wide open, send the _Good News_ roaring down the wind and hope
that she would lift clear of the brush when the time came.
Ralph snapped on his safety belt and Tim secured himself in his own
cockpit. Then they were off, rocketing over the uneven ground as the
plane gained speed. The powerful motor shattered the heavens with its
defiance of the flame and smoke billowing after and lifted the plane
clear of the tangled underbrush which raised its arms in a futile effort
to entangle the plane.
The boys filled their lungs with the clear, pure air of the upper
regions as the _Good News_ started on the return trip to Atkinson. Both
Ralph and Tim were busy thinking of the recent events and of their
discoveries at the scene of the wrecked car. They were thankful for
their escape, narrow though it had been, from the brush fire.
When they landed at their home field Tim went straight to the
administration building and telephoned news of the fire to the state
conservation office where steps would be taken to send men to fight the
flames.
After seeing that the _Good News_ was properly cared for the boys
returned to the _News_ office.
Captain Raymond was waiting for them.
"What news?" he asked eagerly.
"Not very much," replied Tim. "They got away. We found their car,
wrecked and on fire, along a little used road. Thought they might have
been caught in the wreckage and we landed nearby and went to have a
look. It was only a ruse to throw us off the trail and slow up the
chase. They might have had another car hidden nearby. At least we
couldn't find any definite trace of them."
"I've checked up on the descriptions of the men who robbed the Citizens
National," said the state policeman, "and I'm sure that Shanghai Sam and
Pierre Petard did the job. Find them and we'll rid the middle west of a
real menace."
"Find them is right," said Ralph. "Looks to me like that is about the
hardest thing anyone around here ever tackled."
"I think it is the hardest," said Captain Raymond grimly, as he got up
to leave the office.
"Thanks a lot boys," he said. "Too bad you couldn't have been in the air
sooner or you might have traced them from the time they left the city."
"That's an idea," said Tim. "We could arrange to have one or the other
of us at the field all the time. When an alarm comes in flash it to us
there and the _Good News_ could be in the air in less than five
minutes."
"Good suggestion," said Captain Raymond. "I'll see Mr. Carson at once."
The lanky figure of the state officer disappeared into the managing
editor's office and Tim and Ralph looked at each other and smiled.
"If Carson will agree to a plan like that, we'll get somewhere,"
promised Tim.
"Why didn't you tell him about the strange marks we found?" asked Ralph.
"Wouldn't do any good and besides I want to do a little private
sleuthing of my own. We might just as well have that fat reward the
railroad people have out. The bank may offer a sizeable sum and it won't
be long until the capture of Shanghai Sam and Pierre Petard will mean a
small fortune."
Captain Raymond, accompanied by the managing editor, came into the
editorial office.
"Boys," said Carson, "Captain Raymond believes one of you should stay at
the airport all the time in case there are any more robberies. I agree
with him and we'll work out arrangements at once."
In less than an hour Tim was back at the airport where he explained his
needs to the genial manager.
Hunter agreed to put an extra cot in the pilot's room and Tim sent into
town for bed clothes and toilet articles he would need. It had been
decided that Tim would take the night shift, sleeping at the field while
Ralph would remain there during the day.
The reporters soon settled into the new routine. Hours lengthened into
days and there was no further word of the gangsters who had robbed the
Citizens National. It was as though the world had swallowed them.
The state police never relaxed their vigilance and extended their
tentacles into every section of the state but without avail. No one
seemed to know where Shanghai Sam and Pierre Petard had gone after they
had wrecked their car.
The spring days faded into those of early summer and Tim and Ralph were
restless under the routine which kept them on such confining hours. They
didn't dare venture away from the airport, yet both of them had
commenced to feel that their steady vigil was of little avail.
Tim continued to read avidly all of the aviation journals he could buy
as well as spending considerable time looking into the files of old
technical magazines and heavy volumes which he borrowed from the library
Tim had returned to the field late in the afternoon to relieve Ralph and
they were discussing plans for their summer vacation when the telephone
rang.
Hunter summoned Tim.
The young reporter instantly recognized the voice of Captain Raymond,
tense with excitement.
"Another robbery," he cried. "This time there is no mistake. It was
Shanghai Sam and Pierre Petard. They weren't even masked."
"Where was it?" cried Tim.
"At Hospers," shot back the captain. "They walked into the bank just
before it closed, made the employees shut the doors right on time and
then took an hour to thoroughly loot the institution. First reports
indicate something over $50,000 in cash."
"They don't bother with chicken feed," exclaimed Tim. "What direction
did they head?"
"Toward the river valley!" cried the captain. "My men are after them but
you may be able to spot them from the air."
"We'll start at once," promised Tim.
Ralph, who had heard Tim's excited voice, was ready to go.
"Where to?" he asked.
"Hospers," replied Tim. "It's that little industrial town about fifteen
miles northeast of here. Sam and Pierre just picked the bank clean and
made a getaway. Captain Raymond's men are on their trail but maybe we
can spot them from the air and force them to cover."
"Right," agreed Ralph. "Let's go."
Tim stopped only long enough to snatch a repeating rifle from a case on
the wall of the field manager's office and then they were on their way.
The _Good News_ was ready for them and Ralph climbed into the front
cockpit. Tim handed the rifle up to him and then swung into his own
place.
The motor roared into action, blasted the dust from under its wheels,
and then flirted them across the field and into the air.
Tim opened the throttle and the air speed indicator went up to the one
hundred ninety mile an hour mark. In almost no time they were over the
town of Hospers and the red-roofed buildings which comprised its large
farm machinery factory. On into the east they sped, high enough to get a
commanding view of all the highways for miles around.
Tim figured that the robbers had started their escape less than half an
hour before and they should sight the bandit car soon unless they had
already taken to cover. Beneath them powerful touring cars, loaded with
state troopers, were dashing madly along the highways but there was no
sign of the machine they sought.
Tim and Ralph swept the countryside with eyes trained for the slightest
unusual sign. They roared well ahead of the troopers and then swung in
ever widening circles in their effort to find their quarry.
A cry from Ralph fixed Tim's attention on a small smudge along the road
ahead. Something was on fire!
The _Good News_ dropped out of the sky like an avenging eagle, motor
whining and wires shrieking. The plane hurtled earthward in a power dive
that made the fuselage quiver and it was not until they were under the
five hundred foot level that Tim brought the nose up and checked their
mad descent.
Below them was the body of a wrecked automobile with flames licking at
the cushions and woodwork.
"The fire's just started," cried Ralph. "They can't be far away."
Tim nodded and set the _Good News_ down in a field a quarter of a mile
back from the road.
"We may be able to get them this time," exulted Ralph as he leaped out
of the front cockpit, rifle in hand.
"Don't see how they could be far away," admitted Tim. "The least we can
do is take a look at that wrecked machine."
The boys broke into a fast trot and were soon at the edge of the road
where the powerful touring car in which the bandits had made their
escape had been ditched.
"Smells to me like they had taken some gasoline out of the tank and
thrown it over the car," said Ralph.
Tim had been making a quick survey of the road. It was a graveled
highway and there were no footprints to give them a clue on which
direction the robbers had fled.
"We'd better get back to the _Good News_ and get into the air again,"
said Tim.
The words were hardly out of his mouth when they heard the motor of the
_Good News_ break into its familiar song.
"They've tricked us!" cried. Tim. "They're stealing our own plane!"
The reporters plunged madly toward the field in which they had left
their plane but before they had covered half the distance they saw the
_Good News_ shoot into the air.
Ralph and Tim, weeping with rage, watched their plane gain altitude and
then circle over them.
The pilot leaned far out and waved derisively. Ralph's answer was to
drop on one knee and send a stream of well directed bullets at the plane
overhead.
They could see the bullets rip through the wings. Ralph, aiming at the
propeller, was undershooting his mark. If he could land just one good
shot in the whirling blade, it would disable the plane and bring the
bandits back to earth.
Ralph exhausted the supply of ammunition in the magazine of his rifle
and was helpless as the bandits headed the _Good News_ in an easterly
direction.
"What chumps we were, knowing they couldn't be far away, to leave the
_Good News_ unguarded," mourned Tim.
"We may have to hunt for new jobs when Carson hears of this," added
Ralph.
"I'm not thinking of that so much as I am the humiliation," said Tim.
"Here the state police feel that we are reliable and brainy enough to
help them and then we go and pull a boner like this. I'll tell Carson
what happened if you'll tell Captain Raymond and Colonel Searle."
"Here comes the captain now," said Ralph as a touring car, loaded with
state police, skidded to a stop in the gravel.
"Get them?" cried Captain Raymond.
"They got us," said Tim. "We spotted their burning car and landed to
have a look. While we were hunting around their wrecked machine they
slipped behind us and stole the _Good News_. If you look east, you may
see a speck against the clouds. That's the _Good News_ and they're in
it."
Captain Raymond stared incredulously at Tim.
"You mean to tell me you let them steal your plane?" he demanded.
"I'm afraid that's about right," put in Ralph. "We didn't exactly offer
them the plane but they helped themselves anyway."
Captain Raymond broke into a hearty laugh, but stopped abruptly as he
saw the expressions on the faces of Tim and Ralph.
"You wouldn't blame me for laughing," he said, "if you could have seen
the woebegone looks on your faces just now. Come on, cheer up. They
pulled a fast one on you this time but they won't do it again. We were
pretty close this time; next time we'll be close enough so we can land
them in jail. Pile into the car, boys and we'll swing further east,
picking up what information we can on the direction in which they are
heading."