ds, then
they were gone. In a few minutes the lights did a repeat performance.
The man admitted he had been scared. He broke off his story of the
lights and launched into his background as a native Texan, with range
wars, Indians, and stagecoaches under his belt. What he was trying to
point out was that despite the range wars, Indians, and stagecoaches,
he had been scared. His wife had been scared too. We had some
difficulty getting back to the lights but we finally made it. The
third time they came around, he said, one of the lights emitted a
sound. It said, "Plover." The old gentleman had immediately
identified it as a plover, a water bird about the size of a quail.
Later that night, and on several other occasions, they had seen the
same thing. After a few more hair-raising but interesting stories of
the old west Texas, we left.

Our next stop was the federal game warden's office in Lubbock. We
got the low-down on plovers. We explained our interest and the warden
was very helpful. He had been around west Texas all of his life so he
was familiar with wildlife. The oily white breast of a plover could
easily reflect light, but plovers usually didn't travel in more than
pairs, or three at the most. He had never seen or heard of them
traveling in a flock of fifteen to thirty but, of course, this wasn't
impossible. Ducks, yes, but probably not plovers. He did say that for
some unknown reason there were more than the usual number of plovers
in the area that fall.

I was anxious to get the negatives that Hart had lent us back to the
photo lab at Wright Field, but I had one more call to make. I wanted
to talk to the two ladies who had seen a strange object hovering near
their car, but I also wanted to write my report before I left
Lubbock. Two Air Force special investigators from Reese AFB offered
to talk to the ladies, so I stayed at the air base and finished my
report.

That night when the investigators came back, I got the story. They
had spent the whole day talking to the ladies and doing a little
discreet checking into their backgrounds.

The two ladies, a mother and her daughter, had left their home in
Matador, Texas, 70 miles northeast of Lubbock, about twelve-thirty
P.M. on August 31. They were driving along in their car when they
suddenly noticed "a pear-shaped" object about 150 yards ahead of
them. It was just off the side of the road, about 120 feet in the
air. It was drifting slowly to the east, "less than th