At Billings, however, our field was some distance from the fair and we decided to devise some scheme to bring the crowd out to us. We stuffed a dummy with straw and enough mud to give it sufficient falling speed to look like a human being.
When the grandstands were packed that afternoon we took off from our field with the dummy in the front cockpit with me. I went out on the wing and we did a few stunts over the fairgrounds to get everyone’s attention, then Lynch turned the plane so that no one could see me on the wing and we threw out the dummy. It fell waving its arms and legs around wildly and landed near the Yellowstone River.
We returned to our field and waited expectantly for the curious ones to come rushing out for information, but two hours later, when a few Montanans did arrive, they told us about one of the other attractions—a fellow who dived from an airplane into the Yellowstone River which was about three feet deep at that point. That was the last time we attempted to thrill a Montana crowd.
The barnstorming season in Montana was about over in October and soon after returning from Lewistown I purchased a small boat for two dollars. After patching it up a bit and stopping the larger leaks, I started alone down the Yellowstone River on the way to Lincoln.
The river was not deep and ran over numerous rapids which were so shallow that even the flat bottom of my small boat would bump over the rocks from time to time. I had been unable to purchase a thoroughly seagoing vessel for two dollars, and very little rough going was required to knock out the resin from the cracks and open the old leaks again.
I had my camping equipment lashed on top of one of the seats to keep it dry, and as I progressed downstream through the ever-present rapids, more and more of my time was required for bailing out the boat with an old tin can, until at the end of the first day, when I had travelled about twenty miles, I was spending fully half of my time bailing out water.
I made camp that night in a small clearing beside the river. There had been numerous showers during the day, which thoroughly soaked the ground, and towards evening a steady drizzling rain set in.
I pitched my army pup tent on the driest ground I could find and, after a cold supper, crawled in between the three blankets which I had sewn together to form a bag.
The next morning the sky was still overcast but the rain had stopped, and after a quick breakfast I packed my equipment in the boat and again started down the river.
The rain set in anew, and this together with the water from the ever-increasing leaks in the sides and bottom of the boat required such constant bailing that I found little use for the oars that day. By evening the rocks had taken so much effect that the boat was practically beyond repair.
After a careful inspection, which ended in the conclusion that further progress was not feasible, I traded what was left of the boat to the son of a nearby rancher in return for a wagon ride to the nearest town, Huntley, Montana. I expressed my equipment and bought a railroad ticket to Lincoln, where I had left my motorcycle.
A short time before I had left Lincoln, while I was racing with a car along one of the Nebraska country roads, a piston had jammed and I had not found time to replace it. Accordingly, after returning from Montana, I spent several days overhauling the machine before proceeding on to Detroit where I was to meet my mother.
I made the trip to Detroit in three days and after spending about two weeks there I took a train for Little Falls to clear up some business in connection with our farm.
During the winter months I spent part of my time on the farm and part in Minneapolis with my father. Occasionally we would drive the hundred miles from Minneapolis to Little Falls together.
In March, 1923, I left Minnesota and after a short visit in Detroit, departed on a train bound for Florida. My next few weeks were spent in Miami and the Everglades.
II
My First Plane
Since I had first started flying at Lincoln, the year before, I had held an ambition to own an airplane of my own. So when I took my last flight with Lynch in Montana, and started down the Yellowstone, I had decided that the next spring I would be flying my own ship.
Consequently when April arrived, I left Miami and went to Americus, Georgia, where the Government had auctioned off a large number of “Jennies,” as we called certain wartime training planes. I bought one of these ships with a new Curtiss OX-5 motor and full equipment for five hundred dollars. They had cost the Government nearly twice as many thousands, but at the close of the war the surplus planes were sold for what they would bring and the training fields were abandoned. Americus, Georgia, was a typical example of this. The planes had been auctioned for as little as fifty dollars apiece the year before. A few days after I arrived, the last officer left the post and it took its place among the phantom airports of the war.
I lived alone on the post during the two weeks my plane was being assembled, sometimes sleeping in one of the twelve remaining hangars and sometimes in one of the barracks buildings. One afternoon a visiting plane arrived and Reese stepped out of the cockpit. I had not heard from him since we had traded planes in Montana, and he stayed
