Stopped at one house and asked a woman for a drink (the leaky bucket) – at the next house, stop and ask a man the way back to town – an old man (his father) inside the house – The son seemed scarcely able to move so complete was his inertia – he addressed us as a “people.”
     At a little cleft in the hills we climbed a bank and sat awhile – Looking backwards, we could see the deep valley with rolling layers of wooded hills.
     Stop at a soft-drink stand but found it deserted; a hideous desolation, everything thickly coated with dust.
     Shortly after this a man on an auto picked us up for which we were grateful. (He, too, knew nothing about the man on the stretcher- Later we realized we should not have been so curious about this affair – the natives could easily have assumed that we might have been government agents.)
     Back to the town, disgusted and disillusioned, and in addition a violent homesickness for my wife and kids had developed and grew stronger with each moment.
     Dicker with a busman on the price for taking us to Williamson (where we would get a train to start us on our homeward journey.  He agreed finally to $2.50 for each of us.
     A glorious ride over three large hills (like a huge rollercoaster up and down, over and over again in great loops) one of which was called picturesquely “Bent Mountain” – It was quite dark when we started our headlong