Once at the latter place, Ben was greeted by a businesslike aide.
“Cooper,” said he, “we are instructed to send a brace of couriers for special service at York. The man asked for is now absent, and I intend sending you in his place. The choice of a second horseman is left to him for some reason, and this privilege I will pass on to you. So select your man; your orders will be given you when you are ready to depart.”
“To-night?” asked Ben, his hand at a salute.
“At once,” replied the officer, briefly.
In a half hour Ben Cooper and Paddy Burk were standing on the cold porch at headquarters, while their horses stamped in the snow. The bareheaded aide from the open doorway spoke to Ben:
“You are to report to the secretary of Congress; what service you are to render he will be able to say.”
With that Ben and his friend saluted and mounted; then they sent their nags at a canter along the darkening road.
“It’s no night to be taken away from a comfortable fire,” shivered the Irish lad as he drew up the collar of his coat and pulled his hat down to protect him from the keen wind.
“Adventures are to be had at night, Paddy,” laughed Ben. “Don’t forget that.”
“Why, then,” said the other, “it’s the truth you speak, so it is. A ruction is a fine thing at any time; but at night—especially on a dark, cold night—there seems to be more enjoyment in it.”