Less than five minutes after the Calleys had disappeared into the woods the clatter of an approaching automobile interrupted the reminiscent conversation of the two airmen. It was the Mumford truck, and it carried Mumford, Gail Morgan, and five other men. One of them, he perceived, was Ballardson. Another was a doctor, who got to work on Apperson immediately. “Gail told me all about it, Lieutenant,” said Mumford. “Of course we couldn’t let a thing like this go on--” “Of course not!” interrupted Ballardson. The fat peace officer was ill at ease, and showed it. “I’m glad there wasn’t nothin’ to it.” “There was something to it, but it ended all right,” Hemingwood told him, and a perverse imp in his eyes was unseen in the darkness. He narrated the night’s events briefly, and then added: “I’m sure grateful to you for sending me that note of warning!” He was watching closely, and knew he had scored. Ballardson’s mouth opened and closed in fish-like gasps. Hemingwood turned to the other men, who were suddenly interested. “Got an anonymous note, warning me to get out of town for safety’s sake. Just found out it was from Ballardson here. Thanks again, Officer.” The men were silent, as though at a complete loss for words. Hemingwood knew, however, that he had put a weapon in their hands which would save both them and him any reprisal from the crooked official for the night’s work. He was aware of how slight an excuse was needed for a mountain feud, and surmised that Mumford and the other East Point men had made a real sacrifice in coming to his assistance. The men drifted over to the ship to examine it at close range. Hemingwood gave Mumford succinct details about the note and the successful shot he had fired at Ballardson a moment before, and then joined Gail, who had been standing quietly in the background. “Gail, we never can thank you enough, of course,” he said. “Don’t try, then. I’ll take it for granted,” she laughed back. She was elusively lovely in the moonlight, and Hemingwood found himself in the grip of profoundly disturbing emotions. “Ever since I arrived you’ve been doing favors for me,” he found himself saying. And then to his own surprise, he added: “I wish you’d do me one more favor, and marry me!” For a second her glorious eyes met his own squarely. Then she turned away quickly, and laughed. “It might not be a favor!” she said lightly, and slipped away toward her uncle. The truck carried Apperson back to town, but Hemingwood stayed out at the field. He did not sleep well, either. Hour after hour he examined himself, mentally, and in the end he decided that he was afraid he was in love.