When the dust finally settled, those witnessing the disaster crept closer, and peering through shattered glass, saw four men, pale as ghosts, clinging to each other
While driving the Farmall M, his favorite tractor, toward home, John was mindful of what Boss said about not letting the cultivator he was towing bump anything along the roadside, but with the warm spring breeze in his face, he dozed off while the M was crossing a bridge, and his hands dropped from the steering wheel.
When the tractor eased off the pavement, the cultivator snagged a bridge railing, jerking John awake from his peaceful reverie. Instantly, tractor, cultivator, and driver parted ways. Into a deep, weedy ditch the M plunged, throttle still in the open position, muffler sheared off, and engine silent.
