rvals to pick up the white wings of
a smuggling airship. But they saw nothing.

Mr. Period was in despair, as he fully counted on a capture being
made while he was present, so that he might see the moving pictures
made. But it was not to be.

The wizard camera was all in readiness, but there was no need to
start the automatic machinery. For, search as Tom and his friends
did for a trace of the smugglers, they could see nothing. They put
on full speed, and even went as far as the limits of the Indian
reservation, but to no purpose. They heard no throbbing motor, no
whizz of great propellers, and saw no white, canvas wings against
the dark background of the sky, as Tom's craft made her way
noiselessly along.

"I guess we've frightened them away," said Mr. Whitford dubiously,
as it came near morning, and nothing suspicious had been seen or
heard. "They're holding back their goods, Tom until they think they
can take us unawares. Then they'll rush a big shipment over."

"Then's the time we must catch them," declared the young inventor.
"We may as well go back now."

"And not a picture!" exclaimed Mr. Period tragically. "Well, be sure
to get good ones when you do make a capture, Tom."

"I will," promised the young inventor. Then, with a last sweep along
the border he turned the nose of his craft toward Logansville. He
had almost reached the place, and was flying rather low over the
country roads, when Ned called:

"Hark! I hear something!"

The unmistakable noise of a gasolene motor in operation could be
distinguished.

"There they are!" cried Mr. Period.

"Bless my honeysuckle vine!" gasped Mr. Damon.

"The light, Ned, the light!" cried Tom.

His chum flashed the powerful beam all around the horizon, and
toward the sky, but nothing was visible.

"Try down below," suggested Mr. Whitford.

Ned sent the beams earthward. And there, in the glare, they saw a
youth speeding along on a motor-cycle. In an instant Tom grabbed up
the binoculars and focussed them on the rider.

"It's Andy Foger!" he cried.

CHAPTER XXIII

NED IS MISSING

There was a period of silence, following Tom's startling
announcement. There were several plate glass windows in the floor of
the airship, and through these they all gazed at the youth on the
motor-cycle. Only Tom, however, by the aid of the glasses, was able
to make out his features.

"Bless my spark plug! Andy Foger!" cried Mr. Damon. "Are you going
to try to catch