After a few circles of the field Hemingwood set out for Herkimer, climbing steadily. In a half hour the altimeter was reading eleven thousand feet, and the long grind began. He was flying his strips over the short ten mile course, east and west. It was hard work to fly continuously with every faculty concentrated on keeping the ship absolutely level and flying a straight line, making sure that the strips had plenty of overlap and that the speed of the ’plane was kept constant. In the rear Apperson was devoting all his attention to the huge camera and the motor. The camera was geared to shoot a picture automatically at intervals of a few seconds. When he wanted to reload he signaled Hemingwood, who thereupon flew around, killing time until the change had been made. Four hours of it left even the nerveless pilot very tired; he was heartily glad when it was time to drop earthward again. They had covered the first six miles of the terrain they were to shoot. He hoped devoutly that there were no gaps to make retakes necessary. No way to tell that, though, until the thousands of pictures had been developed and laboriously put together in the completed mosaic. Mumford proved he was on the job by having the next day’s supplies delivered at the field within a half hour after they had landed. By the time the big tanks of the D. H. were full, a few spectators had arrived and were looking in awed wonder at the gigantic bomber. Close on their heels came Miss Morgan. Mumford seemed distraught and ill-at-ease, referring to the fight only slightly. Hemingwood decided that the merchant did not dare take sides openly against the mountaineers and that he was considerably worried because of his business connection with the hated Government man. His niece, however, did not follow his lead. She beckoned Hemingwood to one side, and her eyes were dark with worry. “Tell me about this morning,” she commanded, and Hemingwood obliged, giving a more or less ludicrous account thereof. “Apperson and I are going to stay out here and guard the crate,” he concluded. “I guess they won’t monkey with us any more. I notice that the wild eyed mob here are keeping their distance pretty well.” “I wish you wouldn’t take it so lightly,” she protested. “You have no idea how they are when they’re aroused or frightened. With your ship flying around over them all day they’ll feel hunted, and--” “I tried to explain this morning that I’m not interested in their private crimes,” Hemingwood told her with a grin. “I know, but the poor dears have been hunted so much for things like moonshining, which they consider perfectly all right--you know they can’t see for the life of them why they should be taxed, or be breaking the law, because they make some corn mash out of their own corn and distill it--” “I know. But the poor dears give me a pain in the neck when they try to bust up my ship. But let’s not worry about it, eh?”