DIAMOND TOLLS
201
The craft was a little scow, covered at the stern with an A-tent of canvas—a hog-pen on a raft. Not once did he get a fair look at it—if he ran into the bank in mid-afternoon, the pursuer would run in and wait. When he pulled out it, too, would soon appear, a mile astern.
Murdong redoubled his vigilance, growing angrier and angrier, the chase wearing on his nerves more and more.
"I've got to stop that," he whispered to himself. "I can't stand it. I'll try to sneak away in the night. Then—then if he keeps after me, I'll find out."
