All one night last week Mexican soldiers buzzed over the bed of a dry lake, 7,500 ft. above the sea, smoothed out a homemade runway three miles long, marked it with flags. In the dim glare of automobile headlights and a young moon, a red monoplane was loaded with 470 gal. of gasoline, a batch of letters with "Amelia Earhart" stamps on them, six hard-boiled eggs, four sandwiches, thermos bottles of water, cocoa, tins of tomato juice.
At dawn the world's No. 1 airwoman climbed into her Lockheed Vega, warmed the big Wasp engine...
To continue reading:
or
Log-In
