“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.