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.