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

Position; And How Long He Must Stay Was A Problem. He Would Try

To Escape When All Was Still.

The Nearer Soldiers Settled To Rest Now. All Was Very Quiet When

Rolf Cautiously Peeped Forth To See Two Dreadful Things: First,  A

Couple Of Sentries Pacing Up And Down The Edges Of The Camp;

Second,  A Broad,  Brilliant,  Rising Moon. How Horrible That Lovely

Orb Could Be Rolf Never Before Knew.

Now,  What Next? He Was Trapped In The Middle Of A Military Camp

And Undoubtedly La Colle Mill Was The Rendezvous For Some

Important Expedition.

He Had Ample Time To Think It All Over. Unless He Could Get Away

Before Day He Would Surely Be Discovered. His Uniform Might Save

His Life,  But Soldiers Have An Awkward,  Hasty Way Of Dealing

Summarily With A Spy -- Then Discovering Too Late That He Was In

Uniform.

From Time To Time He Peered Forth,  But The Scene Was Unchanged --

The Sleeping Regiment,  The Pacing Sentries,  The Ever-Brightening

Moon. Then The Guard Was Changed,  And The Sentries Relieved

Selected Of All Places For Their Beds,  The Bank Beside The

Hay-Cock. Again One Of Them Went To Help Himself To Some Hay For

A Couch; And Again The Comic Anger As He Discovered It To Be A

Bed Of Thorns. How Thankful Rolf Was For Those Annoying Things

That Pricked His Face And Neck.

He Was Now Hemmed In On Every Side And,  Not Knowing What To Do,

Did Nothing. For A Couple Of Hours He Lay Still,  Then Actually

Fell Asleep. He Was Awakened By A Faint Rustling Near His Head

And Peered Forth To See A Couple Of Field Mice Playing About.

The Moon Was Very Bright Now,  And The Movements Of The Mice Were

Plain; They Were Feeding On The Seeds Of Plants In The Hay-Cock,

And From Time To Time Dashed Under - The Hay. Then They Gambolled

Farther Off And Were Making Merry Over A Pod Of Wild Peas When A

Light Form Came Skimming Noiselessly Over The Field. There Was A

Flash,  A Hurried Rush,  A Clutch,  A Faint Squeak,  And One Of The

Mice Was Borne Away In The Claws Of Its Feathered Foe. The

Survivor Scrambled Under The Hay Over Rolf's Face And Somewhere

Into Hiding.

The Night Passed In Many Short Naps. The Bugle Sounded At

Daybreak And The Soldiers Arose To Make Breakfast. Again One

Approached To Use A Handful Of Hay For Fire-Kindler,  And Again

The Friendly Thistles Did Their Part. More And More Now His Ear

Caught Suggestive Words And Sounds -- "Plattsburg" -- "The

Colonel" -- Etc.

The Breakfast Smelt Wonderfully Captivating -- Poor Rolf Was

Famished. The Alluring Aroma Of Coffee Permeated The Hay-Cock. He

Had His Dried Meat,  But His Need Was Water; He Was Tormented With

Thirst,  And Stiff And Tortured; He Was Making The Hardest Fight

Of His Life. It Seemed Long,  Though Doubtless It Was Less Than

Half An Hour Before The Meal Was Finished,  And To Rolf's Relief

There Were Sounds Of Marching And The Noises Were Drowned In The

Distance.

By Keeping His Head Covered With Hay And Slowly Raising It,  He

Was Safe To Take A Look Around. It Was A Bright,  Sunny Morning.

The Hay-Cock,  Or Thistle-Cock,  Was One Of Several That Had Been

Rejected. It Was A Quarter-Mile From Cover; The Soldiers Were At

Work Cutting Timber And Building A Stockade Around The Mill; And,

Most Dreadful To Relate,  A Small Dog Was Prowling About,  Looking

For Scraps On The Scene Of The Soldiers' Breakfast. If That Dog

Came Near His Hiding-Place,  He Knew The Game Was Up. At Such

Close Quarters,  You Can Fool A Man But Not A Dog.

Fortunately The Breakfast Tailings Proved Abundant,  And The Dog

Went Off To Assist A Friend Of His In Making Sundry Interesting

Smell Analyses Along The Gate Posts Of The Stockade.

This Was Temporary Relief,  But Left No Suggestion Of Complete

Escape. He Lay There Till Nearly Noon Suffering More And More

From The Cramped Position And Thirst,  And Utterly Puzzled As To

The Next Move.

"When Ye Don't Like Whar Ye Air,  Git Up Without Any Fuss,  And Go

Whar Ye Want To Be," Was What Sylvanne Once Said To Him,  And It

Came To Rolf With Something Like A Comic Shock. The Soldiers Were

Busy In The Woods And Around The Forges. In Half An Hour It Would

Be Noon And They Might Come Back To Eat.

Rolf Rose Without Attempting Any Further Concealment,  Then

Stopped,  Made A Bundle Of The Stuff That Had Sheltered Him And,

Carrying This On His Shoulder,  Strode Boldly Across The Field

Toward The Woods.

His Scout Uniform Was Inconspicuous; The Scouts On Duty At The

Mill Saw Only One Of Themselves Taking A Bundle Of Hay Round To

The Stables.

He Reached The Woods Absolutely Unchallenged. After A Few Yards

In Its Friendly Shade,  He Dropped The Thorny Bundle And Strode

Swiftly Toward His Own Camp. He Had Not Gone A Hundred Yards

Before A Voice Of French Type Cried "'Alt," And He Was Face To

Face With A Sentry Whose Musket Was Levelled At Him.

A Quick Glance Interchanged,  And Each Gasped Out The Other's

Name.

"Francois La Colle!"

"Rolf Kittering! Mon Dieu! I Ought To Shoot You,  Rolf; I Cannot,

I Cannot! But Run,  Run! I'll Shoot Over Your Head," And His

Kindly Eyes Filled With Tears.

Rolf Needed No Second Hint; He Ran Like A Deer,  And The Musket

Ball Rattled The Branches Above His Shoulders.

In A Few Minutes Other Soldiers Came Running And From La Colle

They Heard Of The Hostile Spy In Camp.

"I Shoot; I T'ink Maybe I Not Hit Eem; Maybe Some Brood Dere? No,

Dat Netting."

There Were Both Runners And Trackers In Camp. They Were Like

Bloodhounds And They Took Up The Trail Of The Fugitive. But Rolf

Was Playing His Own Game Now; He Was "Flying Kittering." A

Crooked Trail Is Hard To Follow,  And,  Going At The Long Stride

That Had Made His Success,  He Left Many A Crook And Turn. Before

Two Miles I They Gave It Up And The Fugitive Coming To The River

Drank  A Deep And Cooling Draught,  The First He Had Had That Day.

Five Miles Through Is The Dense Forest That Lies Between La Colle

And The Border. He Struck A Creek Affluent Of The Richelieu River And

Followed To Its Forks,  Which Was The Place Of Rendezvous With Quonab.

It Was Evening As He Drew Near And After Long,  Attentive

Listening He Gave The Cry Of The Barred Owl:

The Answer Came: A Repetition Of The Last Line,  And A Minute

Later The Two Scouts Were Together.

As They Stood,  They Were Startled By A New,  Sudden Answer,  An

Exact Repetition Of The First Call. Rolf Had Recovered His Rifle

From Its Hiding Place And Instantly Both Made Ready For Some

Hostile Prowler; Then After A Long Silence He Gave The Final Wail

Line "Hoooo-Aw" And That In The Woods Means,  "Who Are You?"

Promptly The Reply Came:

"Wa Wah Wa Wah Wa Wah Wa Hoooo-Aw."

But This Was The Wrong Reply. It Should Have Been Only The Last

Half. The Imitation Was Perfect,  Except,  Perhaps,  On The Last

Note,  Which Was A Trifle Too Human. But The Signal Was Well Done;

It Was An Expert Calling,  Either An Indian Or Some Thoroughly

Seasoned Scout; Yet Quonab Was Not Deceived Into Thinking It An

Owl. He Touched His Cheek And His Coat,  Which,  In The Scout Sign

Language,  Means "Red Coat," I. E.,  Britisher.

Rolf And His Partner Got Silently Out Of Sight,  Each With His

Rlile Cocked And Ready To Make A Hole In Any Red Uniform Or Badge

That Might Show Itself. Then Commenced A Very Peculiar Duel,  For

Evidently The Enemy Was As Clever As Themselves And Equally

Anxious To Draw Them Out Of Cover.

Wa-Wah-Wa Hooo-Aw Called The Stranger,  Giving The Right Answer In

The Wrong Place. He Was Barely A Hundred Yards Off,  And,  As The

Two Strained Their Senses To Locate Him,  They Heard A Faint Click

That Told Of His Approach.

Rolf Turned His Head And Behind A Tree Uttered Again The Wa-Wah

-A - Hoo Which Muffled By His Position Would Convince The Foe

That He Was Retreating. The Answer Came Promptly And Much Nearer:

Wa - Wah - Wa - Hoooo-Aw.

Good! The Medicine Was Working. So Rolf Softened His Voice Still

More,  While Quonab Got Ready To Shoot.

The Wa - Wa - Hooo-Aw That Came In Answer This Time Was

Startlingly Clear And Loud And Nearly Perfect In Intonation,  But

Again Betrayed By The Human Timbre Of The Aw. A Minute Or Two

More And They Would Reach A Climax.

After Another Wait,  Rolf Muffled His Voice And Gave The Single

Hooo-Aw,  And A Great Broad-Winged Owl Came Swooping Through The

Forest,  Alighted On A Tree Overhead,  Peered About,  Then Thrilled

Them With His Weird:

Wa - Hoo - Wa - Boo

Wa - Hoo -Wa - Hooooooooo-Aw,  The Last Note With The Singular

Human Quality That Had So Completely Set Them Astray.

The Owl's Hull Reputation For Wisdom Is Built Up On Lookin' Wise

And Keepin' Mum.  -- Sayings Of St Sylvanne

The Owl Incident Was One Of The Comedies Of Their Life,  Now They

Had Business On Hand. The Scraps Of News Brought By Quonab Pieced

Out With Those Secured By Rolf,  Spelt Clearly This: That Colonel

Murray With About A Thousand Men Was Planning A Raid On

Plattsburg.

Their Duty Was To Notify General Hampton Without Delay.

Burlington,  Forty Miles Away,  Was Headquarters. Plattsburg,

Twenty Miles Away,  Was Marked For Spoil.

One More Item They Must Add: Was The Raid To Baby Land Or Water?

If The Latter,  Then They Must Know What Preparations Were Being

Made At The British Naval Station,  Isle Au Noix. They Travelled

All Night Through The Dark Woods,  To Get There,  Though It Was But

Seven Miles Away,  And In The First Full Light They Saw The

Gallant Array Of Two Warships,  Three Gunboats,  And About Fifty

Long Boats,  All Ready,  Undoubtedly Waiting Only For A Change In

The Wind,  Which At This Season Blew On Champlain Almost Steadily

Form The South.

A Three-Hour,  Ten-Mile Tramp Through Ways Now Familiar Brought

Rolf And His Partner To The North Of The Big Chazy Where The

Canoe Was Hidden,  And Without Loss Of Time They Pushed Off For

Burlington,  Thirty Miles Away. The Wind Was Head On,  And When

Four Hours Later They Stopped For Noon,  They Had Made Not More

Than A Dozen Miles.

All That Afternoon They Had To Fight A Heavy Sea; This Meant They

Must Keep Near Shore In Case Of An Upset,  And So Lengthened The

Course; But It Also Meant That The Enemy Would Not Move So Long

As This Wind Kept Up.

It Was Six At Night Before The Scouts Ran Into Burlington Harbour

And Made For Hampton's Headquarters.

His Aide Received Them And,  After Learning That They Had News,

Went In To The General. From The Inner Room Now They Heard In

Unnecessarily Loud Tones The Great Man's Orders To,  "Bring Them

In,  Sah."

The Bottles On The Table,  His Purple Visage,  And Thick Tongued

Speech Told How Well-Founded Were The Current Whispers.

"Raid On Plattsburg? Ha! I Hope So. I Only Hope So. Gentlemen,"

And He Turned To His Staff,  "All I Ask Is A Chance To Get