A rowboat containing three men was making for the landing. Somehow,
Anderson Crow and his posse felt the ground sinking beneath them. Not a
man uttered a sound until one of the newcomers called out from the boat:

"Is Anderson Crow there?"

"Yes, sir; what is it?" demanded Crow in a wobbly voice.

"Your wife wants to know when in thunder you're comin' home." By this
time the skiff was bumping against the landing.

"You tell her to go to Halifax!" retorted Anderson Crow. "Is that all
you want?"

"They nabbed that murderer up to Billsport long 'bout 'leven o'clock,"
said Alf Reesling, the town drunkard. "We thought we'd row down and tell
you so's you wouldn't be huntin' all night for the feller who--hello,
you got him, eh?"

"Are you fellers lyin'?" cried poor Anderson Crow.

"Not on your life. We knowed about the captcher over in town just about
half an hour after you started 'cross the river this afternoon."

"You--four hours ago? You--you--" sputtered the marshal. "An' why didn't
you let us know afore this?"

"There was a game o' baseball in Hasty's lot, an'--" began one of the
newcomers sheepishly.