"There's an old raft upstream a-ways," said the boy, "but I don't know how many it will kerry. They use it to pole corn over from Mr. Knoblock's farm to them big summer places in the hills up yender."
"Is it sound?" demanded Anderson Crow.
"Must be or they wouldn't use it," said Squires sarcastically. "Where is it, kid?"
The boy led the way up the river bank, the whole company trailing behind.
"Sh! Not too loud," cautioned Anderson Crow. Fifteen minutes later a wobbly craft put out to sea, manned by a picked crew of determined citizens of Tinkletown. When they were in midstream a loud cry came from the bank they had left behind. Looking back, Anderson Crow saw excited men dashing about, most of them pointing excitedly up into the hills across the river. After a diligent search the eyes of the men on the raft saw what it was that had created such a stir at the base of Crow's Cliff.
"There he is!" cried Anderson Crow in awed tones. There was no mistaking the identity of the coatless man on the hillside. A dozen men recognised him as the man they were after. Putting his hands to his mouth, Anderson Crow bellowed in tones that savoured more of fright than command:
"Say!"
There was no response.
"Will you surrender peaceably?" called the captain of the craft.
There was a moment of indecision on the part of the fugitive. He looked at his companion, and she shook her head—they all saw her do it.