CHAPTER ELEVEN
"Million dollar robbery!" exclaimed Tim and the engineer. "What do youmean?"
"Just this," explained Colonel Searle. "There's a million in cold cashback in one of those mail cars. We got a tip after you were out ofRaleigh that there might be trouble and there isn't any question butthat the timber was set afire in an attempt to stop the train. Whoeverplanned the robbery figured that the train crew would leave the trainand go up for a closer view of the fire. When you decided to back up andrun for it, you threw a monkey wrench into their plans. It must havebeen a small gang or they would have attempted to have stopped you eventhen."
"Our fireman is missing," put in Tim. "When we got the cinders out ofour eyes after dashing through the fire we found Harry Benson gone."
"Maybe he was in with the gang," suggested Colonel Searle.
"Not Benson," said the engineer firmly. "He's one of the most loyal menon the line. Only one thing could have happened to him. He lost hisbalance and fell out the gangway." Tears were in the engineman's eyesand they were silent for a moment.
Gray streaks of dawn were making their appearance on the eastern skywhen Tim and the head of the state police left the mail train.
Railroad officials had indicated that they would start an investigationof the cause of the fire, but Colonel Searle informed Tim that heintended to make his own inquiry.
They were leaving the station when the fresh engine which had beencoupled on the mail sounded the "high ball" and another engineer took upthe race for the coast.
They went to a hotel were Ralph, who had just dressed, greeted them. Hewanted to know all about the events of the night and Tim painted a vividword picture of what had happened.
"We'll get something to eat," said Colonel Searle, "and then fly downthe line and take a look at that timber patch."
"Do you think this may have something to do with the old Sky Hawk gang?"asked Tim, giving voice to a thought that he had harbored for some time.
"Looks like one of their fiendishly clever jobs," admitted the colonel,"and it's just about time for them to start something."
Half an hour later they were at the Vinton airport, warming up the motorof the _Good News_. The sun was just turning the eastern sky into awarm, rosy dawn when Tim gave the motor a heavy throttle and sent the_Good News_ winging off the field.
He swung the plane over Vinton, picked up the twin tracks of theSouthwestern and headed back toward Atkinson. His hands, sore andbruised from handling the heavy scoop, ached as he held the controls ofthe plane. Unconsciously he compared the massive, brute power of thelocomotive with the graceful, birdlike machine he was flying. Riding thecab of the mail had been an experience he would never forget but he washappy to be back in the clouds on the trail of what promised to beanother sensational story.
The rails twisted and turned through the foothills and Tim marveled ashe thought of the speed they had made with the mail, wondered how theyhad ever stayed on the steel at the dizzying pace with which they hadsplit the night.
The hills broadened out, wider valleys appeared and it was in one ofthese that they found the smouldering patch of timber which had been aninferno of flame and smoke only a few hours before.
Railroad section men had already gathered at the scene and Tim could seeother gasoline handcars speeding down the rails. Ties would have to bereplaced, new ballast put in and the rails tested to make sure that theheat had not warped them. Traffic on the system must not be held up aminute longer than necessary and the railroad men were rallying to theemergency.
Tim found a small meadow which was large enough for a landing. Hefish-tailed the _Good News_ into the field and set the plane downlightly. They lashed it with spare ropes which Tim carried in his owncockpit and then started for the railroad, a quarter of a mile away.
Blackened stumps of trees reared their heads into the gay sunlight ofthe spring morning, grim reminders of the near tragedy. Perhaps theywere the only headstones Harry Benson would ever have, thought Tim, ashe wondered if they would find any trace of the fireman.
A husky section boss told them to get out and stay out but ColonelSearle displayed his badge, which gave them access to anything theywanted to see.
The entire timber lot was not more than four or five acres in extent. Ithad been covered with a heavy growth of underbrush and with the droughtof the year before it had been tender for any careless or intentionalmatch.
Small patches of timber were still burning but along the railroadright-of-way the flames had either died down or had been smothered bysection men beating at them with wet sacks.
"Find anything of the fireman?" Tim asked one of the workers.
"Sure," replied the railroad man, "he's up the line a couple hundredfeet."
"Alive?"
"You bet. Got a broken leg but all right outside of that," grinned theman as he continued beating a sack at a stubborn blaze at the base of astump.
Tim waited for no further question but ran toward the far side of thetimber lot where a group of railroad men had gathered. They were in acircle around someone on the ground. The flying reporter pushed themaside and looked down on the scorched, smoke-blackened features of HarryBenson. The fireman was in great pain from his broken leg, but he wasmaking a brave attempt to smile.
"Hello, reporter," he said. The words were close clipped and came fromlips tense with pain.
"Hello yourself," said Tim. "We thought you must have been thrown outinto the fire after we missed you last night." "Not me," said thefireman. "It was a close call but I didn't get anything more than a badscorching. Who fired for the rest of the run?"
Tim held out his sore, cramped hands and the railroad men joined in thefireman's laugh.
"Laugh all you want to," smiled Tim, "but I kept that kettle of yourshot and Henshaw took her in on time."
"How did you happen to fall out of the cab?" asked Colonel Searle, whohad joined the group around the fireman.
"I was trying to get one more shovel of coal into the old pot," saidBenson. "I misjudged the distance and speed and was caught half waybetween cab and tender when we hit the fire. Figured I knew my way backto my side of the cab and made a jump for it. Instead of going where Iintended I dove out the gangway. Good thing for me it only took us aboutfive seconds to run that fire or I'd have plunged right into the centerof it. I landed rolling, hit a rock and broke my leg and have been hereever since. Now we're waiting for a special that is coming down fromVinton with a doctor."
"Notice anything peculiar about the fire while you were lying here?"asked the officer.
"Only one thing," admitted the fireman. "It smelled kind of oily and thesmoke was mighty dark but my leg was hurting so much I didn't pay a lotof attention to the fire except to worry for fear it might spread and Iwouldn't be able to get out of the way."
"Did you hear any strange sounds?" asked Tim.
"Only once," replied the fireman. "Sounded sort of like a high-poweredcar but when I didn't hear it again I thought I must have been goingbatty."
"Didn't see anyone?" asked the colonel.
"Not until some of these section hunkies came chugging down the line,"said the fireman.
Satisfied that they could gain no additional information fromquestioning the fireman, Tim and Colonel Searle turned away and joinedRalph to start a systematic search of the blackened timber.
The two reporters and the head of the state police moved back and forthacross the timber, searching for something that might indicate how thefire had started. They covered the section of timber on the right sideof the railroad without result and then crossed over the rails andresumed their search on the left side.
For half an hour they combed the charred underbrush but without successand they met on the far side of the timber lot to discuss further plans.
"Slim pickings," commented the colonel. "I haven't found enough to hangon a toothpick."
"About all I've got is an idea," said Tim as he started toward an oldstream bed whi
ch cut through the valley. The colonel and Ralph, theircuriosity aroused, followed the flying reporter.
The creek which ran through the valley had changed its channel a numberof times and its old courses were filled with rubbish which the wind haddeposited. It was in these old creek beds that Tim resumed his search.He had not been hunting five minutes when his cry brought the coloneland Ralph to his side.
Below them, hidden in the underbrush of the old channel, they saw half adozen large tin containers.
"That's how your fire was started," said Tim. "Someone doused the timberwith a generous supply of crude oil and how that stuff does burn."
They slid down the bank of the old creek bed and Tim and Ralph pulledone of the containers out where they could get a better view.
"Careful how you handle those," warned Colonel Searle, "and don't movemore than one or two. I'll have a fingerprint expert out here to lookthem over. We may find a valuable story in the fingerprints if the chapswho started the fire got careless."
"They're not the type to overlook any clues," said Tim.
"Not as a rule," conceded the colonel, "but you must remember theywouldn't have figured in the state police being in on this so soon.Believe me, it was a clever stunt of theirs setting fire to the woodsand using that as a ruse to stop the mail. If it hadn't been for thedetermination of engineer Henshaw to get his train through on the newschedule on time, we'd have had something to really worry about thismorning. If it had been a large gang they would have attempted to stopyou anyway so it must have been a small, brainy outfit. Just the type offellows the Sky Hawk used to have in his outfit."
There were no identifying marks on the containers and Tim and Ralph werecareful not to disturb more than the one they had pulled into view.
The whistle of the special from Vinton sounded and when they climbedback to the level floor of the valley, they saw the stubby three cartrain grinding to a halt.
Behind the engine were two cars loaded with construction material, newrails and ties and fresh ballast. The last car was a passenger coachwhich was disgorging half a hundred workmen. A doctor, nurse and severalrailroad officials also got off the rear car and hastened toward theinjured fireman.
"Benson will soon be out of his agony," said Tim. "What a night he musthave had, lying there with the flames all around and practicallyhelpless because of his broken leg."
A telegraph operator who had come down on the special was busy shinningup a telegraph pole to cut in his instrument and place the scene of thefire in communication with the dispatcher and other points on thedivision.
"I'm going to have that fellow telegraph for our fingerprint expert tomeet you at Atkinson," said the colonel. "You boys fly back home, writeyour stories, and bring him back. It will save hours over the best trainconnections he could make, and he may be able to read a surprising storyif there are any fingerprints on these empty oil cans."