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.