Adventure Magazine Cover, June 20, 1925 — page 88: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

70 | Adventure “Yes,” Bain acquiesced slowly, “‘the water over the dummy line oughtn’t to be over two or three feet deep in most places.’ “Cap,” asked Scar-Face, “ef we gits on dat track, how far is we to sho’ nuff dry land?” “Couple of miles.” For a quarter of an hour they worked carefully to dislodge the barge. Finally all obstructions were cleared but one limb, which held them amidship, just under the rotten section of the starboard gun- wale which Bain had guarded with such care. _. “Now boys, listen!” the manager warned. “We've got to get off here, but we may smash this side in doing it. If we do, we’ll sink in four minutes. If we have to swim, strike a line this way—’’ he pointed south- east— “‘for those flat cars. Swim from tree to tree. The water here in the bayou chan- nel is about forty feet deep now, but if you get to the log cars you can climb out on them and get your wind. Then wade this way, northwest, on the road bed.” Bain leaned overboard to inspect the detaining limb. “Look out!” It was Willie’s voice, high-pitched with urgency and fear. The manager turned, as a gleaming ax blade smashed the rotten planking where his neck had rested. Bain had just time to identify his assailant before the big boat, listing swiftly to the inrush of water from the wrecked side and borne down by its cargo of scrambling, shrieking ne- groes, slid to the sand-scored bottom of Pecan Bayou. _ THE tingling shock of icy water cut to Bain’s very heart. For the / first time in five days and nights | ' he thought of his own fate as a thing distinct from the group of dependent beings under his charge. He shot to the surface with vigorous strokes. Already the men were swimming into the trees below. The timber was so thick that a few strokes would carry a man from one objective to an- other. With the strong current aiding, this was acomplished with practically no effort. Only the gripping, marrow-searching cold of the water could prevent their reaching the flat cars below. The manager was no expert swimmer, but a level head is half the battle when one is dumped suddenly into deep waters. He calmly turned on his left side, and struck out for a large oak fifty yards down-stream, following the course taken by his crew. “Oh, Mistuh Bain! Don’t leave Ol’ Uncle Jawn, Mistuh Bain—Please suh don’t leave me heah to die! Mistuh Bain! Oh, Mistuh Bain!” He had reached the oak. Catching a lower limb the manager, in defiance of the cold, was resting. ‘The old darkey’s voice came faint from the elm top near which the barge had gone down. Bain weighed his chances deliberately. He could swim to safety with the start he had. If he returned and attempted the journey again, with a panic-crazed old negro in tow, the outcome would be, at best, doubtful. ‘“‘Mistuh Bain, don’t leave me heah to die! Hit’s OV’ Jawn! Oh, Mistuh Bain!” The white man suddenly stopped reason- ing and turned to. breast the icy current on the back trail. As he turned a heavy stick of sodden drift-wood drove into the water in the exact spot his head had been a half second before. In the same instant he saw the huge convict lose his balance, and fall, plunging head foremost from a limb upon which he had perched to do his murder. Bain did not miss a stroke. Glancing back he saw that the negro’s foot seemed to be caught in a fork, while he made frantic efforts to draw himself back on the limb. “T’ve been lucky twice this day,” Bain said half aloud. It was as nearly a prayer as he had ut- tered in twenty-five years. “Oh, Mistuh Bain!” : There was more of patient trust than of fear in the old man’s weakening voice. The manager noted it as he fought his way back, and it warmed him to the desperate work. He found the old negro clinging like a huge black locust to the rough bark of:a limbless red-gum. “IT knowed you’d come ef you heahed me. Mistuh Bain, I can’t swim none. What is us gwine to do?” } Bain’s answer was dramatic. A cotton-. wood rail was shooting down the channel. He plunged after it, and returned pushing the buoyant stick of timber. “Now just keep your head, Uncle John, and you'll eat corn bread and mustard greens by your own fireplace tonight. You ain't forgot how Aunt Sally fixes ’em, with hog jowl and red pepper?” COMIGDIOOKSEEO