The flying reporter scanned the ground for a safe landing place. They were up a little better than 4,000 feet. To their right was a small town and a fair-sized pasture at one edge, flanked by a white highway. Tim nosed the monoplane down. As they glided toward the field he caught the sound of another airplane motor. He glanced up. Perhaps McDowell was coming back. But McDowell's ship was winging steadily along on the 1,200-mile hop to the border. "Someone back of us," said Prentiss. There was no need to shout now and the inspector's voice sounded unnatural. Tim glanced back. The ship was familiar. His heart leaped. It was the fast Jupiter owned by the _News_. Someone had managed to get it out of the hangar and was coming to help them. The flying reporter opened the window on his left and waved wildly, pointing downward. The pilot of the other plane waggled his wings in understanding and dropped toward the pasture with Tim following him down. "Looks like Tommy Larkin in the other plane," said the inspector. "That's the _News_' ship and I don't care who's flying it," said Tim, "just as long as it's got a full tank of gas. McDowell is going to be in for a surprise when we shoot up in the Jupiter. That's an airplane." The pasture proved surprisingly smooth and they rolled across the field. The pilot who had brought in the Jupiter had it swung around and had it ready for them when they tumbled from the cabin of the monoplane. "Tommy!" cried the inspector. "Great work, boy!" "I couldn't stay out of this shindig," grinned the flyer McDowell had planned to destroy. "What a break," chuckled Tim. "Plenty of gas?" "The tank's full to overflowing. That's some plane; fast and easy to handle." "We'll have to leave you here, Tommy," said the inspector. "Maybe you can get gas in this town and fly back to Atkinson." "I'll make out all right," grinned Tommy. "You fellows get after McDowell. Gosh, I'd like to see his face when you come barging down on him again." "He's heading for the border," said Tim. "Yeah. That old tub carried about a ton of fuel and he's got a field way over in western Kansas where he can land and refuel without trouble. He knows it so well he can even land at night but unless I miss my guess he won't be in the air by nightfall." Tim climbed into the Jupiter and the inspector scrambled in after him. Tim checked the gauges, tank nearly full of gas, motor temp right, oil pressure up. He released the brakes, opened the throttle, and waved to Tommy as the plane shot down the field and rocketed away in pursuit of McDowell, whose plane now was only the tiniest of dots in the southwestern sky. The Jupiter was fast and Tim cruised along at an easy, mile-consuming 150 miles an hour. "We'll overtake McDowell in no time," he told the inspector, who was busy refilling the magazine of the rifle. "I've only about twenty rounds of ammunition left," shouted Prentiss. "My shooting will have to improve."