The roller chart had now come to a stop and showed the red line that marked their course terminating in a cross to the northwest of the town of Beaumont. Komoru tilted the plane downward and flew for a time near the earth. Then checking the speed, he ran it lightly aground in an open field a little distance from a clump of buildings. The driver got out and stretched his cramped limbs. Taking a hand glow lamp he ran carefully over the mechanism of the plane. Then he opened a locker and took out two small magazine pistols. One he handed to Ethel. "Don't use it," he said, "until you have to." "Will you go with me?" he asked, "to tack the poster, or will you stay with the plane?" "I'll stay here," she replied. Komoru walked off rapidly towards the house. Presently the stillness was interrupted by the vociferous barking of a dog; Then there was a sound as of some one picking a taut wire and the voice of the dog curdled in a final yelp. In a few minutes Komoru was back. "Dogs are no good," he said; "they produce nothing but noise." "Will you kindly get aboard, Miss Ethel? There is much to do." [Illustration: By carefully shielding his flash lamp, Komoru was able to read a duplicate of the notice he had just fastened up.] Ethel obeyed; meanwhile Komoru inspected the surface of the ground for a few yards in front of the plane. Returning he climbed into his seat and started the engine. They arose without mishap. Within a mile or two, Komoru picked out another farm house and made a landing nearby. "I will go with you this time," said Ethel courageously. Approaching an American residence, Ethel suddenly found herself conscious of the fact that she was dressed in a most unladylike Japanese kimo. For a moment the larger sentiments of the occasion were replaced by the womanly query, "What will people say?" Then she laughed inwardly at the absurdity of her thought. Komoru produced the roll from his pocket and unwound a small cloth poster. This he fastened to the door jam by pressing in the thumb tacks that were sewed in the hem. Then noting another white blotch on the opposite side of the door, he carefully shielded his lamp, and made a light. It was a duplicate of the notice he had just fastened up and read: WARNING "Two hundred thousand Japanese have invaded Texas and are desirous of possessing your property. You are respectfully requested to depart immediately and apply to your government for property elsewhere. All buildings not vacated within twenty-four hours will be promptly burned--unless displaying a flag truce for sufficient reason. Kindly co-operate with us in avoiding bloodshed. (Signed) The Japanese People." "We were late," said Komoru as they walked back toward the plane. "Two hundred thousand," he mused; "what you call 'bluff,' I guess." "It's growing light," said Ethel, as they reached the plane.