“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 about
A 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.