"Now, Rolf," said the lawyer, "I want to come back next year and bring
three companions, and we will pay you at the same rate per month for
each. What do you say?"

"Glad to have you again," said Rolf: "we'll come for you on August
fifteenth; but remember you should bring your guitar and your
spectacles."

"One word," said the governor, "do you know the canoe route through
Champlain to Canada?"

"Quonab does."

"Could you undertake to render scout service in that region?"

The Indian nodded.

"In case of war, we may need you both, so keep your ears open."

And once more the canoe made for the north, with Quonab in the stern and
Skookum in the bow.

In less than a week they were home, and none too soon; for already the
trees were bare, and they had to break the ice on the river before they
ended their trip.

Rolf had gathered many ideas the last two-months. He did not propose to
continue all his life as a trapper. He wanted to see New York. He wanted
to plan for the future. He needed money for his plans. He and Quonab had
been running a hundred miles of traps, but some men run more than that
single handed. They must get out two new lines at once, before the frost
came. One of these they laid up the Hudson, above Eagle's Nest; the
other northerly on Blue Mountain, toward Racquet River. Doing this was
hard work, and when they came again to their cabin the robins had gone
from the bleak and leafless woods; the grouse were making long night
flights; the hollows had tracks of racing deer; there was a sense of
omen, a length of gloom, for the Mad Moon was afloat in the shimmering
sky; its wan light ghasted all the hills.

Next day the lake was covered with thin, glare ice; on the glassy
surface near the shore were two ducks floundering. The men went as near
as they could, and Quonab said, "No, not duck, but Shingebis, divers.
They cannot rise except from water. In the night the new ice looks like
water; they come down and cannot rise. I have often seen it." Two days
after, a harder frost came on. The ice was safe for a dog; the divers or
grebes were still on its surface. So they sent Skookum. He soon returned
with two beautiful grebes, whose shining, white breast feathers are as
much prized as some furs.

Quonab grunted as he held them up. "Ugh, it is often so in this Mad
Moon. My father said it is because of Kaluskap's dancing."

"I don't remember that one."

"Yes, long ago. Kaluskap felt lazy. He wanted to eat, but did not wish
to hunt, so he called the bluejay and said: 'Tell all the woods that
to-morrow night Kaluskap gives a new dance and teaches a new song,'
and he told the hoot owl to do the same, so one kept it up all
day--'Kaluskap teaches a new dance to-morrow night,' and the other kept
it up all night: 'Kaluskap teaches a new song at next council.'

"Thus it came about that all the woods and waters sent their folk to the
dance.

"Then Kaluskap took his song-drum and said: 'When I drum and sing you
must dance in a circle the same way as the sun, close your eyes tightly,
and each one shout his war whoop, as I cry "new songs"!'

"So all began, with Kaluskap drumming in the middle, singing:

"'New songs from the south, brothers, Close your eyes tightly, brothers,
Dance and learn a new song.

"As they danced around, he picked out the fattest, and, reaching out
one hand, seized them and twisted their necks, shouting out, 'More
war-cries, more poise! that's it; now you are learning!'

"At length Shingebis the diver began to have his doubts and he
cautiously opened one eye, saw the trick, and shouted: 'Fly, brothers,
fly! Kaluskap is killing us!'

"Then all was confusion. Every one tried to escape, and Kaluskap, in
revenge, tried to kill the Shingebis. But the diver ran for the water
and, just as he reached the edge, Kaluskap gave him a kick behind that
sent him half a mile, but it knocked off all his tail feathers and
twisted his shape so that ever since his legs have stuck out where his
tail was, and he cannot rise from the land or the ice. I know it is so,
for my father, Cos Cob, told me it was true, and we ourselves have seen
it. It is ever so. To go against Kaluskap brings much evil to brood
over."

A few nights later, as they sat by their fire in the cabin, a curious
squeaking was heard behind the logs. They had often heard it before, but
never so much as now. Skookum turned his head on one side, set his ears
at forward cock. Presently, from a hole 'twixt logs and chimney, there
appeared a small, white breasted mouse.

Its nose and ears shivered a little; its black eyes danced in the
firelight. It climbed up to a higher log, scratched its ribs, then
rising on its hind legs, uttered one or two squeaks like those they had
heard so often, but soon they became louder and continuous:

"Peg, peo, peo, peo, peo, peo, peo, oo. Tree, tree, tree, tree,
trrrrrrr, Turr, turr, turr, tur, tur, Wee, wee, wee, we"--

The little creature was sitting up high on its hind legs, its belly
muscles were working, its mouth was gaping as it poured out its music.
For fully half a minute this went on, when Skookum made a dash; but the
mouse was quick and it flashed into the safety of its cranny.

Rolf gazed at Quonab inquiringly.

"That is Mish-a-boh-quas, the singing mouse. He always comes to tell of
war. In a little while there will be fighting."



Chapter 66. A Lesson in Stalking

"Did you ever see any fighting, Quonab?"

"Ugh! In Revolution, scouted for General Gates."

"Judging by the talk, we're liable to be called on before a year. What
will you do?"

"Fight."

"As soldier?"

"No! scout."

"They may not want us."

"Always want scouts," replied the Indian.

"It seems to me I ought to start training now."

"You have been training."

"How is that?"

"A scout is everything that an army is, but it's all in one man. An' he
don't have to keep step."

"I see, I see," replied Rolf, and he realized that a scout is merely
a trained hunter who is compelled by war to hunt his country's foes
instead of the beasts of the woods.

"See that?" said the Indian, and he pointed to a buck that was nosing
for cranberries in the open expanse across the river where it left the
lake. "Now, I show you scouting." He glanced at the smoke from the fire,
found it right for his plan, and said: "See! I take my bow. No cover,
yet I will come close and kill that deer."

Then began a performance that was new to Rolf, and showed that the
Indian had indeed reached the highest pitch of woodcraft. He took his
bow and three good arrows, tied a band around his head, and into this
stuck a lot of twigs and vines, so that his head looked like a tussock
of herbage. Then he left the shanty door, and, concealed by the last
bushes on the edge, he reached the open plain. Two hundred yards off was
the buck, nosing among the herbage, and, from time to time, raising its
superb head and columnar neck to look around. There was no cover but
creeping herbage. Rolf suspected that the Indian would decoy the buck by
some whistle or challenge, for the thickness of its neck showed the deer
to be in fighting humour.

Flat on his breast the Indian lay. His knees and elbow seemed to develop
centipedic power; his head was a mere clump of growing stuff. He snaked
his way quietly for twenty-five yards, then came to the open, sloping
shore, with the river forty yards wide of level shining ice, all in
plain view of the deer; how was this to be covered?

There is a well-known peculiarity of the white tail that the Indian was
counting on; when its head is down grazing, even though not hidden, the
deer does not see distant objects; before the head is raised, its tail
is raised or shaken. Quonab knew that if he could keep the tail in view,
he could avoid being viewed by the head. In a word, only an ill-timed
movement or a whiff could betray him.

The open ice was, of course, a hard test, and the hunter might have
failed, but that his long form looked like one of the logs that were
lying about half stranded or frozen in the stream.

Watching ever the alert head and tail, he timed his approach, working
hard and moving East when the head was down; but when warned by a
tail-jerk he turned to a log nor moved a muscle. Once the ice was
crossed, the danger of being seen was less, but of being smelt was
greater, for the deer was moving about, and Quonab watched the smoke
from the cabin for knowledge of the wind. So he came within fifty yards,
and the buck, still sniffing along and eagerly champing the few red
cranberries it found above the frozen moss, was working toward a
somewhat higher cover. The herbage was now fully eighteen inches high,
and Quonab moved a little faster. The buck found a large patch of
berries under a tussock and dropped on its knees to pick them out, while
Quonab saw the chance and gained ten yards before the tail gave warning.
After so long a feeding-spell, the buck took an extra long lookout,
and then walked toward the timber, whereby the Indian lost all he had
gained. But the browser's eye was drawn by a shining bunch of red, then
another; and now the buck swung until there was danger of betrayal by
the wind; then down went its head and Quonab retreated ten yards to keep
the windward. Once the buck raised its muzzle and sniffed with flaring
nostrils, as though its ancient friend had brought a warning. But soon
he seemed reassured, for the landscape showed no foe, and nosed back and
forth, while Quonab regained the yards he had lost. The buck worked now
to the taller cover, and again a tempting bunch of berries under a low,
dense bush caused it to kneel for farther under-reaching. Quonab glided
swiftly forward, reached the twenty-five-yard limit, rose to one knee,
bent the stark cedar bow. Rolf saw the buck bound in air, then make for
the wood with great, high leaps; the dash of disappointment was on him,
but Quonab stood erect, with right hand raised, and shouted:

"Ho--ho."

He knew that those bounds were unnecessarily high, and before the woods
had swallowed up the buck, it fell--rose--and fell again, to rise not.
The arrow had pierced its heart.

Then Rolf rushed up with kindled eye and exultant pride to slap his
friend on the back, and exclaim:

"I never thought it possible; the greatest feat in hunting I ever saw;
you are a wonder!"

To which the Indian softly replied, as he smiled:

"Ho! it was so I got eleven British sentries in the war. They gave me a
medal with Washington's head."

"They did! how is it I never heard of it? Where is it?"

The Indian's face darkened. "I threw it after the ship that stole my
Gamowini."



Chapter 67. Rolf Meets a Canuck

The winter might have been considered eventful, had not so many of the
events been repetitions of former experience. But there were several
that by their newness deserve a place on these pages, as they did in
Rolf's memory.

One of them happened soon after the first sharp frost. It had been an
autumn of little rain, so that many ponds had dried up, with the
result that hundreds of muskrats were forced out to seek more habitable
quarters. The first time Rolf saw one of these stranded mariners on its
overland journey, he gave heedless chase. At first it made awkward haste
to escape; then a second muskrat was discovered just ahead, and a third.
This added to Rolf's interest. In a few bounds he was among them, but it
was to get a surprise. Finding themselves overtaken, the muskrats turned
in desperation and attacked the common enemy with courage and fury. Rolf
leaped over the first, but the second sprang, caught him by the slack
of the trouser leg, and hung on. The third flung itself on his foot and
drove its sharp teeth through the moccasin. Quickly the first rallied
and sprang on his other leg with all the force of its puny paws, and
powerful jaws.

Meanwhile Quonab was laughing aloud and holding back Skookum, who,
breathing fire and slaughter, was mad to be in the fight.

"Ho! a good fight! good musquas! Ho, Skookum, you must not always take
care of him, or he will not learn to go alone.

"Ugh, good!" as the third muskrat gripped Rolf by the calf.

There could be but one finish, and that not long delayed. A well-placed
kick on one, the second swung by the tail, the third crushed under
his heel, and the affair ended. Rolf had three muskrats and five cuts.
Quonab had much joy and Skookum a sense of lost opportunity.

"This we should paint on the wigwam," said Quonab. "Three great warriors
attacked one Sagamore. They were very brave, but he was Nibowaka and
very strong; he struck them down as the Thunderbird, Hurakan, strikes
the dead pines the fire has left on the hilltop against the sky. Now
shall you eat their hearts, for they were brave. My father told me a
fighting muskrat's heart is great medicine; for he seeks peace while it
is possible, then he turns and fights without fear."

A few days later, they sighted a fox. In order to have a joke on
Skookum, they put him on its track, and away he went, letting off his
joy-whoops at every jump. The men sat down to wait, knowing full well
that after an hour Skookum would come back with a long tongue and an
air of depression. But they were favoured with an unexpected view of
the chase. It showed a fox bounding over the snow, and not twenty yards
behind was their energetic four-legged colleague.

And, still more unexpected, the fox was overtaken in the next thicket,
shaken to limpness, and dragged to be dropped at Quonab's feet.
This glorious victory by Skookum was less surprising, when a closer
examination showed that the fox had been in a bad way. Through some sad,
sudden indiscretion, he had tackled a porcupine and paid the penalty.
His mouth, jaws and face, neck and legs, were bristling with quills. He
was sick and emaciated. He could not have lasted many days longer, and
Skookum's summary lynching was a blessing in disguise.

The trappers' usual routine was varied by a more important happening.
One day of deep snow in January, when they were running the northern
line on Racquet River, they camped for the night at their shelter
cabin, and were somewhat surprised at dusk to hear a loud challenge from
Skookum replied to by a human voice, and a short man with black whiskers
appeared. He raised one hand in token of friendliness and was invited to
come in.

He was a French Canadian from La Colle Mills. He had trapped here for
some years. The almost certainty of war between Canada and the States
had kept his usual companions away. So he had trapped alone, always a
dangerous business, and had gathered a lot of good fur, but had fallen
on the ice and hurt himself inwardly, so that he had no strength. He
could tramp out on snowshoes, but could not carry his pack of furs. He
had long known that he had neighbours on the south; the camp fire smoke
proved that, and he had come now to offer all his furs for sale.

Quonab shook his head, but Rolf said, "We'll come over and see them."

A two-hours' tramp in the morning brought them to the Frenchman's cabin.
He opened out his furs; several otter, many sable, some lynx, over
thirty beaver--the whole lot for two hundred dollars. At Lyons Falls
they were worth double that.

Rolf saw a chance for a bargain. He whispered, "We can double our money
on it, Quonab. What do ye say?"

The reply was simply, "Ugh! you are Nibowaka."

"We'll take your offer, if we can fix it up about payment, for I have no
money with me and barely two hundred dollars at the cabin."

"You half tabac and grosairs?"

"Yes, plenty."

"You can go 'get 'em? Si?"

Rolf paused, looked down, then straight at the Frenchman.

"Will you trust me to take half the fur now; when I come back with the
pay I can get the rest."

The Frenchman looked puzzled, then, "By Gar you look de good look. I let
um go. I tink you pretty good fellow, parbleu!"

So Rolf marched away with half the furs and four days later he was back
and paid the pale-faced but happy Frenchman the one hundred and fifty
dollars he had received from Van Cortlandt, with other bills making one
hundred and ninety-five dollars and with groceries and tobacco enough to
satisfy the trapper. The Frenchman proved a most amiable character.
He and Rolf took to each other greatly, and when they shook hands at
parting, it was in the hope of an early and happier meeting.

Francois la Colle turned bravely for the ninety-mile tramp over the snow
to his home, while Rolf went south with the furs that were to prove
a most profitable investment, shaping his life in several ways, and
indirectly indeed of saving it on one occasion.



Chapter 68. War

Eighteen hundred and twelve had passed away. President Madison, driven
by wrongs to his countrymen and indignities that no nation should meekly
accept, had in the midsummer declared war on Great Britain. Unfitted to
cope with the situation and surrounded by unfit counsellors, his little
army of heroic men led by unfit commanders had suffered one reverse
after another.

The loss of Fort Mackinaw, Chicago, Detroit, Brownstown, and the total
destruction of the American army that attacked Queenstown were but
poorly offset by the victory at Niagara and the successful defence of
Ogdensburg.

Rolf and Quonab had repaired to Albany as arranged, but they left it
as United States scouts, not as guides to the four young sportsmen who
wished to hark back to the primitive.

Their first commission had been the bearing of despatches to Plattsburg.

With a selected light canoe and a minimum of baggage they reached
Ticonderoga in two days, and there renewed their acquaintance
with General Hampton, who was fussing about, and digging useless
entrenchments as though he expected a mighty siege. Rolf was called
before him to receive other despatches for Colonel Pike at Plattsburg.
He got the papers and learned their destination, then immediately made a
sad mistake. "Excuse me, sir," he began, "if I meet with--"

"Young man," said the general, severely, "I don't want any of your 'ifs'
or 'buts'; your orders are 'go.' 'How' and 'if' are matters for you to
find out; that's what you are paid for."

Rolf bowed; his cheeks were tingling. He was very angry at what he
thought a most uncalled for rebuke, but he got over it, and he never
forgot the lesson. It was Si Sylvanne that put it into rememberable
form.

"A fool horse kin follow a turnpike, but it takes a man with wits to
climb, swim, boat, skate, run, hide, go it blind, pick a lock, take the
long way, round, when it's the short way across, run away at the right
time, or fight when it's wise--all in one afternoon." Rolf set out for
the north carrying a bombastic (meant to be reassuring) message from
Hampton that he would annihilate any enemy who dared to desecrate the
waters of the lake.

It was on this trip that Rolf learned from Quonab the details of the
latter's visit to his people on the St. Regis. Apparently the joy of
meeting a few of his own kin, with whom he could talk his own language,
was offset by meeting with a large number of his ancient enemies the
Mohawks. There had been much discussion of the possible war between the
British and the Yankees. The Mohawks announced their intention to fight
for the British, which was a sufficient reason for Quonab as a Sinawa
remaining with the Americans; and when he left the St. Regis reserve the
Indian was without any desire to reenter it.

At Plattsburg Rolf and Quonab met with another Albany acquaintance in
General Wilkinson, and from him received despatches which they brought
back to Albany, having covered the whole distance in eight days.

When 1812 was gone Rolf had done little but carry despatches up and down
Lake Champlain. Next season found the Americans still under command of
Generals Wilkinson and Hampton, whose utter incompetence was becoming
daily more evident.

The year 1813 saw Rolf, eighteen years old and six feet one in his
socks, a trained scout and despatch bearer.

By a flying trip on snowshoes in January he took letters, from General
Hampton at Ticonderoga to Sackett's Harbour and back in eight days,
nearly three hundred miles. It made him famous as a runner, but the
tidings that he brought were sad. Through him they learned in detail of
the total defeat and capture of the American army at Frenchtown. After a
brief rest he was sent across country on snowshoes to bear a reassuring
message to Ogdensburg. The weather was much colder now, and the single
blanket bed was dangerously slight; so "Flying Kittering," as they named
him, took a toboggan and secured Quonab as his running mate. Skookum
was given into safe keeping. Blankets, pots, cups, food, guns, and
despatches were strapped on the toboggan, and they sped away at dawn
from Ticonderoga on the 18th of February 1813, headed northwestward,
guided by little but the compass. Thirty miles that day they made in
spite of piercing blasts and driving snow. But with the night there
began a terrible storm with winds of zero chill. The air was filled
with stinging, cutting snow. When they rose at daylight they were nearly
buried in drifts, although their camp was in a dense, sheltered thicket.
Guided wholly by the compass they travelled again, but blinded by the
whirling white they stumbled and blundered into endless difficulties
and made but poor headway. After dragging the toboggan for three hours,
taking turns at breaking the way, they were changing places when Rolf
noticed a large gray patch on Quonab's cheek and nose.

"Quonab, your face is frozen," he said.

"So is yours," was the reply.

Now they turned aside, followed a hollow until they reached a spruce
grove, where they camped and took an observation, to learn that the
compass and they held widely different views about the direction of
travel. It was obviously useless to face the storm. They rubbed out
their frozen features with dry snow and rested by the fire.

No good scout seeks for hardship; he avoids the unnecessary trial of
strength and saves himself for the unavoidable. With zero weather about
them and twenty-four hours to wait in the storm, the scouts set about
making themselves thoroughly comfortable.

With their snowshoes they dug away the snow in a circle a dozen feet
across, piling it up on the outside so as to make that as high as
possible. When they were down to the ground, the wall of snow around
them was five feet high. Now they went forth with the hatchets, cut many
small spruces, and piled them against the living spruces about the camp
till there was a dense mass of evergreen foliage ten feet high around
them, open only at the top, where was a space five feet across. With
abundance of dry spruce wood, a thick bed of balsam boughs, and plenty
of blankets they were in what most woodmen consider comfort complete.

They had nothing to do now but wait. Quonab sat placidly smoking, Rolf
was sewing a rent in his coat, the storm hissed, and the wind-driven ice
needles rattled through the trees to vary the crackle of the fire with a
"siss" as they fell on the embers. The low monotony of sound was lulling
in its evenness, when a faint crunch of a foot on the snow was heard.
Rolf reached for his gun, the fir tree screen was shaken a little, and a
minute later there bounded in upon them the snow covered form of little
dog Skookum, expressing his good-will by excessive sign talk in which
every limb and member had a part. They had left him behind, indeed, but
not with his consent, so the bargain was incomplete.

There was no need to ask now, What shall we do with him? Skookum had
settled that, and why or how he never attempted to explain.

He was wise who made it law that "as was his share who went forth to
battle, so shall his be that abode with the stuff," for the hardest of
all is the waiting. In the morning there was less doing in the elemental
strife. There were even occasional periods of calm and at length it grew
so light that surely the veil was breaking.

Quonab returned from a brief reconnoitre to say, "Ugh!--good going."

The clouds were broken and flying, the sun came out at times, but the
wind was high, the cold intense, and the snow still drifting. Poor
Skookum had it harder than the men, for they wore snowshoes; but he kept
his troubles to himself and bravely trudged along behind. Had he been
capable of such reflection he might have said, "What delightful weather,
it keeps the fleas so quiet."

That day there was little to note but the intense cold, and again both
men had their cheeks frost-bitten on the north side. A nook under an
overhanging rock gave a good camp that night. Next day the bad weather
resumed, but, anxious to push on they faced it, guided chiefly by the
wind. It was northwest, and as long as they felt this fierce, burning
cold mercilessly gnawing on their hapless tender right cheek bones, they
knew they were keeping their proper main course.

They were glad indeed to rest at dusk and thaw their frozen faces. Next
day at dawn they were off; at first it was calm, but the surging of the
snow waves soon began again, and the air was filled with the spray of
their lashing till it was hard to see fifty yards in any direction. They
were making very bad time. The fourth day should have brought them to
Ogdensburg, but they were still far off; how far they could only guess,
for they had not come across a house or a settler.



Chapter 69. Ogdensburg

The same blizzard was raging on the next day when Skookum gave
unequivocal sign talk that he smelled something.

It is always well to find out what stirs your dog. Quonab looked hard at
Skookum. That sagacious mongrel was sniffing vigorously, up in the air,
not on the ground; his mane was not bristling, and the patch of dark
hair that every gray or yellow dog has at the base of his tail, was not
lifted.

"He smells smoke," was the Indian's quick diagnosis. Rolf pointed Up the
wind and made the sign-talk query. Quonab nodded.

It was their obvious duty to find out who was their smoky neighbour.
They were now not so far from the St. Lawrence; there was a small chance
of the smoke being from a party of the enemy; there was a large chance
of it being from friends; and the largest chance was that it came from
some settler's cabin where they could get necessary guidance.

They turned aside. The wind now, instead of on the right cheek, was
square in their faces. Rolf went forward increasing his pace till he was
as far ahead as was possible without being out of sight. After a mile
their way led downward, the timber was thicker, the wind less, and the
air no more befogged with flying snow. Rolf came to a long, deep trench
that wound among the trees; the snow at the bottom of it was very hard.
This was what he expected; the trail muffled under new, soft snow, but
still a fresh trail and leading to the camp that Skookum had winded.

He turned and made the sign for them to halt and wait. Then strode
cautiously along the winding guide line.

In twenty minutes the indications of a settlement increased, and the
scout at length was peering from the woods across the open down to a
broad stream on whose bank was a saw mill, with the usual wilderness of
ramshackle shanties, sheds, and lumber piles about.

There was no work going on, which was a puzzle till Rolf remembered
it was Sunday. He went boldly up and asked for the boss. His whole
appearance was that of a hunter and as such the boss received him.

He was coming through from the other side and had missed his way in the
storm, he explained.

"What are ye by trade?"

"A trapper."

"Where are ye bound now?"

"Well, I'll head for the nearest big settlement, whatever that is."

"It's just above an even thing between Alexandria Bay and Ogdensburg."

So Rolf inquired fully about the trail to Alexandria Bay that he did not
want to go to. Why should he be so careful? The mill owner was clearly
a good American, but the scout had no right to let any outsider know his
business. This mill owner might be safe, but he might be unwise and blab
to some one who was not all right.

Then in a casual way he learned that this was the Oswegatchie River and
thirty miles down he would find the town of Ogdensburg.

No great recent events did he hear of, but evidently the British
troops across the river were only awaiting the springtime before taking
offensive measures.

For the looks of it, Rolf bought some tea and pork, but the hospitable
mill man refused to take payment and, leaving in the direction of
Alexandria Bay, Rolf presently circled back and rejoined his friends in
the woods.

A long detour took them past the mill. It was too cold for outdoor
idling. Every window was curtained with frost, and not a soul saw them
as they tramped along past the place and down to continue on the ice of
the Oswegatchie.

Pounded by the ceaseless wind, the snow on the ice was harder, travel
was easier, and the same tireless blizzard wiped out the trail as soon
as it was behind them.

Crooked is the river trail, but good the footing, and good time was
made. When there was a north reach, the snow was extra hard or the ice
clear and the scouts slipped off their snow shoes, and trotted at a good
six-mile gait. Three times they halted for tea and rest, but the fact
that they were the bearers of precious despatches, the bringers of
inspiring good news, and their goal ever nearer, spurred them on and
on. It was ten o'clock that morning when they left the mill, some thirty
miles from Ogdensburg. It was now near sundown, but still they figured
that by an effort they could reach the goal that night. It was their
best day's travel, but they were nerved to it by the sense of triumph as
they trotted; and the prospective joy of marching up to the commandant
and handing over the eagerly looked for, reassuring documents, gave
them new strength and ambition. Yes! they must push on at any price that
night. Day was over now; Rolf was leading at a steady trot. In his hand
he held the long trace of his toboggan, ten feet behind was Quonab with
the short trace, while Skookum trotted before, beside, or behind, as was
dictated by his general sense of responsibility.

It was quite dark now. There was no moon, the wooded shore was black.
Their only guide was the broad, wide reach of the river, sometimes swept
bare of snow by the wind, but good travelling at all times. They were
trotting and walking in spells, going five miles an hour; Quonab was
suffering, but Rolf was young and eager to finish. They rounded another
reach, they were now on the last big bend, they were reeling off the
miles; only ten more, and Rolf was so stirred that, instead of dropping
to the usual walk on signal at the next one hundred yards spell, he
added to his trot. Quonab, taken unawares, slipped and lost his hold of
the trace. Rolf shot ahead and a moment later there was the crash of a
breaking air-hole, and Rolf went through the ice, clutched at the broken
edge and disappeared, while the toboggan was dragged to the hole.

Quonab sprung to his feet, and then to the lower side of the hole.
The toboggan had swung to the same place and the long trace was tight;
without a moment's delay the Indian hauled at it steadily, heavily, and
in a few seconds the head of his companion reappeared; still clutching
that long trace he was safely dragged from the ice-cold flood, blowing
and gasping, shivering and sopping, but otherwise unhurt.

Now here a new danger presented itself. The zero wind would soon turn
his clothes to boards. They stiffened in a few minutes, and the Indian
knew that frozen hands and feet were all too easy in frozen clothes.

He made at once for the shore, and, seeking the heart of a spruce
thicket, lost no time in building two roaring fires between which Rolf
stood while the Indian made the bed, in which, as soon as he could be
stripped, the lad was glad to hide. Warm tea and warm blankets made
him warm, but it would take an hour or two to dry his clothes. There is
nothing more damaging than drying them too quickly. Quonab made racks of
poles and spent the next two hours in regulating the fire, watching the
clothes, and working the moccasins.

It was midnight when they were ready and any question of going on at
once was settled by Quonab. "Ogdensburg is under arms," he said. "It is
not wise to approach by night."

At six in the morning they were once more going, stiff with travel,
sore-footed, face-frozen, and chafed by delay; but, swift and keen,
trotting and walking, they went. They passed several settlements, but
avoided them. At seven-thirty they had a distant glimpse of Ogdensburg
and heard the inspiring roll of drums, and a few minutes later from
the top of a hill they had a complete view of the heroic little town to
see--yes! plainly enough--that the British flag was flying from the flag
pole.



Chapter 70. Saving the Despatches

Oh, the sickening shock of it! Rolf did not know till now how tired he
was, how eager to deliver the heartening message, and to relax a little
from the strain. He felt weak through and through. There could be no
doubt that a disaster had befallen his country's arms.

His first care was to get out of sight with his sled and those precious
despatches.

Now what should he do? Nothing till he had fuller information. He sent
Quonab back with the sled, instructing him to go to a certain place two
miles off, there camp out of sight and wait.

Then he went in alone. Again and again he was stung by the thought, "If
I had come sooner they might have held out."

A number of teams gathered at the largest of a group of houses on the
bank suggested a tavern. He went in and found many men sitting down
to breakfast. He had no need to ask questions. It was the talk of the
table. Ogdensburg had been captured the day before. The story is well
known. Colonel MacDonnell with his Glengarry Highlanders at Prescott
went to drill daily on the ice of the St. Lawrence opposite Ogdensburg.
Sometimes they marched past just out of range, sometimes they charged
and wheeled before coming too near. The few Americans that held the
place watched these harmless exercises and often cheered some clever
manceuvre. They felt quite safe behind their fortification. By an
unwritten agreement both parties refrained from firing random shots at
each other. There was little to suggest enemies entrenched; indeed, many
men in each party had friends in the other, and the British had several
times trotted past within easy range, without provoking a shot.

On February 22d, the day when Rolf and Quonab struck the Oswegatchie,
the British colonel directed his men as usual, swinging them ever nearer
the American fort, and then, at the nearest point, executed a very
pretty charge. The Americans watched it as it neared, but instead of
wheeling at the brink the little army scrambled up with merry shouts,
and before the garrison could realize that this was war, they were
overpowered and Ogdensburg was taken.

The American commander was captured. Captain Forsyth, the second in
command, had been off on a snowshoe trip, so had escaped. All the
rest were prisoners, and what to do with the despatches or how to get
official instructions was now a deep problem. "When you don't know a
thing to do, don't do a thing," was one of Si Sylvanne's axioms; also,
"In case of doubt lay low and say nothing." Rolf hung around the town
all day waiting for light. About noon a tall, straight, alert man in a
buffalo coat drove up with a cutter. He had a hasty meal in an inside
room. Rolf sized him up for an American officer, but there was a
possibility of his being a Canadian. Rolf tried in vain to get light on
him but the inner door was kept closed; the landlord was evidently in
the secret. When he came out he was again swaddled in the buffalo coat.
Rolf brushed past him--here was something hard and long in the right
pocket of the big coat.

The landlord, the guest, and the driver had a whispered conference.
Rolf went as near as he dared, but got only a searching look. The driver
spoke to another driver and Rolf heard the words "Black Lake." Yes,
that was what he suspected. Black Lake was on the inland sleigh route to
Alexandria Bay and Sackett's Harbour.

The driver, a fresh young fellow, was evidently interested in the
landlord's daughter; the stranger was talking with the landlord. As soon
as they had parted, Rolf went to the latter and remarked quietly: "The
captain is in a hurry." The only reply was a cold look and: "Guess
that's his business." So it was the captain. The driver's mitts were on
the line back of the stove. Rolf shook them so that they fell in a dark
corner. The driver missed his mitts, and glad of a chance went back in,
leaving the officer alone. "Captain Forsyth," whispered Rolf, "don't go
till I have talked with you. I'll meet you a mile down the road."

"Who are you and what do you want?" was the curt and hostile reply,
evidently admitting the identification correct however.

Rolf opened his coat and showed his scout badge.

"Why not talk now if you have any news--come in side." So the two went
to the inner room. "Who is this?" asked Rolf cautiously as the landlord
came in.

"He's all right. This is Titus Flack, the landlord."

"How am I to know that?"

"Haven't you heard him called by name all day?" said the captain.

Flack smiled, went out and returned with his license to sell liquor, and
his commission as a magistrate of New York State. The latter bore his
own signature. He took a pen and reproduced it. Now the captain threw
back his overcoat and stood in the full uniform of an army officer.
He opened his satchel and took out a paper, but Rolf caught sight of
another packet addressed to General Hampton. The small one was merely a
map. "I think that packet in there is meant for me," remarked Rolf.

"We haven't seen your credentials yet," said the officer. "I have them
two miles back there," and Rolf pointed to the woods.

"Let's go," said the captain and they arose. Kittering had a way of
inspiring confidence, but in the short, silent ride of two miles the
captain began to have his doubts. The scout badge might have been
stolen; Canadians often pass for Americans, etc. At length they stopped
the sleigh, and Rolf led into the woods. Before a hundred yards the
officer said, "Stop," and Rolf stopped to find a pistol pointed at his
head. "Now, young fellow, you've played it pretty slick, and I don't
know yet what to make of it. But I know this; at the very first sign of
treachery I'll blow your brains out anyway." It gave Rolf a jolt. This
was the first time he had looked down a pistol barrel levelled at him.
He used to think a pistol a little thing, an inch through and a foot
long, but he found now it seemed as big as a flour barrel and long
enough to reach eternity. He changed colour but quickly recovered,
smiled, and said: "Don't worry; in five minutes you will know it's all
right."

Very soon a sharp bark was heard in challenge, and the two stepped into
camp to meet Quonab and little dog Skookum.

"Doesn't look much like a trap," thought the captain after he had cast
his eyes about and made sure that no other person was in the camp; then
aloud, "Now what have you to show me?"

"Excuse me, captain, but how am I to know you are Captain Forsyth? It is
possible for a couple of spies to give all the proof you two gave me."

The captain opened his bag and showed first his instructions given
before he left Ogdensburg four days ago; he bared his arm and showed a
tattooed U. S. A., a relic of Academy days, then his linen marked J. F.,
and a signet ring with similar initials, and last the great packet of
papers addressed to General Hampton. Then he said: "When you hand over
your despatches to me I will give mine to you and we shall have good
guarantee each of the other."

Rolf rose, produced his bundle of papers, and exchanged them for those
held by Forsyth; each felt that the other was safe. They soon grew
friendly, and Rolf heard of some stirring doings on the lake and
preparations for a great campaign in the spring.

After half an hour the tall, handsome captain left them and strode away,
a picture of manly vigour. Three hours later they were preparing their
evening meal when Skookum gave notice of a stranger approaching. This
was time of war; Rolf held his rifle ready, and a moment later in burst
the young man who had been Captain Forsyth's driver.

His face was white; blood dripped from his left arm, and in his other
hand was the despatch bag. He glanced keenly at Rolf. "Are you General
Hampton's scout?" Rolf nodded and showed the badge on his breast.
"Captain Forsyth sent this back," he gasped. "His last words were, 'Burn
the despatches rather than let the British get them.' They got him--a
foraging party--there was a spy at the hotel. I got away, but my tracks
are easy to follow unless it drifts. Don't wait."

Poor boy, his arm was broken, but he carried out the dead officer's
command, then left them to seek for relief in the settlement.

Night was near, but Rolf broke camp at once and started eastward with
the double packet. He did not know it then, but learned afterward that
these despatches made clear the weakness of Oswego, Rochester, and
Sackett's Harbour, their urgent need of help, and gave the whole plan
for an American counter attack on Montreal. But he knew they were
valuable, and they must at once be taken to General Hampton.

It was rough, hard going in the thick woods and swamps away from the
river, for he did not dare take the ice route now, but they pushed on
for three hours, then, in the gloom, made a miserable camp in a cedar
swamp.

At dawn they were off again. To their disgust the weather now was dead
calm; there was no drift to hide their tracks; the trail was as plain as
a highway wherever they went. They came to a beaten road, followed that
for half a mile, then struck off on the true line. But they had no idea
that they were followed until, after an hour of travel, the sun came up
and on a far distant slope, full two miles away, they saw a thin black
line of many spots, at least a dozen British soldiers in pursuit.

The enemy was on snowshoes, and without baggage evidently, for they
travelled fast. Rolf and Quonab burdened with the sled were making
a losing race. But they pushed on as fast as possible--toiling and
sweating at that precious load. Rolf was pondering whether the time had
not yet come to stop and burn the packet, when, glancing back from a
high ridge that gave an outlook, he glimpsed a row of heads that dropped
behind some rocks half a mile away, and a scheme came into his mind. He
marched boldly across the twenty feet opening that was in the enemy's
view, dropped behind the spruce thickets, called Quonab to follow, ran
around the thicket, and again crossed the open view. So he and Quonab
continued for five minutes, as fast as they could go, knowing perfectly
well that they were watched. Round and round that bush they went,
sometimes close together, carrying the guns, sometimes dragging the
sled, sometimes with blankets on their shoulders, sometimes with a short
bag or even a large cake of snow on their backs. They did everything
they could to vary the scene, and before five minutes the British
officer in charge had counted fifty-six armed Americans marching in
single file up the bank with ample stores, accompanied by five yellow
dogs. Had Skookum been allowed to carry out his ideas, there would have
been fifty or sixty yellow dogs, so thoroughly did he enter into the
spirit of the game.

The track gave no hint of such a troop, but of course not, how could it?
since the toboggan left all smooth after they had passed, or maybe this
was a reinforcement arriving. What could he do with his ten men against
fifty of the enemy? He thanked his stars that he had so cleverly evaded
the trap, and without further attempt to gauge the enemy's strength, he
turned and made all possible haste back to the shelter of Ogdensburg.



Chapter 71. Sackett's Harbour

It was hours before Rolf was sure that he had stopped the pursuit, and
the thing that finally set his mind at rest was the rising wind that
soon was a raging and drifting snow storm. "Oh, blessed storm!" he said
in his heart, as he marked all trail disappear within a few seconds
of its being made. And he thought: "How I cursed the wind that held me
back--really from being made prisoner. How vexed I was at that ducking
in the river, that really saved my despatches from the enemy. How
thankful I am now for the storm that a little while back seemed so
bitterly cruel."

That forenoon they struck the big bend of the river and now did not
hesitate to use the easy travel on the ice as far as Rensselaer Falls,
where, having got their bearings from a settler, they struck across the
country through the storm, and at night were encamped some forty miles
from Ogdensburg.

Marvellously few signs of game had they seen in this hard trip;
everything that could hide away was avoiding the weather. But in a cedar
bottom land near Cranberry Lake they found a "yard" that seemed to be
the winter home of hundreds of deer. It extended two or three miles one
way a half a mile the other; in spite of the deep snow this was nearly
all in beaten paths. The scouts saw at least fifty deer in going
through, so, of course, had no difficulty in selecting a young buck for
table use.

The going from there on was of little interest. It was the same old
daily battle with the frost, but less rigorous than before, for now the
cold winds were behind, and on the 27th of February, nine days after
leaving, they trotted into Ticonderoga and reported at the commandant's
headquarters.

The general was still digging entrenchments and threatening to
annihilate all Canada. But the contents of the despatches gave him new
topics for thought and speech. The part he must play in the proposed
descent on Montreal was flattering, but it made the Ticonderoga
entrenchments ridiculous.

For three days Rolf was kept cutting wood, then he went with despatches
to Albany.

Many minor labours, from hog-killing to stable-cleaning and trenching,
varied the month of March. Then came the uncertain time of April when
it was neither canoeing nor snow-shoeing and all communication from the
north was cut off.

But May, great, glorious May came on, with its inspiring airs and
livening influence. Canoes were afloat, the woods were brown beneath and
gold above.

Rolf felt like a young stag in his strength. He was spoiling for a run
and volunteered eagerly to carry despatches to Sackett's Harbour. He
would go alone, for now one blanket was sufficient bed, and a couple of
pounds of dry meat was enough food for each day. A small hatchet would
be useful, but his rifle seemed too heavy to carry; as he halted in
doubt, a junior officer offered him a pistol instead, and he gladly
stuck it in his belt.

Taller than ever, considerably over six feet now, somewhat lanky, but
supple of joint and square of shoulder, he strode with the easy stride
of a strong traveller. His colour was up, his blue-gray eyes ablaze
as he took the long trail in a crow line across country for Sackett's
Harbour. The sentry saluted, and the officer of the day, struck by his
figure and his glowing face as much as by the nature of his errand,
stopped to shake hands and say, "Well, good luck, Kittering, and may you
bring us better news than the last two times."

Rolf knew how to travel now; he began softly. At a long, easy stride he
went for half an hour, then at a swinging trot for a mile or two. Five
miles an hour he could make, but there was one great obstacle to speed
at this season--every stream was at flood, all were difficult to cross.
The brooks he could wade or sometimes could fell a tree across them, but
the rivers were too wide to bridge, too cold and dangerous to swim. In
nearly every case he had to make a raft. A good scout takes no chances.
A slight raft means a risky passage; a good one, a safe crossing but
loss of time in preparations. Fifteen good rafts did Rolf make in that
cross-country journey of three days: dry spruce logs he found each time
and bound them together with leather-wood and withes of willow. It meant
a delay of at least an hour each time; that is five hours each day. But
the time was wisely spent. The days were lengthening; he could travel
much at dusk. Soon he was among settlements. Rumours he got at a
settler's cabin of Sir George Prevost's attack on Sackett's Harbour and
the gallant repulse and at morning of the fourth day he came on the hill
above Sackett's Harbour--the same hill where he had stood three months
before. It was with something like a clutching of his breath that he
gazed; his past experiences suggested dreadful thoughts but no--thank
God, "Old Glory" floated from the pole. He identified himself to the
sentinels and the guard, entered the fort at a trot, and reported at
headquarters.

There was joy on every side. At last the tide had turned. Commodore
Chauncey, after sweeping Lake Ontario, had made a sudden descent on York
(Toronto now) the capital of Upper Canada, had seized and destroyed
it. Sir George Prevost, taking advantage of Chauncey's being away, had
attacked Sackett's Harbour, but, in spite of the absence of the fleet,
the resistance had been so vigorous that in a few days the siege was
abandoned.

There were shot holes in walls and roofs, there were a few wounded
in the hospital, the green embankments were torn, and the flag-pole
splintered; but the enemy was gone, the starry flag was floating on the
wind, and the sturdy little garrison filled with a spirit that grows
only in heroes fighting for their homes.

How joyfully different from Ogdensburg.



Chapter 72. Scouting Across Country

That very night, Rolf turned again with the latest news and the
commandant's reports.

He was learning the country well now, and, with the wonderful
place-memory of a woodman, he was able to follow his exact back trail.
It might not have been the best way, but it gave him this advantage--in
nearly every case he was able to use again the raft he had made in
coming, and thereby saved many hours of precious time.

On the way out he had seen a good many deer and one bear, and had heard
the howling of wolves every night; but always at a distance. On the
second night, in the very heart of the wilderness, the wolves were noisy
and seemed very near. Rolf was camping in the darkness. He made a small
fire with such stuff as he could find by groping, then, when the fire
blazed, he discovered by its light a dead spruce some twenty yards away.
Taking his hatchet he went toward this, and, as he did so, a wolf rose
up, with its forefeet on a log, only five yards beyond the tree and
gazed curiously at him. Others were heard calling; presently this wolf
raised its muzzle and uttered a long smooth howl.