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Rh dred miles, in a somewhat southwesterly direction, there would be either a river with a railroad to the right, or a railroad main line with a highway on the left, depending on whether I was more west than south and vice versa.

You remember in your automobile touring the hazy rural directions sometimes given you? “About three, four miles down the road, turn to your left by an old barn, then across the creek—.” At least in such cases you have a road to follow.

In this part of the west the rivers wriggle, cut­ting across country tortuously. I remember late that morning, when I came to a friendly railroad, I experienced much the feeling as did the Friend­ship crew in sighting land at the end of the trans­atlantic flight.

As I prepared to land at Pecos, I recalled the uncertainty of the repaired tire and sat down gin­gerly. The tire actually was flat but the light ship gave no trouble.

Pecos was very kind to me. Citizens repaired the stubborn tire and the Rotary Club, then in ses­sion, took me to luncheon. Starting that afternoon for El Paso came the first motor trouble of the trip, and I was forced down, landing among mes­quite bushes and salt hills, in the best place—it was none too good—that I could see from 4000 feet.

It was near a road and cars gathered at once, the women seeming especially anxious to see what I looked like. Some day, I dare say, women can be flyers and yet not be regarded as curiosities!