Each of two airplanes was near enough to be, conceivably, the machine which controlled me. On my right, a large, lumbering biplane accompanied me at a distance of a thousand feet. It had the contour of a machine of the Ohio air express; and I took it for a day freighter which had left Chicago at dawn. On my left, and a little higher, flew a monoplane of the passenger type and of a size to be a three-seater.
I did not identify its contours; it was of an individual type; and as it kept pace with me—or I was made to keep pace with it—this soon betrayed it as the plane which piloted me.
Other airplanes approached, westbound, and passed at various distances and altitudes. I was up five thousand feet and flying evenly enough. I felt no relaxing of the radio control; on the contrary, I felt its stiffness and rigidity. With quick, sudden shifts of rudder
