He barely brought the quivering, strained ship out of the dive in time to clear the treetops. He turned again, and for the next five minutes terrorized the hiding mountaineers with showers of lead all around them. “Now let ’em see whether they’ve got any stomach to keep fiddling around,” he grinned, as he swept back toward the field. His rancor was all gone, now that he was safe. It was something of a game to him. * * * * * They fixed the mainline by means of a spare rubber connection they had brought along, and got in a good five hours of work, landing shortly after two o’clock. Apperson, seemingly entirely unshaken by the events of the morning, had a suggestion to make. He led Hemingwood to one side, so that Mumford, there with the gas, could not overhear anything, and said: “Let’s dispense with lunch, sir-r-r. This is bonny weather. And it may be the mornin’s events’ll scare ’em off, or maybe they’ll try again. So the queecker we get through the better, to my mind.” To which Hemingwood assented. There were but a few onlookers this time, and seemingly the sound of the shooting had not been noticed. Mumford did not mention anything about the events of the morning, either, so Hemingwood decided that it was a secret between himself and those five men on the ground. Which was just as well, he reflected. He did not particularly care for the news to spread that he had attempted to shoot up five mountaineers. They worked until after four o’clock, and once again Mumford was waiting with a new supply of gas. He seemed a bit more openly friendly now, and announced that Mrs. Mumford and Gail would again oblige with supper. They arrived in due time, along with Pegasus, the buckboard, and a big basket of provender, but left almost immediately after the meal was over. Mrs. Mumford, it appeared, was president of the Mental Improvement Society of East Point, which was to meet that evening to weigh the merits of English poetry from Chaucer to Masefield, and Gail was to sing. Hemingwood did not mention the incident of the morning to Gail. There was nothing of the grandstander in him and he did not want her to worry about it. After they had gone he and Apperson smoked and talked and watched the moon come up. At ten o’clock Apperson, who was to take the last watch again, was knocking out his pipe preparatory to retiring when Hemingwood became aware of the fact that a horse was undoubtedly galloping toward them, and coming fast. They waited by the fence, hands on their guns. It was Gail Morgan, and Pegasus was a badly winded steed as she guided him up to the fence. “Did you shoot anybody this morning?” she asked breathlessly. Hemingwood, a tingle of excitement running up and down his spine, told her briefly what had happened.