"Of course not," promptly replied Mr. Crow, who _had_ forgotten it;
"But, dang it, he c'n swim, can't he?"

"You say the bridge is gone?" asked the stranger, visibly excited.

"Yes, and the crick's too high to ford, too."

"Well, how in thunder am I to get to Crow's Cliff?"

"There's another bridge four miles upstream. It's still there," said
George Ray. Anderson Crow had scornfully washed his hands of the affair.

"Confound the luck! I haven't time to drive that far. I have to be there
at half-past twelve. I'm late now! Is there no way to get across this
miserable creek?" He was in the buggy now, whip in hand, and his eyes
wore an anxious expression. Some of the men vowed later that he
positively looked frightened.

"There's a foot-log high and dry, and you can walk across, but you can't
get the horse and buggy over," said one of the men.

"Well, that's just what I'll have to do. Say, Mr. Officer, suppose you
drive me down to the creek and then bring the horse back here to a
livery stable. I'll pay you well for it. I must get to Crow's Cliff in
fifteen minutes."

"I'm no errant-boy!" cried Anderson Crow so wrathfully that two or three
boys snickered.