"He kissed her!"
"The d—— murderer!" roared Crow.
"He grabbed up the oars and rowed 'cross an' downstream. An' he shuck his fist at me when he see I'd been watchin'," said the youngster, ready to whimper now that he realised what a desperate character he had been dealing with.
"Where did he land on the other side?" pursued the eager reporter.
"Down by them willer trees, 'bout half a mile down. There's the skift tied to a saplin'. Cain't you see it?"
Sure enough, the stern of a small boat stuck out into the deep, broad river, the bow being hidden by the bushes.
"Both of 'em hurried up the hill over yender, an' that's the last I seen of 'em," concluded the lad.
Anderson Crow and his man-hunters stared helplessly at the broad, swift river, and then looked at each other in despair. There was no boat in sight except the murderer's, and there was no bridge within ten miles.
While they were growling a belated detachment of hunters came up to the river bank greatly agitated.
"A telephone message has just come to town sayin' there would be a thousand dollars reward," announced one of the late arrivals; and instantly there was an imperative demand for boats.