Fifteen miles out of Little Rock he crossed the engorged Arkansas River, its waters flattened out over an area of ten miles on either side of the main channel. The water looked like some huge tropical lake, with weather-blackened vegetation jutting raggedly up through the surface and extending a few feet into the air. Here and there was a high ridge or hill, and not infrequently Nick could distinguish the tents of refugees pitched in precarious uncertainty upon their topmost areas.
Occasionally, and with increasing recurrence as he neared the badly flooded area, a rowboat flicked past under the wings of the racing plane—rescuers seeking out the isolated people stranded upon the tops of barns and houses. These men waved as the plane passed over them, and Nick waved in response. Almost paralleling the course of the Arkansas, Nick presently passed a town, the low buildings of which were all engulfed in the sluggish flood. In the railroad yards, as he passed, he saw the tops of freight cars; and a few hundred yards up the track from the station a locomotive was stalled, canted on the rails, as if the roadbed had partially been torn away from under it.
After fifty minutes in the air Nick saw McLearson, and he turned to the left and followed the invisible track toward where he expected to see the wreckage of the train. He knew, from his map, that McLearson was at the end of the railroad, and he observed, when he passed the town, that it was almost completely out of water. It was situated on high ground, and the flood had not as yet climbed to that level. Fields surrounding the town were water-soaked and glistening; they were without exception small, and partially or completely surrounded by tall timber. Nick examined them appraisingly as he passed, but could not find one that would be suitable. There was only one in which he could have landed, and with three men and a doctor in the cabin of the plane, he would have no chance of taking off again.
The railway yards in McLearson were out of water, but immediately north of the town the right-of-way dropped into a cut and out of sight. Nick, taking his direction from the portion of the track that he could see, flew up the road for two miles, found the wrecked train, and circled over it.
The locomotive had left the track and was lying now upon its side in the water a few feet from the edge of the rails. The cab and tender were more than half hidden by the muddy water. When he saw the engine Nick wondered how the crew had escaped at all!
The first box-car also had left the rails, but had remained upright, and was now standing in water that covered the trucks and lapped at the bottom of the car. The other cars of the train—three—had not been derailed, and from the platform of the caboose two men waved excitedly as Nick passed them at a low altitude. He raised his hand in a return salute, then flew on toward Plateau.
Since leaving McLearson, he had been wondering how the injured men could be brought ten or twelve miles in a boat in time for the plane to return to Little Rock before darkness set in. If the brakeman were in serious condition, it would prove difficult to transfer him without increased injury to his wounds. If the case were as urgent as seemed apparent, a landing at Plateau would take too long! For ten minutes he flew, holding, as near as he could estimate, the line of the right-of-way. The water, as he proceeded, was deeper; the track was nowhere evident.
At Plateau, although the town was above the flood level, the flying-field was almost completely submerged. At one corner of the area, fluttering in damp dejection, the “wind sock” showed that the wind still blew from the northeast. Nick looked the place over and shook his head. He was doubtful about attempting a landing there; after several moments’ consideration he decided that the pasture at McLearson would prove better, so he turned back and raced downwind.
