"I was afraid of that," smiled Ford, "but I guess that can't be helped. You see, Jack Sladek, one of the rebels who looted the gold mines in Guato, is on the same quest I am. He almost got Tim and me this morning. If it hadn't been for Ralph and a borrowed double-barreled shotgun we might now be among the missing." "What a story, what a story!" enthused Carson. "We won't need to name Sladek if that will prove too embarrassing for you. We can call it a mysterious attack from the air." "I think that would be better," agreed Ford. "Sladek has voted himself in this thing to the finish but now that I know he's after the gold, I'll be on guard and able to take care of myself." "When will you want Tim to leave?" asked the managing editor. "I'll phone for reservations on the late afternoon plane east," said Ford. "Is that too soon for you, Tim?" "I can be ready within an hour after I finish my story," replied the flying reporter. "Then get into the news room and get busy," said the managing editor, glancing at the clock on his desk. "It's just ten-fifty now. I'll instruct the press room that the noon edition may be down ten minutes late and to get ready to rush it through. That will give you about fifty minutes to write your story. Think you can make it?" "I'll get the most important part done by then," promised Tim. "After the noon edition I can polish up the story and round out the details." "Go to it. And Ralph, you write a first person story about your flight this morning. Put plenty of punch and get the smell of powder into it. We're going to have a smash front page this noon." Almost forgetting his visitor, Carson hurried after his reporters, stopping at the city desk to inform Ed Campbell of the big stories that were coming up, then dashing back to phone the press room to be ready for a rush edition. Tim stripped off his coat, flung it over the back of his chair, rolled a sheet of copypaper into his typewriter, and plunged headlong into the story. Swiftly, graphically he painted the picture of the treasure hunt in the Caribbean with an unknown fortune in gold at stake, informing the readers of the _News_ that they would have the first information on the progress of the expedition. At his desk across the aisle Ralph was beating a frantic tattoo on his typewriter, describing in detail how he had routed the "unknown" plane in the Cedar river valley. Page after page of copy spun from their machines and was hurried to the copy desk where Dan Watkins personally supervised the editing of the story. "Much more to come?" Dan asked Tim. It was eleven-thirty. "One more page," replied Tim, without looking up from his machine. Ralph finished his story with a bang of typewriter keys and straightened up. It had been a terrific strain working against time.