He crept down the bank and back again before she could fully subdue the
tremendous thumping his temerity had started in her left side.

"It's safe and sound," he whispered joyously. "The idiots have forgotten
the boat. Quick, dear; let's make a dash for it! Their raft is upstream
a hundred yards, and it is also deserted. If we can once get well across
the river we can give them the laugh."

"But they may shoot us from the bank," she protested as they plunged
through the weeds.

"They surely wouldn't shoot a woman!" he cried gayly.

"But you are not a woman!"

"And I'm not afraid of mice or men. Jump in!"

Off from the weeds shot the light skiff. The water splashed for a moment
under the spasmodic strokes of the oarsman, and then the little boat
streaked out into the river like a thing of life. Marjory sat in the
stern and kept her eyes upon the bank they were leaving. Jack Barnes
drove every vestige of his strength into the stroke; somehow he pulled
like a man who had learned how on a college crew. 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.