Chapter 4 Apperson
He wasted no time in taking off—no telling when fleecy cumulous clouds would form in the sky and spoil the continuity of the strips. Apperson had everything in readiness; the camera was set in the floor of the rear cockpit, in which an opening was cut to fit it. The electric motor was connected, and spare batteries and plenty of film for the day’s work were in a specially built recess behind the seat.
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?”
Whereupon, in a very presentable baritone, he burst forth into a song:
“Snap your fingers at care!Don’t cross the bridge ’till you’re there—”
The girl hesitated, smiled, and finally laughed. She became serious again very soon, however.
“That’s fine, but please be careful and try not to alienate them any more, won’t you?” she begged him.
Hemingwood assented, and he was aware of a curious feeling of warm satisfaction that she took so much interest in the situation. He himself simply couldn’t be worried about it. He was an unusual type. He could not be said to be brave, because he was really unacquainted with fear. It was a strange paradox, that a man who loved living so much should hold life itself so cheaply as did George Arlington Hemingwood, of the Hemingwoods of Boston.
“I’ll bring you your supper,” she offered.
“I’ve got to go to town and see if I can rustle some blankets and perhaps a tent from your uncle. He just told me he had some.”
The noise of a motor became clear, and George looked up to see the Mumford truck on its way homeward.
“I intended to get a ride back to town, but I see I missed out,” Hemingwood observed. Mumford apparently wanted to spend no more time than he needed to in the vicinity of the flyers.
“Don’t blame him, please, Lieutenant Hemingwood,” the girl said in a low voice. “You have no idea what a difficult position he is in because of the trouble this morning. The mountain people—”
“I understand. There’s no reason why he should risk being mixed up in it,” nodded Hemingwood.
“I’ll give you a lift home on Pegasus,” she offered, and so it came about that Hemingwood had a hilarious ride back to East Point on the rear deck of the venerable Pegasus. He got off a little way out of town although the girl did not suggest it.
“I can’t call on you tonight, which I intended to ask permission to do,” he told her, smiling up into her own mirthful eyes. “You have no idea what an angel from heaven you’d seem if you passed our palatial pasture home this evening, though.”
She hesitated a moment, and then laughed.
“I am invited out so little here that I miss no opportunities to take part in the social whirl,” she smiled. “Aunty and I will accept with pleasure, and supply a better picnic supper than you can get out of cans, too!”
He got his supplies from Mumford, including the tent, and likewise a letter, addressed in pencil to Lt. Hemingwood in care of Mumford’s store. The script was all but illegible. He opened it in Mumford’s presence, and read:
Take my advise and git out of town quick or youll be sorry I know what Im talkin aboutA friend
Hemingwood’s mouth stretched in a wide grin. He thrust it into his pocket and said nothing about it to the patiently curious Mumford. He showed it to Epperson, back at the field, and that wily Scot shook his head.
