They were half way
across the broad river before they were seen from the hills. The half
dozen men who lingered at the base of Crow's Cliff had shouted the alarm
to their friends on the other side, and the fugitives were sighted once
more. But it was too late. The boat was well out of gunshot range and
making rapid progress downstream in the shelter of the high bluffs below
Crow's Cliff. Jack Barnes was dripping with perspiration, but his stroke
was none the feebler.
"They see us!" she cried.
"Don't wriggle so, Marjory--trim boat!" he panted. "They can't hit us,
and we can go two miles to their one."
"And we can get to Bracken's!" she cried triumphantly. A deep flush
overspread her pretty face.
"Hooray!" he shouted with a grin of pure delight. Far away on the
opposite bank Anderson Crow and his sleuths were congregating, their
baffled gaze upon the man who had slipped out of their grasp. The men
of the posse were pointing at the boat and arguing frantically; there
were decided signs of dispute among them. Finally two guns flew up, and
then came the puffs of smoke, the reports and little splashes of water
near the flying skiff.
"Oh, they are shooting!" she cried in a panic.
"And rifles, too," he grated, redoubling his pull on the oars. Other
shots followed, all falling short. "Get down in the bottom of the boat,
Marjory.
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