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.”