﻿512 
  

  

  THE 
  NATIONAL 
  GEOGRAPHIC 
  MAGAZINE 
  

  

  H 
  

  

  jfc. 
  

  

  m 
  

  

  Ten 
  minutes 
  of 
  flying 
  through 
  clouds 
  

   brought 
  us 
  suddenly 
  out 
  into 
  a 
  beautiful, 
  

   clear 
  sky. 
  For 
  the 
  first 
  time 
  we 
  feasted 
  

   our 
  eyes 
  upon 
  the 
  famous 
  clear 
  land- 
  

   scapes 
  of 
  the 
  West. 
  

  

  From 
  our 
  altitude 
  of 
  5,000 
  feet 
  we 
  

   could 
  see 
  the 
  horizon, 
  40 
  or 
  50 
  miles 
  

   away, 
  all 
  around 
  us. 
  Never 
  had 
  I 
  flown 
  

   through 
  an 
  atmosphere 
  so 
  pure 
  and 
  clean. 
  

   Innumerable 
  small 
  lakes 
  dotted 
  the 
  lovely 
  

   landscape. 
  Smiling 
  and 
  well-kept 
  farms 
  

   occupied 
  every 
  foot 
  of 
  dry 
  land. 
  

  

  Our 
  motors 
  hummed 
  along 
  joyously, 
  

   turning 
  the 
  propellers 
  1,400 
  revolutions 
  

   per 
  minute. 
  We 
  were 
  moving 
  slightly 
  

   faster 
  than 
  a 
  hundred 
  miles 
  per 
  hour, 
  with 
  

   the 
  aid 
  of 
  a 
  favorable 
  wind. 
  

  

  Soon 
  we 
  sighted 
  our 
  destination, 
  sur- 
  

   rounded, 
  as 
  usual, 
  with 
  motor 
  cars 
  and 
  

   hundreds 
  of 
  spectators 
  awaiting 
  our 
  ar- 
  

   rival. 
  

  

  Another 
  public 
  luncheon 
  was 
  being 
  

   held 
  for 
  us, 
  and 
  again 
  we 
  were 
  compelled 
  

   to 
  disappoint 
  our 
  hosts, 
  for 
  our 
  first 
  at- 
  

   tention 
  was 
  due 
  our 
  machines. 
  We 
  

   munched 
  sandwiches 
  while 
  we 
  looked 
  

   over 
  our 
  motors, 
  washed 
  down 
  the 
  ships, 
  

   and 
  refilled 
  the 
  tanks 
  with 
  fuel, 
  after 
  our 
  

   short 
  jaunt 
  of 
  two 
  hours 
  and 
  twenty-four 
  

   minutes. 
  Then 
  we 
  gladly 
  accompanied 
  

   our 
  hosts 
  into 
  town. 
  

  

  Fargo 
  is 
  the 
  largest 
  city 
  in 
  North 
  

   Dakota, 
  and 
  it 
  is 
  situated 
  in 
  the 
  center 
  of 
  

   a 
  country 
  of 
  great 
  distances. 
  Good 
  land- 
  

   ing 
  fields 
  abound 
  anywhere 
  within 
  a 
  

   radius 
  of 
  200 
  miles, 
  and 
  the 
  use 
  of 
  the 
  

   airplane 
  in 
  this 
  locality 
  will 
  prove 
  to 
  be 
  

   of 
  infinite 
  value. 
  

  

  Excusing 
  ourselves 
  early 
  that 
  evening, 
  

   we 
  looked 
  over 
  maps 
  and 
  weather 
  reports 
  

   and 
  piled 
  into 
  bed 
  at 
  an 
  early 
  hour. 
  To- 
  

   morrow's 
  flight 
  would 
  be 
  the 
  last 
  hop 
  

   over 
  Uncle 
  Sam's 
  territory 
  until 
  Alaska 
  

   was 
  reached. 
  Our 
  machines 
  were 
  in 
  per- 
  

   fect 
  condition 
  and 
  the 
  spirits 
  of 
  the 
  pilots 
  

   and 
  crews 
  were 
  high. 
  Although 
  the 
  diffi- 
  

   cult 
  part 
  of 
  our 
  journey 
  was 
  still 
  ahead, 
  

   our 
  hearts 
  were 
  light 
  and 
  we 
  had 
  every 
  

   confidence 
  in 
  the 
  success 
  of 
  our 
  expedi- 
  

   tion. 
  

  

  Start 
  was 
  made 
  for 
  Portal, 
  North 
  Da- 
  

   kota, 
  next 
  morning, 
  July 
  25, 
  with 
  a 
  gentle 
  

   1 
  o-mile 
  wind 
  on 
  our 
  tail 
  bearing 
  us 
  along. 
  

   Under 
  4,000 
  feet 
  we 
  found 
  the 
  air 
  re- 
  

   markably 
  bumpy, 
  probably 
  a 
  natural 
  af- 
  

   termath 
  of 
  the 
  storm. 
  Above 
  that 
  level 
  

   the 
  air 
  was 
  as 
  smooth 
  as 
  velvet. 
  

  

  