When these were out of sight, Oswald arose and started back toward the boat, but soon was compelled again to sit down. Despairing of his ability to return that night, he crawled into some bushes away from the path, and slept.
The sun is brightly shining when he awakes. His left arm is sore, but he finds that it is only a deep flesh wound, which had caused excessive flow of blood. The complications of his position daze Oswald. How can he return and give information of Alice Webster's death? What reasonable excuse can be assigned for his delay? How seemingly transparent this yarn! Will it not be evident that he manufactured a tissue of falsehoods, and to clinch these preposterous lies inflicted on himself this slight wound?
Return is not to be considered. There is no avoiding the gallows but in flight. But how escape?
Oswald feels feverish thirst, and hoping to find clear water follows toward its source a muddy little rivulet emptying into the river. In this way he travels about a mile from shore, where, in the corner of a fenced strip of ground, are a boy and a girl drinking from a clear stream.
Frightened by this pale-looking, bareheaded tramp, the children fled. Oswald drank deeply of the refreshing water, and was moving away, when a loud voice commanded him to stop. Looking up, Oswald saw a burly citizen, just over the fence, puffing with swelling sense of proprietorship.
Oswald's combative faculties are aroused, and in defiant attitude he awaits the attack.
"Who be ye, man, and what ye doing here?"
Oswald explained that he was a stranger there, and had slept on the bank of the river. His hat was lost. He hoped that no harm had been done. He had money, and would pay for all damages.
The refined manner of speech and good looks made a favorable impression upon the staring proprietor.
Oswald saw his advantage, and appealed to this red-faced inquisitor for breakfast, adding that he would pay well.