Supported by the ranchman on one side and the field manager on the other, Tim made his way to the administration building.
“Ralph must have come in early since he didn’t wait for me,” said Tim as they entered the manager’s office.
Hunter did not answer immediately and Tim turned toward him with anxious eyes.
“What’s the matter, Carl?” he demanded. “Isn’t Ralph in; haven’t you heard from him?”
“We haven’t had any news,” admitted the field manager, “but you know Ralph well enough to realize that he can take care of himself in almost any kind of an emergency.”
Tim knew that Ralph was capable and resourceful but he had also had a vivid demonstration of the dangers of flying in the Great Smokies.
“I’ve got to start out and hunt for him,” he cried. “Have the boys get the plane ready to go.”
“You’ll do nothing of the kind,” snorted Hunter. “You’re in no shape to fly. Look at your eyes. You’d be sound asleep in ten minutes and then we’d have to start looking for you. No sir! You stay right here, put some warm food inside and then roll in. The mail planes are going through tonight on schedule and they’ve all been instructed to look for some sign of a campfire in the mountains. Ralph may have found the wrecked westbound, landed, and be unable to get back into the air again.”
There was sound advice in the field manager’s words and Tim realized that it would be folly for him to attempt to fly again that night.
A waiter from the restaurant at the other end of the administration building brought in a tray of steaming hot food and Tim, Hank Cummins, Curly, and Hunter sat down for a midnight lunch.