“Thank you, boys, for helping me!” he exclaimed warmly, extending his hand. “It was mighty white of you.”
“I hope your loss was not very heavy,” said Frank.
“Oh, no; I had that covered by insurance. A good thing I had, too. If ever I get my hands on that rascal, Wild Bill Jenkins, I’ll make it hot for him.”
“Why; do you suspect him of setting it?”
“Not only him but your friends—or whatever you like to call ’em. The scalliwags suspected we might be on the lookout for ’em, and so we were, but at the wrong door. While we were expecting ’em to come sneaking up in front they walks up behind and sets a fire. They’d fix your aeroplane forever and a day, they thought, and as for my barn they didn’t bother about that.”
“That must be it,” exclaimed Frank. “I’d like to get my hands on the rascals.”
“Let’s drive after them and have them arrested at Pintoville. We can easily do it,” suggested Billy.
“All right, you and Bart take the auto. I’ve got to find Mr. Joyce.”
“Where is the auto?” suddenly exclaimed Harry, looking about him. “It was here while we were working at the fire and now it’s gone.”
“Gone!” gasped the others.