Rolf In The Woods by Ernest Thompson Seton (phonics story books .txt) 📕

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.

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.