At once the community turned out to see who was in the plane, and I turned out to find where I was. My friendly metropolis claimed the age of six months, and the title of an oil boom town.
The citizens helped me fold the wings of the biplane and then, after sending telegrams by way of the single telephone, I dined at the Owl Cafe, from the much appreciated but invariable menu of fried eggs, coffee and bread. And the luxury of a real bed!
The coolness of that gorgeous high desert night was very grateful. Flying so much had caused a severe sunburn. For most of the journey, I wore a close fitting hat instead of the helmet which left a sunburned streak across my cheeks. Goggles cannot be abandoned on long hops, except in closed ships. They, of course, bequeath unbumed rings of white around the eyes. In my log book I noted that when and if I reached Los Angeles, I should resemble a horned toad.
Down Main Street I took off the next morning, everyone helping me. Unfortunately in the preparations a thorn punctured one of my tires. While I enjoyed my morning eggs, the puncture was repaired. I thought, as I climbed aboard, that the tire was softening, but everyone said I was mistaken.
Then once more the billowing brown areas of the southwest stretched below me. Ocean flying is no more lonely than that over uncharted or uninhabited land. I was told that in about one hun-
