It’s somewhat of a trick to land a Martin, because you’ve got two motors to handle, the ship is so heavy that it settles rapidly, and the pilot’s cockpit is about ten feet above the ground. That makes leveling off a foot above the ground a bit difficult, at first. I made it the first try by bull luck in that small field, and Les did it with nonchalant ease, of course. Marston had been riding alongside me the whole trip looking straight ahead and not vouchsafing me so much as a look, either dirty or otherwise. He and I exchanged as few words as the law allowed. The cars from town commenced to arrive immediately, of course, to look over the huge ships which were so awe-inspiring compared to the De Havilands the townspeople were accustomed to. There was one lonesome soldier in charge of the gas and oil. We were to spend the night there, there being no wild rush. We taxied the ships up to the line in front of the gas shack, turned them around, and climbed out after running out the motors. “Both of you stay here until the ships are gassed and oiled, and until dark, when the people quit coming,” I told them. “This trip you, Marston, will spend the night out here on guard, and next trip Bailey can take it. That suit you, Les?” “Sure,” returned that young gentlemen. “At that, Bailey, ’d advise you to stay out here rather than in the one hotel down there. It’s name ought to be the ‘Bedbug’s Roost,’ and it has the first collection of bowls and pitchers and other sanitary brica-brac I’ve seen since the hogs ate my brother.” Bailey, one of the clean-looking, bright youngsters who came into the army during the war and stayed, grinned and allowed that he’d try it. Les and I accepted a ride into town with our baggage after I’d made arrangements with the soldier on duty to supply Marston with blankets. George William set to work bleakly, not uttering so much as a word. He would be out there all alone, because the field guard’s duty did not include night work. We saw a wild western movie called “Temptations of the Flesh,” fought off curious questioners the whole length of the one street, and retired early because there was nothing else to do. It was the sort of a town I’d like to come to after a month of ribaldry, to settle down for a week or two and do nothing but drink Pluto and watch the sun go down. Our start was planned for seven o’clock, and we were out there right on time. We wanted to cross the towering Cumberlands of West Virginia early, before it got hot and the cañons and rivers and woods and rocks made the air too bumpy. Early as we were, however, a parade of cars followed us out. The residents of Boundville considered eleven A. M. the middle of the night, and four was the fashionable breakfast hour. As our Ford bumped into the field, leading a miscellaneous collection of vehicles, I spotted Marston reclining in his blankets under a wing.