“And the third?” asked Hal.
“We’re getting ahead of the story. In fact, we’re ahead of the story already. Before he made his second jump, Lindy had joined the Missouri National Guard, and was promoted to a Captaincy in the Reserve and Flight Commander of the 110th Observation Squadron. That’s how he got to be a Captain, you know how he got to be a Colonel.
“Then Lindy joined the Robertson Aircraft Corporation, at St. Louis. While he was with them, he helped map out the first mail route from St. Louis to Chicago, and was the first pilot to carry mail along this route. Slim had a habit of starting things off. He was the first to do a lot of things. No sitting back and waiting for others to start things. It was first or nothing for him. Maybe it was his Viking ancestors, I don’t know.
“It was while he was flying this route that Lindy had his third initiation into the Caterpillars. He took off one September afternoon from Lambert Field, in St. Louis, on his way to Maywood. Just outside of Peoria a fog rolled in, so thick you could cut it with a knife, Lindy could climb up over it for flying, but he couldn’t land blind. He dropped a flare, but it only lit up a cloud bank. He saw lights, then, through the fog, and knew that he was around Maywood, but couldn’t get the exact location of the field. He’d circled around for two hours, when his engine sputtered and died. The tank was dry. Lindy quickly turned on the reserve gravity tank. There was twenty minutes of flying in that tank, and Lindy had to think fast.
“He tried flares again, but it was no use. When he had just a few minutes of gas left, he saw the glow of a town. He didn’t want to take a chance on landing in a town and killing somebody, so he headed for open country. In a few minutes his engine died. Lindy stepped out into the blind fog and jumped. After falling a hundred feet, he pulled the rip-cord, and left the rest to chance. Every once in a while his ship appeared, twirling away in spirals, the outside of the circle about 300 yards away from Lindy. He counted five spirals, and then lost sight of the bus. He landed in a corn field, shaken, of course, but all right. He found his way to the farm house, and told the farmer who he was. The farmer, who had heard the crash of the plane as it smashed to earth wouldn’t believe that this safe and sound man was the pilot of it. Finally Lindy convinced him, and they went in search of the plane, which the farmer was sure had landed close to his house. They found it two miles away, looking not much like a plane, but a heap of rubbish. The mail wasn’t hurt. They got it to a train for Chicago, and the mail went through. It always does, you know.”
“Yup, it always does,” said Captain Bill.
“That reminds me of a story,” said Pat.
“Hold it,” said Bob. “I’ve got another parachute for Lindy.”
“Fire away,” said Pat. “But remember to remind me not to forget to tell you my own story.”
“All right,” Bob put in. “Now the fourth time Lindy jumped was not long before his big flight. He was still flying for Robertson’s, carrying mail to Chicago. Just south of Peoria he ran into rain that changed to snow. Lindy flew around, waiting for the fog to lift, until he heard his motor sputter and die. He was up about 13,000 feet when he stepped out of the cockpit and jumped into the air. He landed on a barbed wire fence. Tore his shirt, but the plane was pretty much of a wreck. He grabbed the air mail; hurried to a train for Chicago, got another plane, and flew the mail through. A little late, but still, it got through. And he didn’t bat an eye. Not one of the jumps fazed him a bit.