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.