Ditch Withers made it his policy to be wheels up before noon. The heat of the day made the air thinner and harder for the plane to climb, and the ride was often bumpy as thermals rising from the mesas tended to buffet the little Cessna. It wasn’t particularly dangerous, but not very comfortable either.
This day, however, he was getting a late start. Several of his patients had needed more care than usual, and by the time he said goodbye to Father Salazar, it was well past his planned time of departure.
He gave the plane the usual walk around, tugging on the ailerons and running his finger along the edge of the propeller before finally climbing into the pilot’s seat and buckling himself in. He quickly ran down his checklist, setting a few switches and adjusting the mixture before opening
