They needed him in Atkinson and Tim pulled himself together and went to the desk to inquire about the air passenger service west.
“You can get a plane at seven in the morning,” said the clerk. “By changing at Dearborn you’ll land at Atkinson at five in the afternoon.”
“Telephone my reservation,” said Tim and he turned to hasten to his room.
He partially undressed and threw himself on the bed, still dazed from the shock of the telegram.
What could Ralph have been doing; what had he run into that had resulted in his kidnapping? Who would want to kidnap him and how had they done it? These and a dozen other questions raced through Tim’s tired mind. Finally, in complete physical and mental exhaustion, he dropped into a sound sleep.
Afternoon of the following day found Tim disembarking from the mail and passenger plane at his home airport. Carson and the field manager were waiting to greet him.
“What’s this about Ralph being kidnapped?” demanded Tim, to whom the hundred and ten mile an hour schedule of the passenger plane had seemed slow as they winged their way westward from New York.
“There isn’t a whole lot to tell,” said the managing editor. “The day after you left Ralph took one of the cars and headed for Cedar river valley. Said he had a hunch that the bandits had a hideout there and that he might improve his time while you were away by making a sort of a lone search for them. He was still boiling mad over their stealing the Good News and cracking it up.”
“I feel that way myself,” said Tim. “Go on.”
“Ralph never got to the valley,” said Carson. “In fact, he didn’t get more than fifty miles from Atkinson. The first we knew he was in trouble was a report late in the afternoon of one of our cars being found abandoned on a road east of here and on the way to the valley I knew it was the machine Ralph had taken and personally headed the investigation.”