As Jimmy and his new friend came out of the telegraph office they heard the hum of a plane overhead. Down came a ship, circling, and settling cautiously lower. Then it dropped a flare, turned its landing lights on, and glided safely to earth in a big field. Two men got out of it—the pilot and a passenger. They hurried over to Jimmy and the rum runner. In the dark Jimmy did not recognize them.
“Is there any way we can get to the island, where that ship is wrecked?” demanded one of them. “We’ll pay well to get there.”
Jimmy bristled with anger as he heard the voice. It was Rand’s. Jimmy’s rum-running friend turned to him. “What about it? Shall I take them over?”
“Not if you’re a friend of mine,” said Jimmy. “This fellow is my worst enemy. He has played me no end of dirty tricks, and I think he played me one this very night.”
“Then I don’t take him,” said the bootlegger. “Let him get to the island the best way he can.”
They turned away from the newcomers. Rand was swearing furiously. But Jimmy paid no attention to him and presently was beyond the sound of his voice. Briefly he told his friend of the difficulties he had had with Rand. “I’m just as sure as I can be that now I know who sent that second telegram here that pulled me down in the bog and put my ship out of commission. I don’t know what I am going to do, for I had expected to fly out to the ship and get some photographs at sunrise and then rush them to New York. The local correspondents can finish up the story.”
“Don’t you worry about no pictures,” said the rum runner. “I got my airplane all fixed up—new motor and everything. She’s right at hand, and come daybreak we’ll go git them pictures and then start for New York. I got business down that way and I’ll be glad to make the trip. You done me a fine service once and I ain’t never goin’ to forget it.”
When Jimmy and his lawless friend from the border reached New York late the next morning with the first photographs of the wreck to arrive in that city and with some additional facts about the wreck, the rum runner wanted to say good-bye at once, but Jimmy would not consent to this. He insisted that they go see the managing editor. Finally the bootlegger, whose name was LaRoche, agreed, and early that afternoon the two met again at the _Morning Press_ building. They were at once admitted to the managing editor’s office.