"In fact Uncle Sam has made it so hard for the ordinary smuggler to
do business on foot or by wagon, that these fellows have taken to
airships. And it is practically impossible for an inspector
patroling the border to be on the lookout for the craft of the air.
Even if they saw them, what could they do? It would be out of the
question to stop them. That's why we need some one with a proper
machine who can chase after them, who can sail through the air, and
give them a fight in the clouds if they have to."

"Our custom houses on the ground, and our inspectors on horse back,
traveling along the border, can't meet the issue. We're depending on
you, Tom Swift, and I hope you don't disappoint us."

"Well," spoke Tom, when Mr. Whitford had finished. "I'll do my best
for you. It won't take very long to complete my searchlight, and
then I'll give it a trial. My airship is ready for service, and once
I find we're all right I'll start for the border."

"Good! And I hope you'll catch the rascals!" fervently exclaimed the
custom official. "Well, Tom, I'm leaving it all to you. Here are some
reports from my deputies. I'll leave them with you, and you can look
them over, and map out a campaign. When you are ready to start I'll
see you again, and give you any last news I have. I'll also arrange so
that you can communicate with me, or some of my men."

"Have you given up all suspicion of the Fogers?" asked the young
inventor.

"Yes. But I still think Shopton is somehow involved in the custom
violations. I'm going to put one of my best men on the ground here,