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.”