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#4 (continued)

later--
Little Bud is in bed. The kink in Buck's shoulder doesn't seem to rub out. No fun piloting a big logey ton. Hung my new dress up to insure it's lack of wrinkle 
Good nite!

Monday -- 4.30 a.m.
We are out at the mail hanger, to follow the mail into Bellefontaine, Pa. Buck is serious. Not all lack of sleep either. Mts. are bad in Penn. The pilots don't seem to mind the Rockies like they do the stretch over Pa. It is nice and cool this time of the a.m. Little Bud was so tired he cried. Buck is "revving" her up more than usual. Since he lost his sense of smell in WACO-COOTIE crack he is more dependent on his ears and eyes. Now he is better satisfied. The DeH. is taking off -- here we go. 

There is Cleveland under us-- still asleep-- the factories are not open yet. We need our woolen wraps this a.m. Bud is enjoying the mail ship. [[strikethrough]] Hre [[/strikethrough]] 
He can go around us, we are so slow. How the mail is frolicing: Seems as if we are in a universe of all kindness and zest-- way up here-- we are climbing over the field 5000 now -- BUD is happy now. (We did not eat any breakfast -- just in case of a storm-- [[?]]yes - yes!

Lots of clouds. 6500 now. The mail is way ahead -
can't see him for the clouds.

All we can see is clouds-- now and then a little 
speck of the ground--Remember when you were a kid and crawled thru the pipes they had for the new sewer--and the most humoroud thing the "gang" (or in my case brother) could do, was to block both ends of the pipes until you hollered? 'member how you felt as if you could push the pipes apart with your back if they "enjoyed" themselves too long? Well when it is all clouds over the mountings like this it is a slight parallel in feeling. Bud sleeps peacefully, his head in my lap and feet along on the seat. The monotony of
the motor and the vibration thru the cabin is all united with Morpheus to do their stuff. HO- hum.
Later

Mentioned to C.D. that I smellsomething hot. There is also moisture on the windows. He thinks Iam just nervous -- he ought to know better than apply "cash register" thots to me-- It isn't moisture either and Buck looks interested. Iknow those eyes too well. Now the motor is limping -- nope this is about fifteen minutes too soon for Bellefonte. Conked out entirely. We are spiraling down, big wide spirals. Bud is [[strikethrough]] awak [[/strikethrough]] awake and I told him we are landing sooner. Buck just flashed me a lovely smile thru the small aperture  in the rear of the cabin. In "autre mots" all is well on the Potomac. Some boy. Two hundred feet, all mts. --
no motor -- a huge ship -- and a DAMN fine pilot-- Crack. The landing gear and as is loosened one side first, the rite wing tip. We are facing uphill --in lotsa hills. Buck is wiping the oil off so we can get out.

The natives are coming on the run-- I do hope
they wont ask Buck any questions for a while - especially "didja come down mister?"