Man Running; A Novel In Progress.

Abstract

Monday Evening His name was Stephen Cain and he had come fifteen miles down the river since that morning. He was tall and slender and wore a dark cloth jacket, he was running when he came out of the tangled willows onto the yellow river sand that lay along the water.

The river curved there. The far shore, the outer side of the curve, was faced with rock cliffs, and the river ran deep with eddies and ripples on its surfaces. On the near shore a wide beach had formed, a crescent of sand two miles long, lying between the dark, tree-covered hillside and the curve of black, oily looking water.