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McCutcheon, George Barr, 1866-1928

"The Daughter of Anderson Crow"

Three men were standing nearby, but there was
no vehicle in sight. She tried to rise, but on account of her bonds was
powerless to do so. Speech was prevented by the cloth which closed her
lips tightly. After a time she began to grasp the meaning of the
muttered words that passed between the men.
"You got the rig in all right, Bill--you're sure that no one heard or
saw you?" were the first questions she could make out, evidently arising
from a previous report or explanation.
"Sure. Everybody in these parts goes to bed at sundown. They ain't got
nothing to do but sleep up 'ere."
"Nobody knows we had that feller's sleigh an' horses out--nobody ever
will know," said the big man, evidently the leader. She noticed they
called him Sam.
"Next thing is to git her across the river without leavin' any tracks.
We ain't on a travelled road now, pals; we got to be careful. I'll carry
her down to the bank; but be sure to step squarely in my
footprints--it'll look like they were made by one man. See?"
"The river's froze over an' we can't be tracked on the ice. It's too
dark, too, for any one to see us. Go ahead, Sammy; it's d---- cold
here."
The big man lifted her from the ground as if she were a feather, and she
was conscious of being borne swiftly through a stretch of sloping
woodland down to the river bank, a journey of two or three hundred
yards, it seemed.


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