Junk Mine

This is John Steele reporting on adventure. I don't know how it is with women, but a man's lucky if he has two or three fellows, he can really call his friends, especially a guy like me, moving around the way I do.

So when I got the letter telling me Mike wanted me to come at once, I didn't ask why, when, or how come? Bar Town the letter said, all I wanted to know was how to get there.

At the library, I looked bar town up. town, population unlisted. I had to look hard to fly spec on the map. North, north central Canada, north of Great Slave Lake, no roads, no trains, only one way in by planes, private planes, bar town. So I started counting my money and looking for a

charter plane with a pilot willing to take me. I call this transcribed yarn, junk mine. Lucky. Lucky Miller was a pilot's name. He had a ski plane for charter. He was willing to fly me up to Bartow. He made his living by being willing. You fly up this way often? Some. When a brachial Friday only got me a package to drop. Do back Friday.

Fly on somebody out Friday. Fasten your... Well there she is down ahead. Bartow. Doesn't look like much. What there is? Tom. Looks like somebody sprinkled pepper on the ice. What they call it? I'm sitting there. Sit tight. I Waited asked Bucky about my friend Mike if he knew Mike Mike always went on his own Mike never begged

But I knew these northern bush pilots who fly for the buck and how they climb up I concentrated on learning what I could about bar town by watching the bleak dots rush up at the plane from the ice instead The dots turned in a lopsided pine shannies huddling around a big unpainted ship