Rainbow Landing: An Adventure Story

by Frank Lillie Pollock

It was veiled still in mist, and he thought it might be a backwater. But the mist was lifting. He caught a glimpse of the opposite shore. It was really Alabama, wallowing through its swamps—in the wrong direction.

Then he realized the truth. He was on the other side. He had crossed the river in the dark without knowing it. The twisting cross currents had carried him clear across the stream, to the shore opposite Blue Bob’s bayou.

All the better he thought, as he re-oriented himself. There was less chance of the outlaws carrying their search so far as this. The sky was turning pink, and he continued his way up the dry strip along the shore.

Within a hundred yards he came to a trail that had evidently been cut to reach the river at low water. Water was over the trail now, but it was not deep, and by wading inland he got through the worst of the swamp belt. The ground rose and became dry. A clearing opened ahead. It was a field of growing corn, with a deserted negro cabin.

Beyond this rose the dry, resinous purity of the long-leaf pine woods. The wet chill of the swamp was gone. Between the trees he felt the hot assault of the early sun. He dropped on the pine needles, quite exhausted, intending to rest only a few minutes, and fell into a heavy sleep.

The sun was well up among the pine branches when he awoke, refreshed and intensely hungry. He was on the west bank of the river; he was in Clark County, probably some twenty miles below Rainbow Landing. There was a ferry somewhere upstream, but he could not think where it was. But the railway came down the west bank, not at any great distance from the river, he thought. If he kept westwards he was bound to strike it, and he could probably hire a buggy or a car at some farm.

He was in a terribly dilapidated condition, covered with half-dried mud, shoeless, hatless, his clothing in rags from the swamp. He would not dare board a train in that guise. After some reflection he opened his belt, and broke into his gold reserve for the first time since putting it away. Taking out five of the coins, he put them in his pocket, cut off the remains of the cord loops on his wrists, cast aside his tattered socks, and started barefoot along the sandy road.

Within an hour’s walking a ramshackle store presented itself, but it was able to provide him with a meal, a suit, and hat and boots of the coarse material worn by negroes. Lockwood clothed himself afresh, discarding every stitch of his former muddy outfit, and set out again, being told that a farmer two miles up the road had a car to hire.

Two hours later he was at the railway station at Jackson, where he had time to be shaved and to improve his toilet a little further. Spirit had come back into him with food and cleanness. It was a question of getting back to Rainbow Landing as fast as possible. So far from having lost the game, he had all the cards. He had all the evidence against Hanna that could be desired by anybody. Better still, Hanna doubtless believed him at the bottom of the river, and would be off his guard.

He thought of confiding in Craig and enlisting his help. Craig had shown every disposition to be friendly and had no love for Hanna, as Lockwood knew well. Craig was a man of standing, a business man, whose backing would mean much.