"Bravo! I could kiss you a thousand times for that. Come on, you Indians! You're a darling, Marjory." Again the oars caught the water, and Jack Barnes's white handkerchief lay in the bottom of the boat. He was rowing for dear life, and there was a smile on his face.
The raft was left far behind and the marksmen were put out of range with surprising ease. Fifteen minutes later the skiff shot across the river and up to the landing of Bracken's boathouse, while a mile back in the brush Anderson Crow and his men were wrathfully scrambling in pursuit.
"Hey, Bracken! Jimmy!" shouted Jack Barnes, jumping out upon the little wharf. Marjory gave him her hands and was whisked ashore and into his arms. "Run into the boathouse, dear. I'll yank this stuff ashore. Where the dickens is Bracken?"
The boathouse door opened slowly and a sleepy young man looked forth.
"Wake up, you old loafer! We're here and we are pursued! Where are George and Amy?" cried Mr. Barnes, doing herculean duty as a baggage smasher.
"Pursued?" cried the sleepy young man, suddenly awake.
"Yes, and shot at!" cried Marjory, running past him and into the arms of a handsome young woman who was emerging from the house.
"We've no time to lose, Jimmy! They are on to us, Heaven knows how. They are not more than ten minutes behind us. Get it over with, Jimmy, for Heaven's sake! Here, George, grab this trunk!"
In a jiffy the fugitives and their property were transferred to the interior of the roomy boathouse, the doors bolted, and George Crosby stationed at a window to act as lookout.
"Is it your father?" demanded the Rev. James Bracken, turning to Marjory. Young Mrs. Crosby was looking on eagerly.
"Mr. Brewster is at home and totally oblivious to all this," cried Jack Barnes. "I don't know what it means. Here's the license, Jimmy. Are you ready, Marjory?"
"This is rather a squeamish business, Jack--" began the young minister in the negligée shirt. He was pulling on his coat as he made the remark.
"Oh, hurry, Jimmy; please hurry!" cried Marjory Brewster.
"Don't wait a second, Jimmy Bracken!" cried Amy Crosby, dancing with excitement. "You can't go back on them now!"
Three minutes later there was no Marjory Brewster, but there was a Mrs. John Ethelbert Barnes--and she was kissing her husband rapturously.