“It is the courier, George Preston!” said Dan in a whisper as the canoe swept around the bend.
[Page 269]

The Boy Scouts
At the Battle of Saratoga

The Story of General Burgoyne’s Defeat

By HERBERT CARTER
Author of
“The Boy Scouts Through the Big Timber.”
“The Boy Scouts In the Blue Ridge.”
“The Boy Scouts’ First Camp Fire.”
“The Boy Scouts In the Rockies.”
“The Boy Scouts On the Trail.”

Copyright, 1909
By A. L. BURT COMPANY

CONTENTS

CHAPTER PAGE [I. The Camp in the Woods.] 1 [II. The Missing Messages.] 17 [III. The Spiked Cannon.] 38 [IV. The Dam Across the Creek.] 55 [V. The Suspicious Tory.] 75 [VI. The Bend of the Walloomsac.] 90 [VII. Clipping the Left Wing.] 109 [VIII. The Night on the Road.] 128 [IX. Unfurling the Flag.] 148 [X. Clipping the Right Wing.] 173 [XI. The Old Hut.] 190 [XII. The Real Ira.] 209 [XIII. The Midnight Fire.] 227 [XIV. The Drawn Battle.] 240 [XV. The Chance Meeting.] 255 [XVI. The Bitter and the Sweet.] 270

The Boy Scouts
At the Battle of Saratoga

CHAPTER I.
THE CAMP IN THE WOODS.

The sunset had brought to a close the hottest day of the season (June, 1777). With the fading of the light a cool breeze came in from Lake Champlain, sweeping across the big promontory, near the foot of which a single tent was pitched. As the wind rustled in the tree tops above the canvas shelter, its occupants arose from the rude beds of fir boughs, and sought the outer air. This act revealed their number and character—three lads, not far from eighteen years of age, whose rugged faces, brawny muscles and rude clothing suggested, as was the fact, that they had been bred to a frontier life.

“I say, Dan,” the tallest of the group remarked as he yawned and stretched himself to his full height, “ain’t it ’bout time that feller we are waitin’ for hove in sight?”

“He’s got an hour longer, Late,” the boy answered, “an’ may show up in that time. General Schuyler,[1] when he tole me to find you an’ Joe an’ come up here, said: ‘Pitch your tent on that big point to the left of the Narrows, an’ wait three days for the feller I’ve sent to watch Burgoyne’s fleet that’s comin’ down to attack Fort Ticonderoga. He’ll jine ye by that time, an’ tell ye what to do.’ That’s plain ’nough even for your thick head to understand, an’ as we ain’t been here three days till it’s pitch dark, I say thar’s an hour for him yet.”

“It’s queer the general didn’t tell you who it was,” commented the third lad, who had been spoken of as “Joe.” “I wonder you didn’t ask him.”

“You’ve said that six or seven times already,” Dan retorted somewhat sharply, “an’ I’ve told ye as often that it wasn’t my style. I always leave it for the general to tell me what he thinks I orter know, an’ leave unsaid what he’d rather keep to himself. Whosomever this feller is, he’ll be likely to explain, an’ I can wait without worryin’ over it.”

“That’s ’cause your habit for askin’ questions wasn’t ever fully developed,” Late broke in with a chuckle. “But we shan’t have to wait long ’fore we at least see the feller, for, if I’m not mistook, thar he comes now down the lake,” and he pointed to a dark object which was approaching.

“He’s in a canoe, an’ a youngster like ourselves,” Dan added a moment later.

“I don’t know how you make that out,” Late cried. “I can only see that it’s a boat of some kind.”

“That’s ’cause your eyesight was never fully developed,” Dan retorted with a grin. “I can see him well enough. But since he’s a-comin’ we better get to hustlin’ an’ have supper ready. If he’s traveled far he’ll be hungry, an’ we may make a good impression by showin’ we are liberal providers. I’ll start the fire, an’ Joe can get the water, while you, Late, bring up those fish we caught this mornin’.”

For the next half hour the campers were too busy with their preparations to give more than an occasional glance up the lake at the approaching boat. But what they saw confirmed Dan’s words. The newcomer was a lad of about their own age, and was able to handle a canoe with the grace and skill of an Indian.

At length, however, the potatoes were baked, the fish broiled, and the corn-cakes done to a turn. Then Late spoke:

“We are ready, an’ he’s nearly here. Let’s go down to the shore to meet him.”

His comrades followed him without a word. Clambering down the steep bank to the water’s edge, they waited in silence the arrival of the voyager. He could see them standing there, and, though several rods away, paused in his paddling long enough to raise one hand and wave it above his head. They returned the salutation; but refrained from the cheer all longed to give. They were not sure of being alone in the forest, and, with that caution which comes to all accustomed to a frontier life, made no noise that might attract the attention of an enemy.

Two minutes later the canoe touched the beach, and its occupant leaped out. For an instant he stood there, running a keen eye over the three lads whom he knew would be his associates in the hazardous work of reporting the movements of a hostile army. They, in their turn, gazed critically at the one who was for a time to be their leader.

He saw three youths, rough, uncultured, and yet as stout of heart as the great trees among which they had lived, as keen as the steel of the knives that graced their belts. They, on their part, beheld a lad a trifle older than themselves, taller by an inch than Late, and as stalwart in frame as he, yet a lad whose studious face suggested the school; whose air of refinement seemed more in keeping with the town than the woods; and whose every movement told of one accustomed to command.

The brightening of his and their faces told that he and they had alike been pleased with what they saw; then, before the stranger could speak, the waiting lads picked up the canoe, and started toward the camp with it. The newcomer added his own strength to the burden, and almost noiselessly they ascended the promontory, dropping the boat aside the tent.

“I am here at last,” the unknown lad now said in a low and pleasant voice. “Have you waited long for me?”

“Three days, lackin’ a few minutes,” Dan replied, acting as spokesman for the party.

“Then you were here at the earliest moment suggested by the general,” the first speaker said heartily. “I like that. It shows that he has given me assistants who can be relied upon for promptness. The silence in which you met me proves that you can be discreet. The supper you have ready bespeaks your hospitality. They are all traits I appreciate—especially the last, after my pull of thirty miles. Let us eat and get acquainted.”

Sitting on the trunk of a fallen tree near the fire, which now was no more than a bed of coals, he began to eat with that relish which long exercise in the open air always imparts.

At once the entire party was engaged in the same agreeable task. As they ate their conversation was, during a time, of little importance; but when the keen hunger of the leader had been somewhat appeased, he paused long enough between mouthfuls to say:

“I have your names, comrades; but which is which I do not yet know. I wonder if I can pick you out,” and again he ran his keen eye quickly from one to the other. Late laughed.

“My knife ’gainst yours that you can’t tell who I am on the first guess,” he said.

“It would hardly be a fair wager,” was the reply, “for my knife is worth more than yours. But I’ll venture a guess without a bet. You are Latham Wentworth.”

“You’ve seen me somewhere ’fore now,” the crestfallen youth cried when the laughter of his companions had subsided.

“No; but you gave yourself away when you made the bet. I have been told that you are always ready to wager anything you possess, from the shoes on your feet to the cap on your head.”

“I reckon that’s so,” he admitted, joining in the laugh at his expense.

“What is it the good book says ’bout ‘their works do follow them’?” asked Dan at this point. “I guess that is true of the livin’ as well as the dead, Late.”

“A remark that proves you are Daniel Cushing,” was the comment of the newcomer. “You see I am nearly as well acquainted with you, as with Wentworth.”

“It looks as if the general, or somebody, had sized us up ’bout right to you,” young Cushing said curtly.

“There’s no chance for me to hide it, so I’ll admit I’m Joseph Fisher, at your service,” that young man cried laughingly. “I’m quick to say it, too, for fear you’ll show up some of my failin’s. But you haven’t told us your own name, an’ the general didn’t, either. I think we orter know that.”

“If you had put your last sentences first, your confession of your identity would hardly have been necessary,” was the significant answer.

“Your demand is a fair one,” the lad replied, “and though it was my first thought to withhold my real name, you shall know it, but you must never call me by it, nor use it between yourselves when I am absent. It is not, in fact, to be spoken aloud. You will understand later why I make this strange request.”

With these words he drew from the bosom of his hunting-shirt an iron cross, which evidently was attached to a chain about his neck. Taking hold of the top above the horizontal bar, he gave it a vigorous twist. It came off, showing that the lower portion was hollow, and contained a tiny paper. This he took out, and passed to Daniel Cushing, who sat nearest him.

“Read, and then pass it on,” he directed.

The parchment was so small, that only a few words could have been written on it. These Dan slowly spelled out, and then exclaimed:

“I understand, sir. It shall be as you say, an’ you’ll find that Dan Cushing never yet broke his word.”

He handed the paper to Late, who, after a little effort, mastered its contents, and then cried:

“I never dreamed of such a thing, sir. You are right. ’Twon’t do to whisper the name even to each other, lest the woods hear us. But ’twill be a pleasure to serve under you, sir.”

Joe now had his opportunity to peruse the writing, and, being a better reader than his companions, quickly gathered the meaning of the brief lines. Running over to the leader, he seized his hand and shook it vigorously.

“I deem it an honor to serve under you,” he declared, “an’ you’ll find I can keep a secret, if I am always eager to solve one. But what are we to call you?”

“For the present I am to be known to you, as I shall be to the British, as Ira Le Geyt,” was the smiling reply.

“The Tory!”

“The spy!”

“The renegade!”

These three exclamations escaped the lips of the hearers in sheer amazement.

“Tory, spy, and renegade,” was the quiet reply. “Do you fear that I can’t play the part?”

“Not that, sir,” Dan answered hastily. “It’s the danger you run. ’Spose some one happens into the camp who knows the real Ira, or what if he happened to show up? You’d be in a tight place.”

“General Schuyler has the real Ira where he can’t make any trouble,” was the reply, “and I have the young Tory’s entire outfit in yonder canoe—rifle, clothes, commission as a scout in Burgoyne’s army, and, as you have seen, his iron cross, the token by which he was to come and go among the Indians. Some say that in form and feature we are not unlike. I hope, therefore, to pass myself off for him. Of course there is a risk, but I am willing to take that for the sake of the Cause.”

The last declaration was made modestly, almost reverently, and a few moments of silence followed. Then the lad went on:

“This reveals my plan, and shows why I need you. As a trusted scout at the British headquarters, I hope to learn enough about the commander’s movements to keep our officers between here and Fort Stanwix fully posted. But some other must carry the news. That is to be your work. At regular appointed places just outside the British lines, one or more of you will always be in waiting. To you I will come with everything our men should know. I hope, too, we may be able to delay, if not thwart altogether, many of the red-coats’ plans.”

“Will they soon be here?” Joe asked.

“Some time to-morrow,” Ira (as we shall now call him) replied. “I have kept just ahead of the fleet since it started down the St. Lawrence. At noon it was becalmed thirty miles up the lake. But a breeze sprang up, as you know, at sundown, and it must be under way again. The British will come slowly; but by daylight we ought to see the first vessels from this headland.”

“I don’t s’pose you know how many there are?” questioned Dan.

“Vessels? yes,” was the answer. “There are sixty-one in all, frigates, schooners, sloops, and transports. But the number of the troops I have not yet got at clearly enough to make a report. That will be our task as they land. We’ll stay here to-night, and early in the morning move camp to the place I have chosen as our rendezvous while the enemy is in this locality. Then we will return here, or to some other place where we can watch the landing.”

For some time longer they discussed the exciting situation, and then sought their rude beds within the tent.

Nothing disturbed their slumbers during the night hours; but with the first light of the morning all were astir. Ira had been the first to awake, and, rising, he hurried away to the edge of the promontory and looked up the lake. The next instant he wheeled about, and went back to the camp rapidly.

“Quick!” he cried in a low tone. “The fleet is not over five miles away, and we must be on the move. It won’t do to stop here even long enough to get breakfast.”

His companions needed no other warning. Springing up they aided in emptying the canoe of its contents, after which the light craft was carried some distance into the forest, and hidden in a dense thicket. Returning to the camp they speedily took down the tent, packed it and all their belongings into four bundles, and, shouldering these, hastened off toward the west under the guidance of their chief.

With the directness of one who knew where he was going, he led them to a narrow ravine a mile away. Entering this, he descended to a small brook, which with a noisy murmur ran through it. Along the bank he traveled until the ground was so wet and soft that walking became difficult. It was clear they were now on the edge of a great swamp. Beneath a huge maple he paused.

“Mark this tree,” he said in a low voice to his followers, “and for two reasons: We must here enter the stream in order to reach the place where we shall make our camp. See, between those two limbs is a small cavity. Every day after I enter the British lines one of you must come here and look into the hole. When it is impossible for me to visit you at the rendezvous, I shall put my messages in there.”

While speaking he had pulled off his boots. His companions removed theirs, and in single file they began the descent of the brook. Denser and denser grew the underbrush, until with great difficulty they forced their way between the branches which overhung the tiny stream. For a quarter of a mile they struggled through the tangle, and then it abruptly ended at the edge of a small pond, near the middle of which was a tiny island. Here Ira spoke again:

“Do you see that big hemlock on the island nearly opposite us?” and as the lads nodded assent, he went on, “Keep a straight line for that, and you’ll find the water shallow enough for wading.”

He continued the journey, and a minute later all had gained the island, where they found the ground firm and dry, while the trees were large and far enough apart to let in the bright sunshine. A carpet of thick grass added to the beauty of the spot, while a sparkling spring gurgled at the foot of a great bowlder.

“This is fine!” exclaimed Joe, dropping the pack from his shoulders. “How did you find it?”

“No one would think of looking for us here,” Late said contentedly, “an’ that trail down the brook hides every trace of our steps. A dog couldn’t follow us.”

“Wood an’ water right at hand, an’ fish in the pond,” added Dan with a quick glance around him. “Sure ye didn’t make it to order, Ira?”

The lad leader laughed.

“I fancy some people would say I found it by chance. I prefer, however, to believe that I was led to it, and to a dozen other places between here and the Hudson fully as good, by the same kind Providence that is watching over our Cause, and will eventually give us the victory.”

“’Twon’t hurt us to think so,” young Cushing replied cheerily.

Then the little party fell to making camp. In a short time the tent was pitched, beds of fir made, and breakfast cooked. Quickly breaking their fast, they began the return to the lake.

In a half hour they reached it, to find the advance vessels of the British fleet at anchor in the large bay just above the promontory where they had first camped. Two boats, loaded with soldiers, soon came ashore.

From their hiding-place the lads watched these men, only to learn that their object was to select and arrange a camping ground. Hardly was their task finished when the work of landing the men was begun.

Soon it was proceeding so rapidly, and at so many different places, that the young scouts were obliged to divide forces in order to count the troops. Four stations were, therefore, selected, covering the entire bay, and from these the lads kept account of the constantly increasing numbers.

It was not until late on the afternoon of the second day that they were able to come together again to compare notes. Then a little mental reckoning enabled Ira to say:

“We are now ready for my first report. I shall never send written messages to our officers unless I am forced to do so. There will then be nothing to fall into the enemy’s hands should you be captured. Late, you are to go to Fort Ticonderoga, and say to General St. Clair[2] that General Burgoyne has landed and is now encamped near the great promontory at the foot of the lake. He has with him eight thousand British and Hessian troops, four hundred Indians, and forty cannon. Should he give you any message for me, put it in the big maple. Dan, go to Fort Edward and deliver precisely the same message to General Schuyler. Both of you are to return to our island camp as soon as possible. Joe will be there when you arrive. I shall stay there to-night, and early in the morning will enter the British camp.”

CHAPTER II.
THE MISSING MESSAGES.

The sun had been up a full half hour the next morning when Joe awoke. Raising his head he looked about him. He was alone. Springing to his feet he hastened to the door. The camp-fire had been built; the breakfast was slowly cooking; but Ira was nowhere to be seen.

A low splash, as though some one was wading across the pond, reached his ears. The tent faced south, while the approach to the island by the way of the brook was from the east. He was obliged, therefore, to step outside his shelter in order to obtain a view of the direction from which the sound came.

The moment he did so he found it difficult to suppress the cry of alarm that rose to his lips, for there, not more than two rods away, was a stranger, who, having just put on his huge boots after wading over to the island, looked up in time to catch sight of him. Instantly bringing his rifle to his shoulder the intruder called out in loud, gruff tones:

“Stand where you are, youngster. Any attempt on your part to get a gun will force me to fire.”

Seeing his words had the required effect, he came a little nearer, and continued:

“Your companion ran away when I came up. Is it he, or you, who has my iron cross?”

For an instant Joe could do no more than stare at the speaker. Could it be that the real Ira Le Geyt had escaped from the hands of General Schuyler, and in some way traced out the lad who was intending to personate him in the British camp?

“Who be ye?” he finally questioned, using the time he gained thereby to examine the newcomer carefully.

He certainly resembled the other Ira. This fellow did not appear to be quite so tall; he was more stout; his hair was a shade or two darker; his nose was more prominent; and he looked older.

There was a greater difference in his dress. He wore high top-boots, an English hunting suit of costly material, a belt of polished leather, containing a brace of pistols and a silver-handled knife, while on his back was a huge knapsack, apparently filled to overflowing.

Scarcely had Joe learned all this, when the answer to his query came in an angry voice:

“Who am I? You ought to know. Again I ask, have you my iron cross?”

This settled matters with the listener. Here was the real Ira, and the thing to do was to outwit and capture him, call back his friend, and then their plans might go on as arranged. With this object in view he edged slowly along towards the intruder, saying innocently:

“I never saw you before, an’ I’ve nothin’ belongin’ to you, sir, but—” and with a tremendous bound he caught his antagonist’s gun, tearing it from his grasp. Flinging it away, he seized the owner by the body, pinning his arms to his sides, and then finished his sentence, “I’ve got you.”

To his surprise there was no struggle. Instead, a voice he knew well cried out laughingly:

“Well done, Joe; but you must admit I as neatly fooled you. I guess I shall be able to play my part at the British quarters.”

“It looks like it, I swaney,” Joe said a little sheepishly. Releasing his prisoner, he stepped away a few feet and looked him over again, this time more critically.

“It beats anythin’ I ever heard of,” he at length declared. “Though I knew you were goin’ to rig up in some way, I thought the real Ira had stolen a march on us, an’ got into camp—leastwise, you seemed like the real Ira to me, though I’ve never set eyes on him. Unless the red-coats know him better than I do, they’ll take you for him, sure.”

“Of course it is possible more than one of the British officers may know Le Geyt,” the lad said thoughtfully, “or some person come into the lines who has seen him. But I think the risk is small. His visits to this part of the state have not been frequent, and, while his name is familiar, his face and form are not. I flatter myself I have a make-up that quite resembles him, and believe I can successfully carry out the part. Let us have breakfast, and then I will be off.”

As he spoke he dropped his pack beside the gun, and, going to the fire, helped himself to the smoking food. Joe followed his example, and they ate almost in silence.

The meal finished, Ira removed his huge boots, and, adding them to his bundle, started down the brook. His comrade followed as far as the great maple, and from there watched, as he, after resuming his foot-gear, walked slowly toward the British camp.

He would have been greatly excited had he witnessed what befell the traveler a few moments later. Emerging from the ravine, he had gone but a few rods when a stalwart Indian leaped from a thicket and grasped him by the shoulder. The next instant a half-dozen more surrounded him. Though offering no violence, it was clear they intended to make him a prisoner.

Instead of being disturbed by this mishap, the captive seemed to rejoice over it. He smiled pleasantly, laid his hand gently on the shoulder of the man who first seized him, and who was apparently the chief of the party, saying in the native tongue:

“My brother, you are from the great camp by the lake.”

A grunt of assent came from the captor.

“Take me there at once,” the prisoner continued with some show of authority. “I have important business with General Burgoyne, the commander.”

His words were not without their effect. Releasing him, the Indian said in a tone of inquiry: “Ira Le Geyt?”

“Ira Le Geyt,” the youth repeated, and at the same moment he drew from the bosom of his coat the iron cross.

At sight of the bit of metal the chieftain gave a peremptory order to his men to fall in behind him, and then, side by side with the captured lad, strode away towards the encampment.

They were not long in reaching the first outpost. To the guard the Indian uttered the two English words, “King George,” and was allowed to pass with his entire party.

Once within the lines the chief sent his followers to their quarters, and then led his companion swiftly across the enclosure to the tent of the commander, which he entered without ceremony.

“General! Ira Le Geyt!” he said, and then vanished.

Two men turned to face the newcomer; one in the uniform of a major-general, the other in the garb of a private citizen, for their backs had been toward the entrance, while they were giving undivided attention to a rude map or chart which was spread out upon the camp bed.

“I beg your pardon for this intrusion, General Burgoyne,” the young scout began, bowing low before that officer, “It was due to my conductor, one of your Indians, who ran on me in the forest.”

“It is all right, Master Le Geyt,” the commander replied good-naturedly. “Indeed, your coming is most timely. My companion, who, by the way is Master George Preston, a courier who came from Quebec with us, and is to go on to New York with a message for General Clinton from Lord Germain, and I, were trying to trace out on this map the best route for him to follow down the river. Perhaps you, who, I am informed, are familiar with this entire region, may be able to help us. Would you advise him to take the east or west side?”

Ira stepped to the bed, ostensibly to examine the map, which proved to be a crude and inaccurate affair, but really to gain time in which to think over the situation. Here was work for him immediately. If this man had a message for General Clinton from Lord Germain, the War Secretary in London, it was altogether too important to be allowed to reach its destination. But how should he prevent it, and obtain possession of the paper?

He cast a furtive glance at the courier to ascertain the kind of man he had to deal with. The look was hardly reassuring. Clearly George Preston was not a man to be easily thwarted. Forty years of age, nearly a giant in strength and stature, with a face that suggested courage, resourcefulness, and faithfulness to duty. It was certain he had been selected for the task assigned him because he could be thoroughly relied upon.

All this the lad took in during the brief minute he stood silent, and at once decided upon a plan which he believed would enable him to accomplish his purpose. Then he said in answer to the question asked him:

“Both, sir. He better make directly for the river from here, and, crossing it, go down the west side until below Albany. Then, recrossing it, follow the east side to his destination. In this way he will escape the main forces of the enemy, and so lessen his chances of being captured.”

“That is what I told you, Master Preston!” exclaimed the general in triumph. “I need the aid of Clinton too badly to run any risk of your message failing to reach him. Take the safer way, even though it involves a longer journey. Twenty-four hours delay in the delivery of the letter is nothing, if it in the end reaches the general.”

“My chief objection to the plan lies in this:” the courier said quietly. “It is unlike the route laid out for me in St. John. I had rather obey the letter, as well as the spirit, of my orders.”

“A good practice, truly,” General Burgoyne replied heartily, “and one that proves you are the man for this work. But our friends in St. John did not know what might arise, and therefore left you to your own judgment. I am exceedingly anxious that you use every precaution possible to carry Lord Germain’s message safely through the enemy’s lines.”

“You cannot be more anxious than I,” Master Preston said calmly, “and I have something more to say, provided our friend here is all he claims to be. It may be over-caution on my part, but if I recollect rightly, he has nothing but the word of that Indian to back him,” and he gave the officer a glance which caused him to flush slightly.

“Master Le Geyt answered so fully the description I had received of him,” the general replied somewhat haughtily, “that I was at once satisfied he was all he claimed to be. Nor is the Indian’s word of so little value as you seem to think. He must have known the young man, or he would never have brought him here. But since you have your doubts, he can, I am sure, show what will convince us that he is as trustworthy as yourself,” and he glanced confidently at the youth.

“I thank you, General Burgoyne, for so much confidence in me,” Ira replied, “and I commend the caution of Master Preston. He has a perfect right to demand full proof of my identity before giving me any information which might be of value to an enemy. I will then, with your permission, hand him my credentials first,” and, ripping open the lining of his coat, he took out two slips of paper, which he gave to the courier.

“The first is my commission as a scout from the general here,” he explained. “The second is from our good friend, Lord Germain, and bears his official seal. You will see that he vouches for my loyalty, and suggests that General Burgoyne employ me during this campaign. I believe it was this paper that led the general to send me the other, though he had never seen me.”

“I also had a personal note from the Secretary, giving me a description of you, and setting forth in detail how you could be of special service to me,” the commander hastened to add. “Are you satisfied, Master Preston?”

“I ought to be,” the latter declared, “and to prove it I will now make a disclosure, general, which I have up to this time withheld, even from you.”

As he spoke he took a small package from his coat pocket, and opening it, brought to view three papers.

“This,” he said, “is the letter to Sir Henry Clinton; this is my passport into any and all of our army lines; and this is the document I wish to show you. You will notice, General Burgoyne, that our friends at St. John were not in ignorance of the best route for me to follow in going to Yew York, and also will understand the real reason why I hold for the path they have marked out.”

Unfolding the paper with these words of explanation, he showed his companions a carefully prepared route of the entire distance he was to travel. Each day’s journey was laid out; every stopping place, with the name of his host, was written down, and, now and then, beside a name was a peculiar mark.

“Note these references,” he continued, “are concerning those men who are to give me special tidings as to the number and position of the rebels in their vicinity. James Graham of Hubbardtown, where I make my first stop, will tell me the latest news about Fort Ticonderoga; William Erskine will report as to the condition of affairs about Fort Edward. The other men will in turn post me about matters in their neighborhood, so that when I reach my destination I expect to be the bearer of information to General Clinton which will greatly aid him in despatching a force up the river to join you at Albany.”

Before he finished speaking Ira had read and fixed in his memory the names of the men who were to assist the courier. He knew some as rank Tories, but there were others who had the reputation of being friendly to the Cause, and, therefore, were allowed to come and go freely in the encampments near them. This revelation of their true character he regarded of sufficient value to repay him for all the risk he had run in entering the British camp.

“I had not thought of that, Master Preston,” the commander admitted. “The additional information you gain may be worth the chances you take in following that route. It is clear the authorities at St. John believed it would be. But I advise you to travel only in the night, and lay quietly in quarters during the day.”

“Precisely what I have planned to do, general. Leaving here to-night I count, unless I lose my way, to reach the house of Master Graham before sunrise. After that I shall have no trouble, for, if need be, a guide can be furnished me from station to station.”

“And you may have a guide to Master Graham’s door,” the young scout said modestly. “That is, if you are willing to accept my humble services.”

“I certainly am, and thank you for the favor,” the courier answered heartily. “It removes the only anxiety I had about this first stage of my journey. We will start about nine o’clock, if that suits you.”

“Perfectly.”

“And you, General Burgoyne, can have your letter to Sir Henry ready by that time?” he asked.

“Yes; but I hope you have some safer place than your pocket for it and those other papers,” the general replied, as Master Preston began to wrap up the documents he had exhibited.

“Don’t borrow any trouble on that score, my dear sir,” the man replied with a peculiar smile. “I may be captured, and my garments picked to pieces, but I assure you the missives will not be found,” which declaration was credited by one, and doubted by his other hearer.

An orderly now appeared, saying that General Fraser was without and desired an interview with the commander.

“Show him in,” was the reply of that officer, and then, turning to his other visitors, he added, “I shall be busy during the remainder of the day, but an half-hour before you begin your journey I will be glad to see both of you here. The tent at the right, Master Le Geyt, has been prepared for you,” and then he turned to greet his subordinate, who had already entered.

“I shall spend some hours in a much needed rest,” the young scout announced to his companion, when they were outside; “but will join you at sundown, if you so desire.”

“I will call for you when I come to report to the general,” Master Preston replied, and then hastened off to his own quarters.

Ira left his tent but once during the day. That was just after dinner, and for a stroll in the forest. He was absent about two hours, and on his return brought a fine string of trout he had caught.

“A present for the general,” he said to the courier, whom he chanced to meet soon after he entered the lines.

“I wish you had taken me with you,” the latter cried enthusiastically as he inspected the speckled beauties. “If there is anything I enjoy more than running the lines of the enemy, it is angling, and you have the finest catch I have ever seen in this country.”

“Then that shall be a bond between us,” was the hearty response. “I knew of a pool a mile or two from here, and could not resist the temptation to pull out a string. You’ll be here in a few hours?”

“Yes,” said Master Preston, strolling on, apparently unsuspicious that his new acquaintance had been out of the camp for any other purpose than that of fishing.

Their interview with General Burgoyne during evening was brief. He gave a letter he had prepared for General Clinton, to Master Preston, who asked to be excused for a few moments. Somewhere in the outer darkness he concealed it about him, for when he returned he said:

“I’ve put it with the others, sir, and promise you that it shall not fall into any hand than that for which it is intended.”

Ten minutes later he and his guide had left the encampment, and were gliding swiftly and noiselessly through the forest toward Master Graham’s.

Several times the heavy step as of some belated traveler caused them to shrink back under the cover of the dense brush until it had ceased. Now and then came the cry of some wild beast to startle them, but they kept steadily along the trail until nearly midnight. Then they had arrived at a small brook, which crossed the path at right angles, and here Ira, who was in the lead, stopped.

“Our journey is half done,” he announced. “We may as well halt here, and have something to eat.”

On a rock beside the stream, amid darkness that could almost be felt, surrounded by a silence that seemed oppressive, the two in silence partook of the food they had brought with them. Quenching their thirst from the rivulet, they were about to resume their tramp, when came the hoot of an owl from the rear. It was repeated at a short distance down the trail, and a moment later sounded nearer yet, but from up the brook.

“Can it be we are followed and surrounded?” the courier asked apprehensively in a low tone.

“It is a singular circumstance,” his companion admitted in a whisper. “There it is again,” and, listening, they heard the cries again in precisely the same order. Then came the sharp snap of a twig as though some one was approaching.

“The way is open to the right,” Ira continued in the same low tone. “Quick! we may yet escape.”

He led the way down the stream, going as rapidly as the darkness and underbrush would permit, his comrade keeping close at his heels. After a while the ground became soft and miry, and the bushes were so dense as to render progress exceedingly difficult.

“We must take to the brook,” Ira said to his companion. “Pull off your boots!”

“But is it necessary?” the courier asked. “Can’t we wait here awhile, and then go back to the trail?”

“Listen!” was the answer. Through the stillness of the night came to their ears the sound of footsteps.

“I have it,” the young scout whispered to Master Preston. “We’ll take to the stream here, and keep it down a few rods to where another brook joins it, which last we’ll follow. It will enable us to work toward the old trail, and at the same time throw our pursuers off the track.”

Stepping into the water a moment later, they waded slowly and cautiously along to the tributary of which Ira had spoken. Entering this they began its ascent. During a half hour they kept on, pausing occasionally to learn if they were still followed, but no sound broke the stillness of the forest.

“Those fellows have lost our trail; can’t we leave the brook now?” the courier at length asked, becoming tired of his slippery and uncertain footing.

His companion’s answer was also a question:

“What’s that ahead of us?”

Master Preston stepped beside his guide, and then replied:

“It is a fire of some kind!”

“A camp-fire,” was the rejoinder. “I can now see a tent beyond.”

“What shall we do?”

“Keep straight on. Whoever may be there are probably fast asleep at this hour.”

Noiselessly they advanced.

“We are in a pond,” the courier whispered an instant later.

“That’s a fact,” his companion agreed, “and that is Boulder island. I know where we are now. I don’t think we have anything to fear, still we’ll keep our guns ready for immediate use.”

The next moment they gained the shore of the island, and stopped in front of the fire, at the tent door. The canvas dwelling was empty.

Ira laughed loudly.

“This is a joke on us!” he exclaimed. “See! there are the fellows’ fishing rods. They were doubtless out hunting when night came on, became separated, and are trying to find each other and their camp. We’ve run away from men who had no thought of pursuing us,” and again he laughed heartily.

Before his comrade could speak a cry came from the main shore.

“Hello there! Who are you in our camp?”

“I ought to know that voice,” the young scout said to the courier. Then he replied:

“Is that you, Joe?”

“Yes, but who are you?”

“Ira Le Geyt.”

“Hurrah!” came back across the little pond. “We’ll jine ye in a minute.”

There was a noise as of splashing water for a moment, and then two young lads came into the dim light of the camp-fire.

“Glad to see you, Ira,” they both exclaimed, shaking hands with him, and he introduced his companion to them.

“Master Preston, this is Joe Fisher and Late Wentworth, two friends of mine, who are of the right sort.”

When the courier had acknowledged the introduction, his guide continued:

“Was it you who were hooting like owls up where the stream crosses the Hubbardtown trail?”

“Yes,” Late replied. “We were separated, an’ tryin’ to come together again. Why do you ask?”

“We thought it was some one who wanted to hem us in on the trail, and so took to the brook,” the young scout explained, “and here we are, three or four miles out of our way.”

“Well, ye better stay until mornin’,” Joe said. “You are both welcome to our shelter an’ fodder, such as it is. Ain’t that so, Late?”

“I reckon,” his camp-mate replied, “an’ if we don’t turn in soon, mornin’ will be here ’fore we get a wink of sleep.”

“I leave it to you, Master Preston,” Ira said. “Shall we go on, or stay?”

“Go on,” he answered. “I must reach my destination before light, if it is possible.”

“Very well,” his guide replied, stooping to pick up the big boots he had thrown down upon reaching camp.

The courier bent over for the same purpose, but before he could recover himself, Late and Joe seized and threw him to the ground. Ira came to their aid, and in a few moments the man was bound and disarmed.

“What does this mean?” he demanded with an ugly glance at the young scout.

“That I want the papers you carry,” Ira replied quietly.

“Find them then,” he retorted with a grin.

His clothing was examined, his boots, hat, belt, the stocks of his pistols and gun; but the important papers could not be found.

CHAPTER III.
THE SPIKED CANNON.

“We’ll put him in the tent, and make further search in the morning,” Ira said at length.

The three scouts lifted their prisoner, and, carrying him into the tent, laid him gently on the fir boughs.

“I would loosen your bonds if it were safe to do so, Master Preston,” Ira said; “but as it is, you will have to make yourself as comfortable as possible under the circumstances.”

“I have been in a worse fix,” he replied shortly.

“You may both lie down and get what sleep you can,” the lad then said to his comrades.

“You are the one to sleep; we’ll take turns watching the prisoner,” Late said stoutly.

“No,” their leader answered decisively. “You will have a long journey to-morrow and need the rest, while I can sleep after returning to the encampment.”

They yielded reluctantly, and were soon slumbering soundly. Ten minutes passed, and the courier was so quiet the lone watchman thought he too must be asleep; but suddenly he tried to raise himself, saying:

“Look here!”

“What is it?” Ira asked kindly. “Can I do anything for you?”

“Yes,” the captive answered. “Tell me whether you are really Le Geyt, or some one who is personating him.”

“What difference does that make to you?”

“Much. If you are Le Geyt, you are a low, contemptible traitor, and when I get the chance I’ll crush your life out as I would that of a snake.”

“I don’t blame you for feeling that way,” Ira replied with a slight laugh. “I should in your place. But what if I am not Le Geyt?”

The courier struggled until he had raised himself slightly on one elbow, and looked straight at his captor for a moment. Then he continued:

“If you are some Yankee personating him at General Burgoyne’s headquarters, I say it is the boldest scheme I ever heard of, and I have only the profoundest respect for you. To be outwitted by such a man isn’t half as bad as having a sneaking traitor get the best of you.”

“That is where the shoe pinches, is it?” the young scout asked with another laugh. “Well, I’ll let you judge as to my real character by this night’s work.”

Silence reigned for some time, to be broken again by Master Preston, who said, as if he had been thinking over the events of the night:

“We are not far from the British camp?”

“What makes you think so?”

“You were not gone long enough from the encampment during the afternoon to have traveled very far and also caught that string of fish.”

“You are a good reasoner, Master Preston.”

“I believe we haven’t been very far from the camp at any time to-night,” the prisoner went on a moment or two later in tones of disgust. “I wonder I didn’t suspect you were leading me in a circle.”

“The circle was too large, and you were not familiar enough with the locality to see the change in our course,” Ira explained. “You can’t be blamed, I assure you. The way you have hidden the letters I know you carry, is proof you are nobody’s fool.”

The compliment evidently pleased the prisoner, for he laughed silently, and then remarked significantly:

“You haven’t found them yet, have you?”

Ira made no answer, and in a few minutes the prisoner was sleeping soundly notwithstanding his uncomfortable situation.

The little camp was astir early, for Dan Cushing arrived at dawn from Fort Edward. He looked the prisoner over, heard the story of his capture, and then turned to Late.

“When did you get back?” he asked.

“Yesterday about noon,” his friend replied.

“Any special news at Ticonderoga?” he next inquired.

“Nothin’, except General St. Clair has over three thousand men,” was the reply. “Colonel Seth Warner has come with his regiment from Bennington.”

“And General Schuyler is gettin’ reinforcements all the time,” Dan announced. “Give him a little more time, an’ he’ll have ten thousand men at his back, ’nough to drive the red-coats back into Lake Champlain.”

“He must have the needed time before Burgoyne reaches him,” Ira declared.

“That is what the general told me to tell you,” the lad continued. “He will leave the road open to Fort Edward until General St. Clair finds out whether he will have to retreat from Ticonderoga. If he does, he is to destroy bridges, and cut down trees across the way to hinder the red-coats as much as possible. I carried that order to him before comin’ back, else I’d been here sooner.”

“You’re here in time,” the leader replied, “though I shall have to send you back to the fort in a few hours. I want our prisoner in the custody of General Schuyler, rather than that of General St. Clair. I shall feel safer. And all three of you will make none too strong a guard. He must not be allowed to escape under any circumstances. Shoot him down should he attempt it. But we’ll have breakfast first, and then search him again for those missing messages.”

In a half-hour they and their prisoner had eaten. Then the latter was stripped to the skin, and every rag of his clothing examined. Then his boots and weapons were again inspected, lest some secret cavity had been overlooked. But the search was as fruitless as the previous one. It was evident that the captive enjoyed their discomfiture.

“It matters little,” Ira finally declared. “As long as he is a prisoner he cannot deliver the letters, and that will answer our purpose. It is possible, too, that the general may find a way to make him disclose their hiding place. At noon you are to begin your journey. Take the west trail to the river, and keep on to the fort. When you go, I’ll start for the British camp. Until then Dan and I will sleep.”

The noon-day sun, therefore, looked down upon a deserted island. The three boys with their prisoner had gone over to the western shore of the little pond, and from there struck through the forest towards the Hudson river; while Ira re-crossed to the brook, and, descending that to the larger stream, retraced his steps to the point where the latter met the Hubbardtown trail. From this point he began his journey back to the lake. He took such a roundabout route as a precautionary step. Should he meet any one who knew him, it would be supposed he was returning to the encampment directly from Master Graham’s house.

On his arrival he found General Burgoyne too busy with his arrangements for breaking camp on the morrow to give him more than a passing notice.

Greeting him pleasantly, the officer remarked:

“I trust that you made a safe journey, Master Le Geyt.”

“I did, and left Master Preston in good hands,” he replied, an answer which satisfied the unsuspecting commander.

By easy stages the army crept down toward Ticonderoga until only Sugar Loaf Mountain[3] stood between it and the fortress. Here a halt was called that the engineering corps might examine the hill with a view to placing a half-dozen cannon on its summit.

With some anxiety Ira went over to the officer who was watching his men as they clambered up the steep sides, measuring distances, and selecting the surest footing.

“It is a difficult place to carry guns, captain,” he said, as he stood by the officer’s side. “The enemy have always regarded such a feat as being impossible.”

“It may be for them, but not for us,” the Britisher replied loftily. “Before night I shall have my cannon yonder on that level spot you see below the big tree. From there it will be an easy task to run them over on the south side.”

“The fort will then be at your mercy,” the young scout suggested.

“Yes,” the captain replied with much satisfaction. “As soon as I have the guns in place, the general will throw his army about the fortress, and it will have to surrender, or be blown to pieces. The cannon isn’t yet made that can throw a shot six hundred feet straight up in the air to harm us.”

“That is so,” the lad admitted, and turned away with a heavy heart.

From his tent door he could watch the work of the engineers. A derrick was made of a tree some distance up the precipitous side; a pair of horses was attached to one end of the rope, and a gun drawn up to a level spot which had been cleared away a few feet below the tree. Then the tackling was carried to another improvised derrick farther up the hill, and again the horses swung the cannon toward the summit. It was a slow task, often beset with unexpected hindrance; but within two hours the first gun was lying on the level spot which the captain of the corps had designated.

“If one cannon may be put there, six can be made to follow,” muttered Ira as he saw the end of the task. “It is only a question of time. The officer was right; before night he will have his battery where it can be put in place. I must get word to General St. Clair, and let him and his men slip away before they are surrounded.”

The opportunity came to him unexpectedly. About dusk General Burgoyne sent for him.

“Master Le Geyt,” he said, when the young scout was in his presence, “I want you to go below the fort and keep watch over the road the enemy would take if they should attempt to retreat to-night. Select as many men with you as may be needed, and in case you discover any suspicious movement, report promptly to General Fraser. He has his division ready for immediate pursuit the moment we know the Yankees are trying to escape us. Before another night I shall have a force where they cannot leave the fort however great their desire.”

Concealing the exultation he felt at this order, the lad replied promptly:

“I will make arrangements to leave camp at once, general, and shall need but one other man, provided we may have horses. There are two routes by which the Yankees can leave the fort; my comrade can watch one, while I look after the other, and the first to detect any movement of the enemy will report at once to General Fraser.”

“Very well. Go to Colonel Baume; he will furnish you with horses and man, and you can be off by the time it is fairly dark.”

“Yes, sir,” and the lad hurried away.

Twenty minutes later he rode out of the lines, accompanied by a stolid Hessian whom he had chosen as his attendant. They went down the south road until arriving at another running westward. Here he stationed his comrade, saying to him in his own tongue:

“Stay here until I return, unless the Yankees come along in full force, in which case you are to ride to camp as fast as your horse will go, and tell your colonel. Do you understand?”

He grunted an assent, and Ira rode off to the east, saying to himself: “You’ll see no Yankee force to-night, my good fellow.”

A mile further on he came to a farm-house, up to which he rode boldly, and dismounted. Three rapid knocks on the door brought an immediate response.

“I’ll join you in a moment,” a voice said, and soon a stalwart form stepped from the darkness within into the darkness without. Approaching the horseman, he peered into his face an instant, and then exclaimed:

“Ho, Ira! It is you! Well, what is up?”

“I must go into the fort to-night,” the rider explained in low tones. “I will leave my horse here. What is the password?”

The man placed his lips to the lad’s ear, and whispered the information he desired.

“All right,” he replied. “I will be back in a few hours.”

He then gave the reins of his steed into the farmer’s hands, and, passing around the house, crossed an open field to the nearest thicket, into which he plunged. When he emerged from the timber he was near the fortress. Boldly approaching the sentinel, he replied to the challenge by giving the password, and in a few minutes was in the presence of General St. Clair.

The officer’s greeting was a warm one. Grasping the newcomer by the hand, he exclaimed:

“I am glad to see you——” here he hesitated a moment, and then went on with a grimace, as though the name was a disagreeable one to him—“Ira; but I fear your coming means bad news for me. What is it?”

“I had no time to find my messengers,” he began, “so came myself. The engineers of Burgoyne have succeeded in hoisting six of their best cannon up the north side of Sugar Loaf Mountain. To-morrow morning they will be run across to the south edge, and the fort will be at their mercy. You must retreat to-night.”

“If I do, it means leaving my cannon and stores for the enemy,” the general growled, more to himself than to his visitor. “Tell me how they did it? I thought such a plan impossible.”

Rapidly the young scout described the methods used to accomplish the feat, and added:

“I also have another item of news. General Fraser’s division is in readiness to pursue you, if you attempt to leave the fortification. I have been sent here to see that you do not get away,” and he and the officer laughed. “The general has orders to put his troops in your rear in the morning.”

“Hum! hum!” the commander muttered. “That does look as though I must move quickly, if I am to save my men for future fighting,” and he relapsed into deep thought.

In silence Ira waited. At length the general spoke.

“If I could have until to-morrow night, I believe it might be possible to slip away with men, guns, stores, everything. Is there any way by which the movements of the red-coats could be delayed, say for twenty-four hours?”

It was a full minute before the lad replied: Then he said slowly: “If those cannon on the mountain were disabled, they would have to spend another day hoisting up a second battery, and in all probability General Fraser would not be sent to your rear until the guns were in position.”

“Exactly,” broke in the officer eagerly, “if those guns can be spiked to-night, I am likely to secure the delay I need. Now the question is, can it be done? Are those cannon under guard?”

“I think not,” his visitor replied. “The British camp is so close to the foot of the hill, and as you are not supposed to know that the guns are on its summit, they have not deemed such a precaution necessary.”

“It is worth trying,” the commander said half to himself. “If I can only find a man who is willing to undertake the job,” and again he relapsed into deep thought.

“I will undertake it, general.”

“You?”

“Yes. I believe I can do it without much risk. Once I climbed that hill from this side, just for the pleasure of saying I had accomplished the feat. I am sure I can do it again. Give me the implements needed; say nothing to any one, and I will make the attempt. Two cries of a night-hawk from the south edge of the mountain, twice repeated, will be token that I have succeeded. Three cries, unrepeated, is that I have failed. There will be time for you to slip away with your men if I am obliged to report a failure.”

During several minutes they discussed the matter, General St. Clair offering to send others to perform the task, and the lad insisting that he be allowed to try it. In the end the officer yielded, and, with a hammer and files in his pockets, the young scout left the fortress.

There was no difficulty in gaining the steep side of the mountain. It was there the hazardous work began. For some moments Ira studied the rocks as best he could in the darkness. Finally he gave an exclamation of delight. He was certain he had hit upon the place where he began his ascent several months previous.

Up the cliff, using hands and feet in every crevice he could find, grasping narrow ledge, or projecting root as he came to them, stopping to rest at intervals, he clambered slowly on. A half-hour passed, and then the toiler’s efforts were rewarded. He gained a ledge from which he found safe footing to the summit.

Drawing a deep breath of relief, he sped noiselessly to the opposite side. Finding the guns unguarded, he commenced the work which he believed meant so much to his friends in the fort. Wrapping a bit of cloth about a file, and placing his folded handkerchief over the top to deaden the sound, he drove it into the touch-hole of the nearest cannon.

The task accomplished, he listened attentively. There was no token that his work had attracted the attention of any one in the British camp six hundred feet below. Congratulating himself on such supposed fact, he moved on to the next gun, and set firmly a second file. Again he listened, but could hear nothing.

“The sound does not reach the camp,” he said to himself, and as rapidly as possible disabled the other four cannon. Straightening up from the labor, he found himself face to face with the captain of the engineer corps, who demanded:

“Who are you? What are you doing here?”

Rejoicing that he had not yet been recognized, Ira, with quick wit, replied:

“I am watching the guns.”

“I was not aware we posted any guard here to-night,” the officer said sharply. “Unless you can give a better reason for being here I shall run you through,” and there could be heard a certain rustling which told that he was drawing his sword from its scabbard.

“The general sent me,” the lad replied, not thinking it worth while to explain what general.

“Oh!” the officer stammered. “I—I didn’t think a sentinel was necessary here. I received no orders to that effect.”

“That is nothing to me,” was the cool reply.

This answer appeared to anger the engineer.

“I am sure I heard a hammering up here,” he declared.

“Very likely. I was pounding on the guns. A man must do something to keep himself awake.”

The answer apparently satisfied the officer, for he turned to retrace his steps down the mountain side. After going a few paces, however, he paused to say:

“You may tell the general that I came up here myself to see if the guns were all right.”

“That is fair,” the young scout agreed, wondering if the officer had recognized him.

He stood motionless until every sound of footsteps had died away. Then he hurried across the summit and gave utterance to the cries which told the listening Yankee general that he had succeeded in his undertaking.

But that gratified officer little fancied that the lad was even then mentally asking if it was safe for him to return to the British camp.

CHAPTER IV.
THE DAM ACROSS THE CREEK.

Ira did not stop to debate the question there on the mountain top. He had a more difficult problem, which was, how to descend in safety to the plain below.

Down the slanting shelf to the face of the cliff, he slowly groped his way; and then lowered himself inch by inch down the rocks. Sometimes he was forced to cling with his hands to a bush or sapling while he swung to and fro in search of a footing. Often he was forced to guess what was below him, and, at a venture, drop himself down where he believed he would find a crevice large enough for his feet. It was many minutes, and to him it must have seemed hours, before he gained a place from which he could descend without danger.

Once at the foot of the hill he ran quickly through the woods, to the place where he had left his horse. The farmer answered his summons quickly, and the lad was astonished when once within the house, to learn that it was only a few minutes past midnight.

“I will sleep until three o’clock, Master Lewis, if you don’t mind calling me at that time.”

“I can do that much for one who has been through what you have,” the farmer replied with a significant glance at his guest’s clothing.

Ira smiled. “My garments are a bit soiled and torn,” he admitted, “but I hope they will look a little better before I go back to camp.”

Then a woman’s voice could be heard from the next room. “Let him go into the front chamber, pa, and send his clothes here by you. I will clean and mend them while he sleeps.”

“Thank you, good mistress,” the lad cried. “It is a case where a woman’s hands can help me out of an awkward fix. Under your skilful fingers I shall be able to return to the British encampment without a trace of the work I have done this night for the Cause.”

Nor was he disappointed. It would have required sharp eyes, indeed, to have discovered any evidences of mountain climbing upon his clothing when he dressed himself a little before dawn.

A sharp ride down the road brought him to the place where he had left the Hessian. He found the fellow fast asleep in a thicket, his horse hitched to a near-by tree. Waking him, he asked in well-feigned anger:

“Hey, there, Hans, how long has this been going on?”

The trooper arose, rubbed his eyes sleepily, and stammered:

“I—I had only just laid down, sir. I knew it was most morning, when the Yankees wouldn’t be likely to come now, and I was so tired.”

“How many times did I ride back here during the night, then?” Ira demanded sternly.

The man looked puzzled for a moment, and then answered boldly:

“Three times, sir. I saw you every time.”

The young scout laughed heartily. “There is an old saying in our language, Hans, to the effect that ‘a lie well stuck to is as good as the truth.’ It may prove so in your case. Mount, and we’ll ride back to camp.”

The sun was rising when they passed the pickets, and the first person they saw beyond the guards was the captain of the engineer corps. He was viewing his work of the previous day. Seeing the horsemen, he crossed the enclosure to meet them. Understanding his purpose, and eager for the interview, Ira reined his horse down to a walk. They soon met, and the officer was the first to speak.

“You have taken an early ride this morning, Master Le Geyt,” he said.

“It was an all-night job,” the scout replied in a friendly tone. “Hans and I have been five or six miles out into the country doing special work for the king. I am on my way now to report to the general,” and, putting spurs to his horse, he, followed by his attendant, rode to the tent of the commander.

There he gave his steed over to the care of the trooper, who went off to his own quarters. Watching him, while he stood waiting to be admitted to the presence of General Burgoyne, Ira saw that the engineer halted and held quite an extended conversation with him.

“It is certain he thought he saw me on the hill,” the lad muttered; “but he won’t be so sure of it after talking with the Hessian. On finding that the guns have been spiked, he’ll be in such a muddle that there’ll be nothing said about our meeting.”

This prophecy was not quite correct. There was a single exception. The engineer did mention the affair to Ira himself. Calling on him that evening, after the second battery had been hoisted up on the mountain, he first enjoined the utmost secrecy, and then said:

“I had a peculiar experience last night in connection with that first battery. About ten o’clock I was enjoying a smoke, when I heard a muffled click, click, up the mountain side. Wondering what was going on, I climbed up, and found a fellow of about your size standing by the cannon. When I asked his business, he said he was guarding the guns; that the general had sent him there. I was certain then that it was you, and felt quite sore because I had failed to post a guard. Hoping to put myself right with the commander, I said that he should tell the general I was up there to see that the cannon were safe. He promised to do so, and I returned to the camp. The first inkling I had that it wasn’t you, came when I saw you and the Hessian riding into the lines. I never once suspected it might be some blasted Yankee, until my men reported that the guns had been spiked. To think that I talked with the rascal, and yet he was sharp enough to hoodwink me, fairly makes me boil. Why, I one time had my sword drawn, and could have run him through, but yet let him go. Don’t tell any one that I have been such a fool.”

“You may be sure I shan’t mention the incident to a single soul,” was the truthful promise.

Elated as Ira was at his own escape from detection, he rejoiced even more because General St. Clair had gained the delay in the movements of the enemy which he had so much desired. General Burgoyne, when he found he could not command the fort until a second battery had been placed on the hill, countermanded the order given General Fraser to advance his division to the rear of the Continentals.

It was not until a Tory, living on the Hubbardtown road, came into the camp in the small hours of July fifth, with the startling tidings that the Yankees were running off bag and baggage past his house, that a new order was issued for the waiting forces to move. As the bearer of the news offered to act as guide, the young scout was not disturbed, and, therefore, it was not until after sunrise that he knew pursuit had been made. He waited in much anxiety for the outcome, and was filled with dismay when at noon a report came that General Fraser had overtaken and defeated the retreating Yankees, capturing enormous quantities of ammunition and stores.

He learned the real facts about the battle, however, a little later, and from the lips of Dan Cushing. He had gone to meet his aids in a deep cave on a rocky hill a mile or two below the British encampment, and arrived there just in time to meet Dan, who had come from where the engagement took place.

“Don’t you worry, Ira, ’bout the braggin’ those red-coats are doin’ in the camp,” the boy began. “They’ll make a mole-hill look like a mountain any time, ’specially if it’s in their favor. Now, the facts are these, an’ I have them from some of the fellers who were in the fight: General St. Clair left Colonel Seth Warren’s regiment in the rear to look out for the British if they came chasin’ down after him. He was on the Hubbardtown and Castleton road when General Fraser overtook him. To give the main portion of the forces a chance to escape, the Colonel turned and pitched into the red-coats. What’s more, he would have whipped them, had not a reserved force of Hessians come up in the nick of time. That turned the tide in the British favor, and our men had to run, but they got away as did the others ahead of them. Our people are tearin’ up the bridges, an’ droppin’ great trees ’cross the road as they go, an’ I’m thinkin’ General Burgoyne will go mighty slow ’tween here an’ Fort Edward.”

“I have a scheme in mind that will do more to hinder him than destroying bridges or felling trees,” the leader said when the story was finished; “but we can’t carry it out until we are several miles below here, near our next meeting-place. When you move down to it, provide yourselves with pick-axes, shovels, and iron bars. I’ll get a day off in some way, and though we will have as hard and as big a job as we ever undertook, I doubt if we’ll ever do another turn that will mean more for the Cause,” and with this mystifying statement he hurried away.

A week passed. During that time General Burgoyne garrisoned the abandoned fort at Ticonderoga, and moved his main force down the Hubbardtown road. His progress was necessarily slow, since he was compelled to clear the way, and rebuild bridges before he could make any headway. At length he arrived at a passage between two hills, so narrow and so completely blocked with logs and bowlders, that it was evident his engineering corps had at least a two-days task to remove the obstruction. Here his patience became exhausted, and he sent for Ira.

“Master Le Geyt,” he said when the young scout was in his presence, “I am tired of this snail’s pace at which I am obliged to crawl. Is there not some other route I could follow, and so get rid of these obstacles the rebels have thrown in my way?”

The guide shook his head. “Not without a long detour which would consume more time than clearing the way,” he declared. “There is a big swamp on ahead, and the only hope of getting through it is to keep along this road.”

“Is there not at least some way we can get around these hills?” continued the exasperated commander. “Even if we are twenty-four hours doing it we shall save time. Captain Howell of my engineering corps declares it will take two days, if not longer, to remove these latest obstructions we have encountered.”

It suddenly occurred to Ira that here might be his opportunity to get a few hours to himself, as he had been hoping to do, therefore he replied quickly:

“I might take a tramp around the hills and see. It’s worth looking into, sir.”

“I wish you would, and take Captain Howell with you. He can readily reckon the length of time required to clear the way.”

This was something on which the lad had not counted; but if disturbed by it, he gave no sign.

“Very well, sir,” he replied. “I will see the captain at once, and get away as soon as I can.”

“It is odd,” he said to himself while searching for the officer, “that I should for the second time be forced to fool that man. But I must do it, if I’m to accomplish the job on hand, and it’s time it was attended to.”

He had formed no definite plan of action when he found the captain, and they began their tramp together through the forest. It was just after noon, and they went to the eastward, as the hill on that side of the road seemed more likely, from its shape, to have a pass through it.

This proved to be a fact. After walking two miles they arrived at a narrow valley, through which ran a small brook. Following this they came into some lowlands, over which they made their way to the road at a point where it wound into a swamp heavily wooded.

“We are beyond the great barricade,” the captain announced as they stepped out upon the road.

“Yes,” his companion admitted. “Do you think the route we have come over is feasible for the army?”

“It can be made so with less trouble than is possible on the other road. But let us go into the swamp a short distance; so far as I can see the way is open.”

“But you can’t see very far,” Ira replied. “Two rods away the road twists entirely out of sight. To my mind, it is just the place where the Yankees would be likely to put in their obstructions thick and fast.”

“We can at least look at it.”

They were soon at the turn, and found, just beyond, was a huge pile of fallen trees. Over these they clambered and continued on to the next bend, where was a second collection of fallen timber.

“I wonder if it is like this throughout the entire swamp?” the officer growled as he and his comrade made their way with difficulty over the second pile of hewn trees to the clear road beyond.

“I believe so,” the young scout answered.

This surmise proved correct; over more than a score of such stacks of timber they were forced to crawl before arriving at the lower edge of the swamp. By this time the sun had set, and with a shrug of his shoulders the captain said:

“I’m too tired to go back over those barricades to-night. Isn’t there some place on this side where we can find shelter?”

His guide was silent a moment as though thinking, and then replied: “Yes. Come on!”

Instead of continuing on the road as the officer had expected, the lad struck into the woods on the left, where the ground was still of a swampy nature. But, leaping from log to log, he led the way with a rapidity that made it difficult for the Britisher to keep pace with him, and impossible to carry on any conversation.

After traveling for a few rods they lost sight of the road, and then, instead of decaying logs, they found trees which had been felled so that they lay end to end, clearly to furnish a firm footing for any who wished to go deeper into the forest. If the engineer noted the singularity of this circumstance, he had no chance to comment upon it, for Ira was still a rod or more in the lead. At length, however, he stopped and allowed the captain to come up with him. They were then on the edge of a sluggish creek of considerable width and depth.

“What does this mean?” the captain demanded. “What have you come here for, jumping from log to log like a frog? We cannot ford this stream.”

“We don’t need to,” his guide replied. “We’ll go down a bit,” and as he spoke the lad bent over, searching with his hands until he found a rope. Pulling on this, he drew out from under the overhanging bushes, a small canoe.

“Get in,” he said, holding it steady for his companion to embark.

“You have been here before,” Captain Howells remarked as he sat down in the light craft.

“Certainly, or I should not have known the way.”

As he stepped in, cast off the rope, and took up the paddle, the young scout added:

“Of course I wasn’t sure of finding the boat here. Some one else might have used it, or a freshet carried it away. There was a risk in coming; but this course will take us to the nearest house where we can pass the night, so I concluded to run the chances.”

He was already paddling down the stream, which soon turned sharply to the eastward, and a little farther on plunged into a narrow gorge with a low, hollow sound that could now be plainly heard.

“There are falls ahead,” the engineer cried in some alarm.

“Yes; but we shall not go over them. Look on the right side, and you will see a log cabin at the foot of the south cliff. We shall stop there.”

In another moment he dexterously swung the canoe into a little basin just below the hut, exclaiming:

“Here we are!”

Springing out, he steadied the craft while his comrade leaped ashore. Securing the boat he led the way into the building, saying:

“This was built a few years ago by a half-crazy old fellow who gained a livelihood by hunting and fishing. Since he died it has been public property for those who know of it. I have been here now and then with others on ’coon hunts. We’ll gather some fir boughs for a bed, and it won’t be a bad place in which to pass the night.”

From their knapsacks they carried they first satisfied their hunger, and then collected the material for beds. In doing this it was necessary to approach near the place where the creek made its downward plunge, and Ira said carelessly:

“How easy it would be to dam the stream here.”

“Yes; but if you did that it would flood the whole swamp.”

“How deep?”

“That would depend on your dam. As the water is now standing on the surface nearly everywhere, you would get nearly a foot of water for each twelve inches dam.”

“Four feet here then, would give the same depth through the forest?”

“Practically, unless there is some other place where the water can run off.”

“You are up in all these things,” the young scout continued with a laugh. “I fancy you can tell to an hour, how long it would take for the water to rise until it overflowed the dam again.”

“Not exactly,” the engineer confessed, “since I do not know the exact dimensions of the swamp. But the stream is deep, and the land low. It would fill fast, and in a few days be impassable.”

“There isn’t much stuff here with which to make a dam,” Ira said in a careless tone.

“Oh, yes there is,” the captain insisted. “Give me a half-dozen men, and in a day I could build all that would be needed.”

“I’d like to know how you would do it,” Ira cried.

“No trouble at all,” retorted the officer, warming up to his subject. “Do you see this big tree? I’d cut that down so it would fall across the gorge. Then I’d go on the other side, and fell the big hemlock. It could be done in such a way that it would interlock with the other, and the two trunks, when trimmed, would give you the timbers against which you could place your barricade. That I would build of posts, driving them side by side across the bed of the stream. It won’t take many, and after stuffing the cracks with leaves and moss from the forest, I would pack in dirt and stones from the hillside until it was water-tight. I wish I never had a harder job than that.”

His comrade shook his head. “It is all in knowing how,” he commented. “What would be easy for you, would be hard for some one else.” And then the discussion was dropped for the time. But after they were lying on their rude beds, Ira suddenly raised his head to ask:

“I say, captain, suppose the Yankees should catch on to this thing.”

“What thing?” the officer asked, quickly rising.

“Why, building a dam across the creek here. It would not only flood the swamp, but the road as well. We couldn’t get the army along until the waters subsided.”

“Bet your life we couldn’t,” the engineer replied. “It is a great scheme; but then a Yankee would never think of it,” and he settled back on his bed.

Not so with his comrade. He appeared uneasy about something, and sat up. Then he arose and went to the door, fumbled with the bar that fastened it, as though making it more secure; in reality to remove it entirely. After this he went to the window and looked out.

“What’s the matter?” the officer asked sleepily.

“I can’t get it out of my head about those Yankees coming here to-night to build that dam,” was the reply. “I was now looking out to see if we could jump through the window if they should appear.”

“Oh! that is all right. But how about getting up the sides of the gorge. Can we do that?”

“Yes, after a fashion. It is better than taking to the swamp in the night-time. I shall go that way, if needs must.”

Ira now returned to his bed and lay down, but tossed restlessly about, which uneasiness his companion soon shared. At length they both dozed, but only to be awakened within a short time by the sound of voices on the river below them.

“There is the hut! Be careful, and keep well in to the bank, or we shall go down the falls!” one voice exclaimed.

“Hello! there’s another canoe. Some one else is here!” another cried.

“Hush! The red-coats may have a guard here, and we will be able to capture them,” a third said in a lower tone.

Both sleepers were now awake; but Ira, for reasons of his own, kept quiet, and breathed heavily. The next instant the captain leaped to his feet, and came noiselessly over to him. Shaking the lad vigorously, he whispered:

“Quick, Master Le Geyt! The Yankees have come, and we must run for it!”

The young scout arose, and the officer, running to the open window, jumped out, evidently expecting his companion to follow, as he ran toward the hill. At its foot he paused, and looked back. Several dark forms were near the cabin, and in another instant the door was burst open.

“There they go,” some one shouted, and then two or three guns were discharged.

One of the bullets whistled dangerously near the Britisher’s head, and, believing he had been seen, he clambered on as stealthily as possible. Gaining the summit, he stopped again and listened. There were shouts to be heard, and lights at the hut; but no sound of any one following, and, concluding that his comrade had been killed or captured, the engineer plunged on down the other side of the ridge, disappearing in the thicket at its base.

Could he have looked back, it would have been possible to see Ira shaking hands heartily with the six persons who came into the building, three of whom were his own comrades, and the others no less loyal to the Cause. Had he remained in hearing he would have heard Dan Cushing’s explanation:

“We were at the lower edge of the swamp-road, waitin’ for you, Ira, when we saw you comin’ along with that British officer. We hid until you came up, an’ heered him ask you ’bout a place to stay all night. I caught your sign ’fore you took to the swamp, an’ followed to the creek, findin’ the note you put in the tree ’fore the captain jined ye. When that had been read we knew what to do, an’ that red-coat has gone over the ridge as if the devil was after him!”

All laughed, and then Ira said:

“Let him go. He has done us a good turn, for he gave me some ideas about dam-building which we’ll make use of to-morrow.”

They were at the task early in the morning, following many of the suggestions of the British engineer. One of the men who had accompanied the lads had some practical knowledge of dam-building, however, and neatly hewed two edges of the posts before they were driven into place, thus securing joints that were almost water-tight. Heavy moss from the forest, and gravel brought in baskets from the hill-side, made up the filling, and before the workers sought their well-earned rest they knew that the water was rising.

The dam in the forest, which indirectly was to hinder the advance of the British army for days, had become an accomplished fact.

CHAPTER V.
THE SUSPICIOUS TORY.

At dawn on the following morning one thing was clear to every occupant of the old hut: The water was rising so rapidly that they would soon be compelled to vacate the building. Therefore, after breakfast, they looked about for a place in which to build a new shanty. After considerable discussion it was decided to put the structure on the heights across the creek.

There were two reasons for such decision. If the cabin was built there, it would be above the reach of the rising waters; and a small party at that point might protect the dam in case the British sent down a force to destroy it.

“It may be that Captain Howell will ask General Burgoyne to let him lead a company down here for the double purpose of rescuing me and preventing the building of a dam,” Ira said laughingly. “If so, we better be prepared for it. With the river between you and them, five on the hill could drive off any force he is likely to bring with him.”

“There are seven of us,” Late said quickly.

“True,” the lad admitted, “but there will soon be only five. When you have moved the stuff, I shall set off for the encampment, taking Dan with me as far as the swamp-road, for I count on sending him to Fort Edward with a report.”

An hour later the site for the new shelter had been selected, and the goods carried over. Then Ira and Dan embarked in one of the canoes, and paddled off up the swelling stream. The water had risen so high that the voyagers were able to push the light craft through the forest to a place where young Cushing could step directly out upon the highway. As he did so, he gazed over the increasing waters and said:

“Give us another twenty-four hours, Ira, an’ this road will be covered.”

“It looks so,” the latter replied, “and I think, by picking my way, I can push up the swamp to the north side.”

“You surely can by goin’ back to the creek, an’ runnin’ on that till it turns to the west. Hide your boat somewhere up that way, an’ you can come down to us any time you’ve a mind.”

“Very-well,” Ira answered; “but now for the message to General Schuyler. Here is a rough drawing of the road, the swamp, and the dam. I have written no description, and it will mean nothing to any one but you. Do you understand it.”

“It’s clear as a bell,” the lad admitted a moment later.

“Then you can explain it to the general. Tell him why we built the dam, and what we hope to accomplish by it. Give us two days more, and I see no way for the red-coats to pass the swamp while the dam holds.”

“That’s ’bout the size of it,” Dan replied grimly, “an’ no one will see it quicker than the general. ’Twas a lucky minute when it popped into your head, Ira,” and with this compliment he swung down the roads towards the fort.

Ira watched until he was out of sight, and then paddled leisurely back to the creek. Up this he went to its westward bend, and, leaving it, glided through the woods as long as he found any depth of water. Then, picking up the light craft, he carried it to a point where the land rose into something like a hill.

“The water can’t rise much farther than this,” he thought, glancing back over the route he had followed.

Concealing his burden among the bushes, he strode on towards the camp, arriving there a little before noon, and going directly to the tent of the commander.

“Master Le Geyt!” exclaimed that officer as he saw his visitor, “I had decided you were in the rebels’ hands.”

“Hasn’t Captain Howell come back?” the young scout asked, eager to learn all he might about that officer before telling the story of his prolonged absence.

“Yes,” the general replied; “but he can explain nothing.”

“How is that?”

“Last night he crawled over the barricade on which his corps was at work, and fell unconscious among the men. They brought him into camp and called the surgeon. He examined him, finding one leg broken. Evidently he had crawled many miles in that condition, and was nearly exhausted. When did you part with him?”

“Has he not been able to tell you any thing?” asked the lad, giving no heed to General Burgoyne’s question.

“He has been in a delirium ever since, and we can get nothing from him save fragments of a story. He has spoken of the Yankees, your capture, and his fall. We could only suppose that you two had run against some of the rebels during the tramp; that you had been captured, he got away, and was injured during his flight. We shall have to depend on your report to straighten matters out.”

“There is not much to tell,” the lad replied. “We stopped in an abandoned hut for the night, and were awakened by the sound of voices. He jumped from the cabin window and got away; but half a dozen rebels entered the building before I could escape. I stayed there until this morning, when they let me go, deciding, perhaps, that I was not worth keeping.”

“You were fortunate indeed. I presume, then, you discovered no road around the rebel barricades?”

“No,” Ira replied. “They increase rather than diminish in number, and below here a few miles is a huge swamp, which, for some reason, is flooding rapidly. By the time we arrive there I believe it will be well-nigh impassable.”

“What a way in which to fight!” exclaimed the officer in disgust. “If they would only come out in the open and give me a chance I would soon scatter them like chaff before the wind. But here they are blocking the way, exhausting my stores, forcing me to change all my plans of campaign; it is enough to make a saint angry!” and by this time he had worked himself into such a rage that the hearer was glad, on the plea of being tired, to retire to his own quarters.

When he next saw the general the latter was in a better mood. He had sent for the scout, and when Ira entered the tent he found there a young fellow, scarcely older than himself, to whom the officer at once introduced him.

“Master Le Geyt,” he said, “this is Master Bowen, a courier like yourself, which is a bond that ought to make you fast friends. He has come from Quebec bringing me good news. In a short time Colonel St. Leger is to leave that city for Oswego. From there he will march against Fort Stanwix,[4] and, capturing that, sweep down the valley of the Mohawk, driving the rebels before him, until he joins me at Albany. Now how large a force remains at Fort Stanwix?”

Startled as Ira was by these tidings, he nevertheless replied calmly:

“The last I knew, General Burgoyne, there were two hundred men in the fort. Of course I can’t tell you whether any reinforcements have been sent there within a week or two.”

It was the number that caught the general’s ear.

“Do you hear that, Master Bowen?” he cried. “Only two hundred men there, and how large a force did you say St. Leger has?”

“Seven hundred regulars, and one thousand Indians,” the courier answered.

“Seventeen hundred in all!” the officer announced with exultation. “We shall hear great things from him I do not doubt, and the rebels, being caught between our two forces, must be crushed to powder. Ha! ha!” and he laughed loudly.

For some time he discussed the matter with his young visitors, and then dismissed them. Ira took Master Bowen, as a matter of courtesy, to his own tent, where he bade him make himself at home.

“I shall have to come and go on my regular duties,” he explained; “but you are welcome to all I have so long as you remain with us.”

“It will be but a few hours,” the courier replied. “The authorities in Quebec are eager to know what progress our army is making, and as soon as the general can prepare his report I shall start on my return. I hope it may be some time to-night. I can then reach the lake, where I have a sailboat, in time for the morning breeze.”

For reasons of his own Ira stuck close to his new friend during the rest of the day, and when the hour came for the latter to depart, asked permission of the general to accompany him a mile or two on his way.

“Certainly,” that officer replied. “I said you would be fast friends, and the fact that you are loath to part with him proves it. Go as far as the lake, if you wish.”

“Thank you,” the lad replied, and he and the courier left the lines together.

When they had traveled no more than two miles on the trail Ira bade his acquaintance good-bye, and turned back towards the camp. He did not enter it, however. Passing to the eastward, he hurried through the hills to the place where he had left his canoe the day previous. Carrying the boat to the waters, which had risen many inches since he was there, he embarked and pulled with feverish haste down to the dam. Landing, he climbed up to the new Shelter and, arousing the inmates, astonished them by his sudden appearance and startling news.

“Quick, Late and Joe,” he began. “You must go down to the fort at once. I am sending both, for it may be that General Schuyler will want you to go on to Fort Stanwix. Tell him that a Colonel St. Leger with seven hundred regular troops and one thousand Indians will land at Oswego about August first. His purpose is to capture the fort, and then to sweep down the Mohawk valley to Albany, where he hopes to join forces with Burgoyne. As I have said, if he wants you to go to the fort with the tidings, do so. I can get along for a while with one helper. Should you meet Dan on his way back, let him return to the fort with you, learn the general’s plans, and bring me word. I must know what is going on entirely along our lines, if I am to do my work here intelligently. Tell Dan I will be here the second night from this to hear his report.”

While the messengers were preparing for their journey, he turned to the three men who, after helping build the dam, had remained to help guard it, saying:

“Captain Howell got back to the camp, but with a broken leg and in a high fever. His condition is such that he is not likely to take any interest in military affairs for several days. Therefore the British officers know nothing about the dam, and it is safe. You may go back to your homes, if you so please.”

Ira waited until the five continentals had disappeared down the south ridge. Then he closed the cabin, went back to his canoe, and began his return to the encampment.

Entering the enclosure from the same direction he had departed a few hours previous, his absence created no suspicion, and soon after midnight he was sleeping soundly in his own bed.

During the following day the engineers succeeded in removing the obstructions from the narrow pass, and the entire army advanced among the hills to the margin of the swamp. Here they were again stopped, not only by great barricades, but by a flood over the road-bed to the depth of at least three feet deep. The uncertain footing either side the way, the many turns in the road-bed, the numerous barricades, and the depth of the water, all forced the impatient commander to halt, while he sent forth men in every direction to learn, if possible, the cause of the flood.

It created no surprise when Ira joined that company which went to the north end of the great swamp, and when they, wearied by a long tramp and fruitless search, turned to retrace their steps, no one noted that he lagged behind.

When night fell he was far enough in the rear to make his way to the hidden canoe and paddle off among the trees towards the creek. Once in this watercourse, he made rapid progress, and soon was in the cabin listening to Dan’s tale.

“First,” he said, “I’ll tell you ’bout my own trip. After leavin’ you I struck out pretty smart for the fort. Reachin’ it, I found the general away, so had to wait till the next mornin’ ’fore I could see him. He understood your plan at once, an’ was mighty tickled with it. He told me to say that in two weeks we could let the water off, an’ ’low the red-coats to come on as fast as they might. He’d be ready for them.”

“What are they doing?” Ira asked eagerly. “Are they strengthening the fort?”

“No,” was the answer. “The general has chosen Bemis Heights, ’cross the Hudson, as the place to get in his work, and Kosciusko, that Polish officer, is plannin’ the fortifications. It’s there our troops will fight it out with Burgoyne.”

“General Schuyler counts on abandoning Fort Edward, then?” Ira remarked musingly.

“Yes, when the British get near enough to chase him. He’ll keep just out of their way till he’s enticed them ’cross the river. Then he’ll wallop ’em.”

“What forces has he now?” was the next query.

“His own, an’ General St. Clair’s,” Dan replied, keeping tally on his fingers. “Then there’s General Benjamin Lincoln with the New England troops, General Nicholas Herkimer an’ eight hundred militia, Colonel Daniel Morgan with his rifle corps, and Colonel Benedict Arnold with twelve hundred regulars, more than ten thousand men in all. We’ll whip the red-coats yet, Ira.”

“I hope so,” was the hearty rejoinder. “Now tell me what has been done about Fort Stanwix.”

“I was on my way back,” the lad explained, “when I met the boys an’ went to the fort with them. The general was quite stirred up by the news; but, noddin’ to me, said, ‘Tell Ira there’s time to get plenty of reinforcements up there.’ Then, turnin’ to Late and Joe, he went on, ‘I’ll have General Herkimer an’ his troops on the way to-morrow, an’ Colonel Arnold with his regulars shall follow.’ He looked at me agin, an’ asked, ‘Did you take that in, Dan?’ An’ when I said, ‘Yes, sir,’ he continued, ‘Put that in your report to Ira, too, an’ give him my love,’ all of which I’ve done accordin’ to orders.”

“Exactly, Dan. No one could have done it better,” his companion replied almost gleefully. “But I must be off, or we’ll have a troop of Britishers looking me up. I’ll drop in on you as often as possible.”

“Don’t worry ’bout me,” was the reply. “I can stay here a week alone, if it means in the end some good work for the Cause.”

Before arriving at the British encampment the young scout met half a dozen soldiers who were looking for him. The explanation that he had but just got out of the swamp was deemed sufficient to account for his delay, and the entire party went back together.

Two weeks later a heavy thunder-storm raged. The rain literally fell in torrents for hours. The first effect was to swell the flood in the swamp; but on the following day it subsided with great rapidity. In a single day the road-bed could be seen above the water, and General Burgoyne, with much delight, ordered his corps of engineers to begin the work of clearing away the obstructions.

Ira at once surmised that the dam was gone, and that night received the full particulars from Dan.

“First the rain swelled the creek,” he said, “an’ poured over the dam with a noise like thunder. Then trees, uprooted by the wind, came down, and went agin the timbers with a deafenin’ crash. They piled up for a while, and then, all at once, the strain became too great. The dam gave way, an’ water, trees an’ timbers went down the gorge together. I took the liberty to scurry off to the fort as soon as it happened, an’ told the general. He said ’twas all right. Let the army come ’long as fast as they could, he was ready for them.”

“It will be some days before they reach there,” Ira said, curtly.

In this he was correct. It was more than a week before the British army reached Fort Edward, and then they found it, as they had the fort at Ticonderoga, abandoned. General Schuyler, with all his forces, stores, and guns, had crossed the Hudson to Bemis Heights.

On the river bank that night Dan and Ira had a brief interview.

“We are here at last,” Ira began.

“Yes, but it took you twenty-four days to come twenty-six miles,” the other retorted drily. “I reckon it is the most remarkable journey on record.”

A few days after General Burgoyne had established his head-quarters in the abandoned fort, he sent for his young scout.

“Here is some one you will be glad to meet, Master Le Geyt,” was his greeting. “A relative of yours, I believe.”

Ira’s face blanched as he turned to meet a man he had never seen before. At a loss for words, he could only gaze at the fellow, a tall, gaunt man of sixty years or more, who promptly asked:

“Be you Ira Le Geyt?”

“Yes.”

“Son of Hiram Le Geyt over on the Mohawk?”

“Yes.”

For a moment the questioner gazed at him from head to foot, and then blurted out:

“You don’t look like him!”

CHAPTER VI.
THE BEND OF THE WALLOOMSAC.

Not a little startled by the words of the stranger, Ira glanced at General Burgoyne to see what impression they had made upon him. Seeing a look of amusement, rather than suspicion, on the officer’s face, he grew bolder; but was still at loss what reply to make, when he saw a piece of paper lying upon a table in front of the general, on which a name was written in an irregular, scrawling hand.

Instantly the lad recognized it as that of a zealous Tory in an adjoining state, of whom he had heard much. In a twinkling he understood that it was the name of the man before him, who had sent it in to the British commander when he sought an interview.

The glance, the reading, the conclusion, were as a flash, and the next minute he was gazing smilingly at the visitor, as he said:

“I am surprised that you don’t know me, Uncle Horace; but then, it is a long time since we met.”

“Do you know me?” the stranger exclaimed, every line of doubt on his face changing to an expression of delight.

“Of course I do,” the young scout replied confidently. “You are Horace Lyman of Bennington, who——”

“Who married your ma’s sister,” the Tory interrupted. “It’s queer you look so different than you did when over at my house, but, as you say, that is some time ago.”

“It must have been before father and I went to Europe,” Ira went on boldly.

“So it was, and a year over there must have changed your looks, though I begin to see the old face now. How is your pa and ma, and the younger children?”

“All well when I last heard from them,” was the reply. “How is Aunt and Cousin Fred?”

“Your aunt is poorly, very poorly,” Master Lyman answered. “Sometimes I think she is a little bit out here,” and he touched his forehead, “for she persists that the rebels will in the end gain their independence. But Fred, he’s all right, physically and mentally. He has done some good work in the last week or two, about which I have been telling the general, and now he wants to enlist in the king’s service. That is one reason why I am over here to-day.”

“And I have promised to give the matter my consideration,” General Burgoyne remarked, as though growing impatient with his visitors’ family affairs. “If you will take a turn about the fort for an hour or two, Master Lyman, I will then tell you what I can do in regard to both matters you have spoken about,” and he bowed him from the room.

Turning to Ira, he said:

“Before I give your relative a definite reply, I must talk with you about the revelation he has made, and the favor he desires. You have been in Bennington, Master Le Geyt?”

“Yes, sir, two or three years ago.”

“Do you know where is located the inn known as the ‘State’s Arms’ house? I mean its position in the village, and its relation to the other public buildings?”

“Yes, sir. It stands on the summit of the hill, near the church,” and the young scout rapidly described the town, its surroundings, and its approaches, wondering all the while what could be his commander’s reason for this information.

“I learn through your uncle,” the general said, “that the rebels are gathering large quantities of ammunition and stores there. He believes I can make an easy capture of them. Your cousin Fred, as you call him, has been keeping watch over the doings in the town and the neighborhood. Now in your judgment, how large a force of men would be necessary to make the raid on Bennington?”

“Would it not be better for me to go back with Uncle Horace, and look around?” Ira suggested, hoping to gain time in which to warn the people of the danger that threatened them.

“I was going to ask that of you,” the general replied. “According to your relative, the stores are still being brought in, and it will be well for us to defer our raid until they have finished the work. But there is another part of Master Lyman’s tale which greatly interests me. He declares that there is an opportunity for me to secure from the neighboring farms, horses in sufficient numbers to equip a regiment of cavalry. If this can be done, it would give me a great advantage over the rebels. I would, therefore, like to have you spend a few days in that locality looking carefully into the matter. In such task you may find occasion to employ your cousin, and thus learn whether he can be of further value to us as guide, courier, or staff officer. It is the latter position your uncle desires for him.”

“When does Uncle Horace intend to return home?” questioned the scout, still thinking how he could serve his friends and save the stores.

“To-morrow. I believe.”

“I will be ready to go with him,” Ira said, rising to take his leave.

“May fortune favor you,” were the parting words of the general.

Though the lad saw Master Lyman upon the walls of the fort, he did not think it wise to seek another interview with him. Something might arise in their conversation to awaken the suspicions of the Tory as to his identity. When in Bennington, some months previous, he had, by the merest chance, learned of the royalist, and that he had a son Fred, who was as ardent a supporter of the king as the father. This information had served him a good turn; but while he really meant to accompany the man to Bennington, he had no intention of putting himself in a position where either husband, wife, or son would be likely to discover he was not the real Ira.

Leaving it, therefore, for General Burgoyne to explain to the visitor the plans which had been decided upon, the young scout went into his own tent to devise, if possible, some way by which the purpose of the British commander could be thwarted.

When night came he slipped out of the fort, and went over to the place where he had arranged to meet Dan Cushing. He found the boy in waiting, and after a brief conversation with him, did what he had not expected to do when he left the British camp. At the risk of being seen by some sharp-eyed picket, or more alert Indian, he, in company with Dan, crossed the river and entered the Continental lines.

For an hour he and his comrade were closeted with General Schuyler, and then the two lads came forth, Ira to make his way back to his quarters in the fort, and Dan to mount a horse when, after a long detour to the south of Fort Edward, he was to ride toward Bennington.

Not far from nine o’clock the following day Master Lyman and Ira Le Geyt left the fort, and, taking the nearest route for Bennington, rode leisurely along.

“I am sure you will find Fred of great help to you in this work,” Master Lyman said, “and a good word from you will surely give him the place he wants on the general’s staff.”

“He prefers that to the position of scout or courier?” the latter questioned, more to keep up appearances than for any other reason.

“Yes,” the Tory replied emphatically. “If he is only a scout or courier he must wear his ordinary dress, but if put on the general’s staff, with the rank of a lieutenant or captain, he would have the regular uniform, and that is what Fred wants. Ever since he was in Quebec last fall he has just been about crazy to get on some regimentals.”

“And yet he might be of more service in ordinary clothes,” Ira said grimly.

“Yes, and run a bigger risk. The reason Fred sticks for a place on the staff of the general is, that there won’t be as much danger, as in the regular service. There’ll be more honor and less fighting.”

“I’ve known others to choose the humbler place because it called for more dangerous work,” the young scout said in the same grim tone.

The Tory looked at him sharply. “Do you question Fred’s courage?” he demanded.

“How can I, until I see it put to the test?” was the demure response. “I was merely thinking of the difference between Fred’s view and mine. I am a scout because it gives me an opportunity to render a greater service.”

The Tory scowled, but made no reply, and soon the conversation turned to other matters. At noon they ate dinner with a friend of Master Lyman’s, of whom the latter declared: “He is as true a servant of the king’s as I am,” a fact of which Ira made mental note for future use.

At nightfall they were within a few miles of their destination, and by pushing on could have reached it before a very late hour; but Master Lyman evidently had another plan in mind. As they arrived at a road leading northward, he said:

“A mile or so beyond is the home of James Earle. I promised to stop on my way back from the fort and tell him what I had seen and heard. We’ll go there for the night.”

“It is for you to say,” his comrade replied, turning his horse to follow his leader.

A tract of woodland could be seen just ahead, and as if to pass through it as rapidly as possible, the Tory spurred his horse to a canter. As he disappeared beneath the shadow of the trees, Ira suddenly reined in his own steed, and, turning toward the road they had left, uttered the cry of a night hawk. Almost immediately it was repeated at no great distance in the rear, and, apparently satisfied, the lad dashed away after his companion.

In a few minutes the two had arrived at Master Earle’s house, where they were warmly received, and provided with a hearty supper. When the meal had been eaten, the travelers and their host went into the front room of the house, leaving the women to clear away the table. Soon the two Tories were busily engaged discussing the situation and condition of the British army, and its prospects of success. Both were confident that in a few days they would hear of the overwhelming defeat of the Continentals.

Ira, left to himself, sauntered across the room to an open window, and looked out. The night, although there was no moon, was not very dark, and his sharp eyes detected a party of horsemen, just leaving the forest below the house, and coming rapidly up. He did not seem to be alarmed, however, at his discovery, and waited for the sound of the horses’ hoofs to reach the ears of the men behind him. But they were so engrossed in conversation as to hear nothing until the approaching riders were almost opposite the dwelling. Then, springing to their feet in alarm, both cried:

“What is that?”

As if arousing from a revery, Ira exclaimed:

“I declare, Master Earle, you have more visitors!”

The farmer was at his side in an instant, and, with a glance at the coming troopers, turned and ran toward the kitchen, crying:

“Quick, Master Lyman! They are rebels, and we must hide!”

But he and his friend gained the back door too late to escape. The lad followed in time to see both fall into the hands of four stalwart men, who were lying in wait. Two others seized the young scout as he appeared, and then the commander of the company, a long, lank, grizzly-bearded man, not far from the age of the Tories, came forward.

“What does this mean, Sam Adams?” Master Earle demanded. “It is an outrage to treat men this way in a free country.”

“We ain’t free yet,” the lieutenant retorted, “that is, we ain’t free of red-coats or Tories, though we are likely to be before a great while. Howsomever, if you want to know by whose authority I have arrested you and Squire Lyman, I’ll say the Committee of Safety sent me for that purpose, and they’ll tell you what’s wanted. But who’s that young chap?”

“He’s my nephew, Ira Le Geyt,” Master Lyman replied quickly. “He was going home with me for a visit.”

“Ira Le Geyt,” repeated the officer slowly. “Seems to me I’ve heard that name before, though I can’t tell where. But I’ve no orders to take him. Let the lad go, men, and we’ll hope the next time we see him he will be in better company.”

Then he gave orders to bring horses from the barn for his prisoners, and shortly the entire party rode away.

Ira, left alone with the women, tried to soothe them by saying:

“General Burgoyne will send an army down here as soon as he hears of this, and tired as I am, I will be off at once if I can have a fresh horse.”

A small boy went to the barn with the scout, showing him which animal to take, and within fifteen minutes after the horsemen had departed, Ira was following them toward the main road. Arriving there, he found Dan Cushing in waiting, and, after heartily greeting each other, both started for the village, Dan saying as they rode along:

“When I left you last night, Ira, I pushed straight on to Bennington, arriving at Captain Park’s house before he was up; but he wasn’t slow after readin’ General Schuyler’s letter. First he gave me a fine breakfast, after which he said I was to go to bed an’ get some sleep. Then he hurried off to consult with the town committee. They must have hustled, for when I awakened a little after noon, the captain told me there were already four companies of militia in the village, guarding the stores, an’ that a messenger had been sent off to Derryfield, New Hampshire, after Colonel John Stark to take command of the troops, which are expected to number two thousand by to-morrow night.”

“They mean business, don’t they?” his comrade interrupted; “but go on, Dan, with your story.”

“The rest is soon told. Captain Park sent me down the road to be on the lookout for you an’ the Tory. He thought the old feller would stop at Master Earle’s, because the two are great cronies. I got to the cross-roads an hour ’fore you did, put a red rag on the bush so you’d know I was ’round, an’ then hid in the woods. I heerd an’ answered your signal, then went back to town for the troopers. There’s only one thing more to tell you. The Safety Committee want to see you when we get into town. They’ve got something to talk over with you.”

“I expected it,” Ira replied. “Where am I to find them?”

“At the captain’s, where we’re to stop. They thought you would be tired, an’ so agreed to be right there when you arrived.”

In less than an hour the two lads were at their destination, and when a servant had taken their horses, both entered the huge kitchen of the mansion to find themselves face to face with twelve men, whose resolute countenances said more plainly than words that they were not to be trifled with when the enterprise they were engaged in was a righteous one. The men were seated around a long table, and Dan, stepping in advance of his comrade, announced:

“Governor Wentworth, this is the feller ’bout whom General Schuyler wrote, an’ who is now known as Ira Le Geyt.”

The twelve committeemen turned their eyes upon the newcomer, and he on his part gazed earnestly at them. Several he knew by sight, though he had no personal acquaintance with them; the others were strangers, save him at the foot of the table. As Ira’s glance fell on this man he recognized him as a citizen whom he had met when on a former visit to the town, and he understood by the look given him, that the recognition was mutual. A slight shake of the head, however, gave this patriot to understand that the lad did not wish to be known, and then Ira listened to the governor, who now said:

“Though unknown to us, young man, we cannot doubt your faithfulness to the Cause we represent. The endorsement of General Schuyler alone is sufficient for us, and when to that is added the service you have already rendered, I, speaking for the others, may say that besides our welcome, you have our gratitude.”

“He is not unknown to me,” broke in the committeeman at the other end of the table. “Although not at liberty to declare his name, I can vouch for his patriotism. No one of us loves the Cause more than he.”

“No one ever yet doubted your word, Master Whipple,” the chairman replied, “and we shall not do so now. Still, does not the work this young man has voluntarily taken upon himself tell, as no other words can, of love for country?” and he looked around upon his companions in a way which told he believed the matter of the young scout’s standing was settled.

As no one contradicted him, he turned again to Ira, asking:

“What can you do for us, my young sir?”

“In the matter of the coming raid?” the lad questioned. “I cannot prevent it, sir.”

“We would not have you do that,” was the quick reply.

“I am glad,” the boy went on; “but I think I can control the time of that raid, and the size of the raiding force. At least, I am to report to General Burgoyne on those two points, and have reason to believe my words will have weight with him.”

“How long can you wait before making that report?”

“Two or three days.”

“Forty-eight hours will answer our purpose,” the governor declared. “Within that time we expect Colonel Stark will be here, and prefer to have him look over the field to decide on a plan of defense before your report is carried to the British commander.”

“I know the colonel personally, and would say you cannot have a more brave leader,” Ira replied. “I shall be glad to take to the general any report the colonel may suggest.”

“We congratulate ourselves that we have the outcome of this raid within our own hands,” the chairman added, “and we promise that you shall carry back an accurate list of the stores held by us, as well as of the cattle and horses we have collected. General Burgoyne will have no reason to suppose that you have been otherwise than busy during the time you have been away from him.”

“It will be good bait,” one of the company remarked laughingly as the meeting broke up.

The young scout went over to Master Whipple. “May I ask a favor of you?” he inquired.

“Certainly,” was the hearty reply.

“Will you, then, see Colonel Stark before I meet him, and ask that he know me now only as Ira Le Geyt? Should my own name reach the ear of any Tory, no matter who he may be, my usefulness in the British camp would be over.”

“And your life would be in danger,” suggested his hearer.

“That is a small matter,” was the calm reply; “but we cannot just now afford to lose the advantage which comes by having a friend amid the enemy.”

“I rather think not,” Master Whipple said emphatically, “and if you are willing to stay there, we should use every precaution to keep your secret. I will see the colonel as you desire.”

The next morning Ira was on the street with Captain Park, when his attention was called to a lad not far from his own age, who was loitering around the building in which the arms and ammunition of the Continentals were stored. There was something in his appearance that seemed familiar, and after looking at the fellow a few seconds, it suddenly flashed upon the young scout that he was Fred Lyman. It was the resemblance to his father that had made the lad’s face seem familiar. To make sure that his surmise was correct, he asked the officer by his side, the name of the youth.

“Fred Lyman,” was the prompt answer. “His father and Master Earle are confined in one of the rooms of the store-house, and doubtless he is hanging around there hoping to get into communication with them.”

“I am not sure but it would be wise to put him into the room with them,” said the young scout as he eyed the fellow again.

“He has never shown any qualities that has made us consider him dangerous,” was the laughing reply of the officer, and they passed on.

That night, to the surprise of every one, Colonel Stark arrived in town. His early arrival was explained by his own words:

“Five minutes after your message was brought to me, I was on my way here. Call your committee together. The sooner we come to an understanding about matters the better.”

The result of that secret session was to give the experienced officer absolute control of the defense of the town. The next day he looked over the village and its immediate surroundings, and then sent for Ira.

“How are you, Ira Le Geyt?” was his greeting, with special emphasis on the name. “How is—well, my friend General Schuyler?”

“There is nothing the matter with him, or me, colonel,” was the lad’s laughing reply.

“I wish he was as sure of whipping Burgoyne, as I am of the force the Britisher may send down here. But now to business. Come with me!”

He led the way to the Heights, where was a bend in the Walloomsac river, and into which, on the left, a smaller stream entered. Calling the attention of his companion to these features, the officer asked:

“Do you suppose you can induce the red-coats to make an encampment here?”

“Let me understand you perfectly, colonel, and I will make every effort to put the British forces where you want them.”

“Advise General Burgoyne to send a thousand men,” the officer explained. “Before they get here I’ll have my skirmishers hanging around them, and, finding he is going to meet with opposition, the commander will naturally look for some place in which to entrench himself. Show him this spot, and let him make his stand here. That is your part; I’ll take care of the rest.”

“It shall be done, if it lies within my power,” the young scout promised.

Half an hour later, with a complete list of the Continental stores, and a rough outline of the village and the surrounding hills in his pocket, Ira, accompanied by Dan Cushing, rode toward Fort Edward.

CHAPTER VII.
CLIPPING THE LEFT WING.

When the lads arrived at the cross-road leading to Master Earle’s, Ira gave his horse to Dan, and sent him to the farm to exchange the animal for the one he had left there.

Dan appeared so dull, and knew so little about affairs in Fort Edward, whence they supposed he had come, that the inmates of the house at length decided he was some half-witted fellow who knew enough to bring their horse home, and but little more.

“You better follow him down to the main road, and make sure he turns the right way,” Mistress Earle said to her eldest son, a boy of a dozen years. Therefore he, unnoticed by Dan, came down the road, and was near enough, when the latter joined his comrade, to recognize Ira.

Surprised at seeing the young scout there, the boy stood staring after the horsemen until they had disappeared from view down the Fort Edward road.

Then he turned toward his home to make known the wonderful discovery; but getting a glimpse of a horseman coming from the direction of Bennington, he waited that he might see who he was. The surprise he had felt on seeing Ira Le Geyt, was deepened upon beholding in the third rider none other than his friend Fred Lyman. When he was within hearing, he cried:

“Hello, Fred! Your cousin, Ira Le Geyt, is just ahead of you.”

“What’s that?” young Lyman asked, reining in his horse.

“I say your cousin, Ira Le Geyt, has just gone down the road. Don’t you remember that ma told your folks about him when she let you know my pa and your pa had been captured by the rebels?”

“Yes; but she said he had gone back to the fort to get help.”

“That is what she thought—what I thought until just now,” the boy explained, and he quickly told of his discovery.

“I don’t understand it,” the young Tory said in a puzzled tone. “It looks as if he had been in Bennington ever since night before last, and if that’s so, I don’t see why he didn’t come out to our house.”

Discuss the matter as the boys would, neither could explain the mystery, and finally Fred said:

“I’ll overtake him and find out,” and, whipping up his horse, he trotted rapidly down the road in the trail of the two scouts.

They must also have ridden fast, for it was not until the two were breaking their fast beside a wayside spring, that young Lyman came up with them.

He was clattering down a small hill when he first caught sight of them, and would have been glad to stop and reconnoiter a little, for he recognized them as the two lads he had seen at Bennington, in company with the rebels. But his horse had seen the other animals, and with a loud whinny dashed on toward them.

The young scouts heard the noise of the horse’s hoofs before he came into view, and were on their feet, rifles in hand, ready for any emergency the moment he appeared. Recognizing the rider, Ira exclaimed:

“It is Fred Lyman! What can he be doing here? We must stop him and find out.”

“We won’t have to do that,” Dan replied. “He’s trying to hold up his beast. Perhaps he has been trying to overhaul us.”

In another moment the young Tory drew up within a few feet of the lads, eyeing them somewhat suspiciously. They, on their part, looked sharply in return, but waited for him to speak.

“Hello! are you Ira Le Geyt?” he asked at last.

“That is what they call me,” the young scout replied pleasantly, “and you are my cousin, Fred Lyman?”

The newcomer leaped to the ground and gazed at the speaker earnestly before he spoke, and then it was to use almost precisely the same words his father had a few days previous in the British camp:

“You don’t look like him.”

“Well, you look like cousin Fred,” Ira replied, “though you may have grown a little since I last saw you,” (and he added under his breath, “but it is mighty little, for I saw you only yesterday”).

“I have grown lots since you visited us,” young Lyman declared with evident pride, “but see here, Ira, where have you been all the time since the rebels captured father?” and there was an angry tone in his voice.

But the young scout was not to be caught in that way.

“In Bennington,” he replied truthfully.

“I thought I saw you there hob-nobbing with the rebels.”

“One must sometimes appear friendly with the enemy, if he wants to learn all he can about them,” the lad answered meaningly. “See here!” and he drew from his coat the list of the Bennington stores and his rude map of the village, handing them without hesitation to the young Tory, as he added, “Does that look as if I had been idle?”

“No,” Fred admitted with some reluctance; “but why didn’t you go back to the fort after the soldiers? You might have had them here by this time, and rescued pa and Master Earle.”

“Because my orders were to obtain all the information about the goods and the town, that I could, and I am in the habit of obeying General Burgoyne’s commands,” was the reply, with a slight emphasis on the last three words.

“Well, you might have come to the house and seen us, so’s to explain what you were doing.”

“When with the enemy it is sometimes wisest to ignore your best friends,” Ira retorted, stating another general truth, and leaving it for his hearer to make the application.

Lyman was for the time silenced, and the young scout in his turn became questioner.

“How is it that you are here, Fred?” he began. “On your way to the fort?”

“Yes, I, too, have important news for General Burgoyne,” he replied with a show of pride.

“What has happened since I came away?” was the next query, and in a tone which implied, “not a great deal.”

Stung by the tone rather than the words, the young Tory replied sharply:

“You needn’t think you know everything, Ira Le Geyt. I learned this morning that Colonel John Stark has arrived and is to take charge of the Yankee forces.”

“He came last night, and I had a long talk with him this morning.”

“There’ll be two thousand militia in the village before night, and the general ought to know that,” young Lyman added, but not quite so confidently.

“Two thousand, two hundred and fifty,” Ira added quietly. “Anything else, Fred?”

“No,” he at length drawled.

“Hardly necessary for you to take a long ride down to the fort for that news, seeing that I have gathered it already,” the young scout said curtly. “Have dinner with us, and then you may go back home. I promise that by day after to-morrow, if not before, General Burgoyne will have an army in Bennington.”

“But I wanted to see the general,” Fred confessed. “I’m going to ask him if he will give me a place on his staff. Do you know anything about that, cousin Ira?” and there was an eagerness in his voice which showed how much he coveted the position.

“Uncle Horace spoke of it,” Ira replied, “and I’ll tell you what I advise.”

“What?” the listener asked eagerly.

“Go home now, and when the king’s soldiers march out of Bennington loaded with plunder, follow them. Put in a claim that you were the one who first discovered that the rebels were gathering stores. Your father will swear to it, I’ll back him up, and the general will be so good-natured, because of the victory, that he’ll give you anything.”

“A captain’s commission?”

“Perhaps a major’s.”

“I reckon I’ll ask for a colonel’s,” the young Tory declared. “What I have done is worth it,” and he fastened his horse to a tree, after which he went toward the food.

Ira introduced Dan, adding:

“He is my right hand in the special work I am doing,” and then all chatted merrily together as they ate.

An hour later Fred shook hands with his companions, and started back to town. As he rode over the brink of the hill, he cried:

“I’ll see you later, boys.”

The scouts glanced at each other, and Ira remarked:

“We got rid of him more readily than I expected. He might have made us much trouble had he gone on to the camp.”

“He’ll be dreamin’ of that colonel’s commission,” Dan added laughingly.

They resumed their journey, and after a time, Ira said:

“Fred’s coming has given me an idea, Dan.”

“I take it that it’s a good one,” was the confident reply.

“That you go with me into the fort as Fred Lyman, and stay there while I go back to Bennington with the British forces. Somehow I can’t get over the idea that we shall need a friend to the Cause there while I’m gone. Something might happen, you know, that should be reported to General Schuyler immediately.”

“If you say that’s the thing to do, I’m ready. You’ll find I’ll make a good cousin,” and he laughed to himself as though the idea was a pleasing one.

They fell to discussing the details of this new plan while riding slowly along, for now they did not care to reach the vicinity of the fort until after nightfall. A mile or two further on Ira rode into the woods, where he waited until Dan had made a long detour and crossed the river to General Schuyler’s headquarters to acquaint him with what was transpiring in Bennington, as well as to tell him of the arrangements made for the former, under the name of Fred Lyman, to enter the British lines.

He was so long delayed that Ira had grown impatient, and on his appearing cried:

“I thought you would never come!”

“Lay it all to the general,” the lad replied. “He hated to let me go into the fort wuss than pizen.”

“What did he say?” Ira asked, as he remounted his horse.

“That ’twas bad ’nough to have you thar without riskin’ another life.”

“What did you say?”

“That I entered the service to risk my life, an’ I might as well do it thar, as anywhere.”

“Then he let you go?”

“Nope. Not till I had said, ‘Let us s’pose a case, general. S’posin’ the first Britishers sent to Bennington get whipped, as they will, an’ the commander sends back for reinforcements. How be you goin’ to know it in time to send a force to wallop them? Howsomever, if I’m thar in the fort, you’ll get the news mighty soon, an’ can ’range to beat the red-coats out the second time. I reckon that is what Ira is providin’ for, though he hasn’t said so.’ Then he shook his head, sayin’ kinder proudly, I thought, ‘You don’t fool that boy a great deal. Go ahead, Dan,’ an’ ahead I came.”

Ira laughed softly to himself as they galloped on to the fort. Arriving, they were allowed to enter, and, late though it was, sought General Burgoyne at once.

“My cousin, Fred Lyman, general,” the young scout said, presenting his companion.

The officer looked at the boy searchingly, and said:

“I like your looks, Master Lyman. I believe you want a place on my staff?”

“I did,” the lad began slowly, “but now that I’ve been workin’ with Ira, I’m thinkin’ I’d like a job suthin’ like his.”

The general laughed. “You shall have it,” he promised. “Train him, Master Le Geyt, so he can take your place when you are away. He will have the same pay.”

Then he gave his undivided attention to the papers the young scout had spread out. The list of goods greatly interested him.

“Such a haul will mean everything to us,” he muttered, and then turned to the plan of the village. After a moment he called an orderly, saying:

“Tell Colonel Baum to come here.”

When the Hessian arrived Ira explained the drawing to him, and for some time the two officers discussed the paper in German. At length General Burgoyne remarked in English:

“You understand the situation, colonel?”

“Perfectly,” he replied in the same language. “With this young man to guide me, I see no reason why I may not make a successful raid.”

“When can you start?”

“At dawn.”

“How many men had he better take?” the commander asked of the scout.

“The rebels will make some pretense of a defense,” Ira replied carelessly. “I would take enough to give them a good drubbing. Say one thousand.”

“A larger force than I had supposed necessary,” General Burgoyne added musingly. “Still, as you say, Master Le Geyt, we better have enough to teach the Yankees a lesson.” Then to his subordinate he said:

“There are the two companies of Loyalists, Colonel Baum, who have asked permission to go on this raid. You could take them, and five hundred of your own men, making up the thousand with a squad of Indians. They would be useful in scouring the surrounding country.”

“It shall be as you say, general,” the colonel replied.

“Here are your orders,” continued Burgoyne. “Seize those supplies; scour the country; test the disposition of the people; levy contributions on the towns, and last, though not least, bring back with you twelve or thirteen hundred horses.”

His subordinate repeated the orders, and then hurried away to get his troops ready for their long march by sunrise.

To the waiting scouts the general said:

“Go to your own quarters for a few hours’ rest. But you, Master Le Geyt, will hold yourself ready to guide Colonel Baum and his forces to Bennington to-morrow. Master Lyman, you will remain here to guide a second force to the same town should such a movement be necessary.”

At dawn the two lads stood side by side, watching the soldiers as they marched out of the gates. First went the trained Hessians, moving as perfectly as a piece of machinery; then came the Tories, trying to imitate the regulars in their military precision, but making poor work of it; finally came the Indians, straggling and sullen because they had been placed in the rear.

“The colonel should reverse the order of march,” Ira said in a low tone to Dan, as he noted the scowling faces of the savages.

“It isn’t the only mistake he’ll fall into ’fore he gets back,” was his comrade’s reply. Then he asked, “What day is it?”

“The thirteenth of August,” was the reply. “But why do you ask?”

“The thirteenth,” Dan repeated. “I thought so; it means bad luck for the expedition,” and he looked straight into the face of his companion.

Both smiled, and as Colonel Baum and his staff now came riding by, Ira mounted his own horse and joined them.

For a distance of ten or twelve miles the army advanced quietly; then they came upon a party of skirmishers, who, after some sharp firing on both sides, retreated toward the town. A mile farther on the advance guard, while passing through a wooded country, ran into a small ambuscade, from which was poured a deadly fire. These Yankees were soon driven back; but not until a score or more officers and men had been killed or wounded.

“I had no idea the rebels would be so bold,” Colonel Baum said to Ira. “If this keeps on we shall be disabled before gaining the town.”

“Why not send the Indians on ahead,” the scout suggested. “They ought to be able to smoke out the Yankees, and drive them from their holes.”

“I’ll try it,” the officer replied, and ordered the savages to the front, a position they were now reluctant to take, for it began to appear as if the enemy would make a stout fight.

The only result was to change as targets the Hessians to the Indians, and so many of the redskins were shot down that the entire company became demoralized, falling back upon the rear troops.

Disheartened by these unexpected circumstances Colonel Baum sought out a safe halting-ground for the night, and sent back for reinforcements. Ira offered himself as the messenger, but received the reply:

“No, I need you here. You know the ground before us, and to-morrow I must have you select some place where I can entrench, and wait for troops from the fort to come up.”

Next day the skirmishers were no less vigilant, and it was under a harassing fire that the Hessian commander pushed forward past Mount Anthony, to the bend in the Walloomsac river, where, at the suggestion of his guide, he went into camp.

Before nightfall he had thrown up light entrenchments, and for the first time within twenty-four hours rested in fancied security, believing he could hold out any length of time against an enemy which he was now convinced outnumbered him two to one.

During the night a score or more Tories from the neighborhood joined his force, among them, to Ira’s surprise, Master Earle, Horace Lyman, and his son Fred. All were hearty in their greetings, and the young scout, taking the young Tory into his own tent, asked:

“How did Uncle Horace and Master Earle escape from the Yankees?”

“They were set free,” Fred replied. “Father thinks it was because they had no spare men for guards. The rebels are so afraid of being whipped by the king’s troops that they are turning out to the last man.”

“It looks that way,” Ira replied curtly.

When the sun rose on the morning of the fifteenth, it disclosed the Continental forces gathered on the opposite bank of the river and along the road to Bennington. Believing an attack near at hand, Colonel Baum arranged his forces in three lines, the Indians first, behind them the Tories, and his own troops in the rear. With the first skirmishing the redskins, unaccustomed to fighting pitched battles, began to slip away. Alarmed by this fact, the commander, knowing his young scout was familiar with the savage tongue, sent him off to stay, if possible, the flight of the fugitives, and, if unsuccessful in that, to go down the road toward the fort and hasten the coming of reinforcements.

This enabled Ira to refrain from fighting against his friends. He was an interested spectator, however, of what took place on that day and the next.

Content with an occasional skirmish, Colonel Stark allowed the first day to pass without decisive action, in the hope that another regiment of militia, which was hourly expected, might arrive. But early on the morning of the sixteenth he decided to wait no longer. Calling his men together he addressed them in words which have since become memorable:

“There are the red-coats. We must beat them to-day, or to-night my wife sleeps a widow.”

He then sent detachments on both flanks to gain, if possible, the British rear. He led the front attack himself, and after two hours broke the line of the few remaining Indians, who fled, crying:

“The woods are full of Yankees!”

The center of the attack now fell upon the Tories, who were driven back upon the Hessians, and the entire British force, yielding slowly, was at length pushed across the stream on their left.

Colonel Baum now attempted to retrieve himself by heading a new attack in person, but with no better success. He was mortally wounded, his troops routed, and his artillery captured.

Meanwhile a reinforcement of five hundred Hessians, under Lieutenant-Colonel Breyman, was coming to his aid. The messenger, asking for help, had reached the fort promptly, but for some reason the second force of regulars was not started for Bennington until the following morning, and Dan Cushing had ample time to get word to General Schuyler of the new movement. Therefore when Colonel Breyman left Fort Edward, Colonel Seth Warner, with a force of fresh militia, was close at his heels.

After the defeat of Baum the Continentals broke ranks in order to plunder. The watchful Ira succeeded in getting word to Colonel Stark that British reinforcements were to be expected at any minute. In vain that officer tried to rally his men, and Colonel Breyman, finding the Continentals unprepared for a second fight, would have made short work of them but for the arrival of Colonel Warner and his men.

The battle that now followed lasted until sunset, when the enemy fell back, and were pursued by the victorious Continentals until dark.

It was a straggling force of less than one hundred that finally reached Fort Edward, for the British loss numbered nine hundred and thirty-four, including one hundred and fifty-seven Tories. The guns, ammunition wagons, tents, baggage, and one thousand stand of small arms belonging to the red-coats, were left in the hands of the victors.

The next morning Ira and Dan walked over the scene of the conflict. In a thicket across the little brook they found the body of Fred Lyman. Apparently he had been in hiding when struck in the back by a stray bullet. Farther down the Heights were the bodies of Horace Lyman and James Earle. Both had been slain during the battle.

“There will be no need for you to go back to the fort with me,” Ira said a little later to his comrade. “The young Tory is dead.”

“But Dan Cushing is very much alive,” that lad retorted, “and is ready to take your report to General Schuyler.”

“I can give it in a sentence,” his companion said. “Tell him Burgoyne’s left wing has been clipped at Bennington.”

CHAPTER VIII.
THE NIGHT ON THE ROAD.

We will now follow Latham Wentworth and Joseph Fisher in their long journey to Fort Stanwix. When they left General Schuyler they found the quarterly-sergeant, and went with him to secure the supplies which would be needed. This sergeant, named Wilson, was a talkative fellow, and as he aided them in making up their packs, asked:

“Has any one told you about the latest act of the Continental Congress, lads?”

Receiving a negative reply, he went on:

“We only got the word a few days ago. It seems that on June 14th Congress passed this act, I saw a copy and remember every word: ‘Resolved, that the flag of the thirteen United States be thirteen stripes, alternate red and white; that the union be thirteen stars white on a blue field, representing a new constellation.’ So we have a national banner at last, and I hope, before the next fight with the red-coats, that we’ll have them floating above all our fortifications.”

“I wonder how it would look?” Late asked of himself, half-closing one eye, and gazing in the air as if viewing the flag from a distance.

“Fine,” the sergeant declared. “I’ll show you,” and he drew from his coat-pocket a piece of paper. Unfolding it he showed the boys a miniature flag, drawn in its proper colors. There were seven red and six white stripes, and the stars on the union were arranged in a circle.

“There!” he exclaimed, “isn’t she a beauty? I drew this myself, and at the first chance I’m going to show it to the general, in the hope that he’ll let me make one.”

“We’ll get ahead of you by making one for Fort Stanwix,” Joe remarked sportively, never dreaming that his words would come true.

The boys were ready for their long tramp, and, bidding Master Wilson good-day, they left the fort, turning their faces westward. Gaining the Hudson river, at that point where the Mohawk flows into it, they crossed over to the northern bank, and plunged into the great forest, intending to avoid the settlements as much as possible, lest their hurried trip to the fort awaken needless alarm throughout the valley.

Scarcely had the scouts disappeared amid the foliage when an old man, of gigantic size, with hair that fell upon his shoulders and a beard that came nearly to his knees, arose from a thicket on the easterly side of the river, and, wading across, plunged into the forest on the trail of the boys. Like them, he was armed with a rifle and knife, and carried a pack upon his back. He muttered to himself while striding vigorously along:

“I’ll catch you yet, you young devils! I’ll catch you yet!”

His rapid gait told of a strength quite unusual for one of his years, and it was clear he would prove no mean antagonist for the lads whom he was following.

The scouts started late in the day, and by the time they had traveled ten miles the shades of night were falling fast.

“It’s time to go into camp,” Late suggested.

His comrade agreed to this, and selecting a cleared space beside a small stream, they erected a shelter of bark and brush, made a bed of fir boughs, and sat down to eat their supper.

Owing to this labor, and the noise they had made while at work, neither of the boys heard the sound of footsteps, nor did they suspect that a man stood behind a huge tree a few rods away, watching and listening while they ate and talked.

“Think we better keep guard to-night, Late?” Joe asked.

“Hardly worth while,” the former replied. “I sleep light, you know, an’ any noise out of the ordinary will waken me. We ain’t far enough away from the fort yet for Indians or red-coats to bother us, an’ we’ll have all the watchin’ we need when farther up country, so I guess we’d better turn in tonight.”

“We must have come at least ten miles,” Joe continued.

“All of that.”

“Then we have ten times as many before us yet. Can we do it in four days?”

“I’d like to make it in three,” Late declared. “We can’t get to the fort any too soon, an’ my long legs are good for the thirty-odd miles a day. How is it with yours?”

“I reckon they’ll hold out.”

“We’ll start early, make brief stops, an’ travel late, if need be; but we must deliver the message to Captain Swartwout by Saturday night.”

At these words the listener behind the big tree leaned out sufficiently from his place of concealment to shake his fist at the boys, after which, as he shrank back into the gloom again, he muttered to himself: “Perhaps you will, youngsters; but not if David Daggett can prevent it.”

He still stood there when the lads stretched themselves out upon the fir boughs, and fell asleep. Then, smiling grimly, he slipped the pack from his back, sat upon it with his back against the tree, and waited.

An hour passed; the heavy breathing of the occupants of the shack told the old man that the young scouts were sleeping soundly. He arose cautiously, leaned his rifle against the pine, drew the hunting knife from his belt, and, gripping it between his teeth, slowly crept on all fours toward the camp.

Gaining it, he paused and listened. A loud snoring told him that the lads were unconscious. Again he smiled, and creeping noiselessly to the open end of the rude shelter, he gazed at the sleepers. They lay with their feet toward him; and far enough apart for him to crawl between them, a feat he accomplished so stealthily that they were not disturbed.

Then, rising to his knees, he took the knife from his teeth with his left hand, clutched the handle firmly with his right, and raised it aloft, intending to plunge it rapidly into first one and then into the other.

But before the weapon could descend Late moved, and the man, lowering the blade, shrank back a little, waiting for the boy to sink into slumber again.

Instead of quieting down, Late stretched out one of his long arms, striking the intruder in the face, and knocking him over. Both lad and man were on their feet in an instant, one seeking to grapple with the other, but the stranger, too quick for the young scout, arose and disappeared in the darkness.

Joe, aroused by the brief struggle, sprang up crying loudly:

“What is it, Late?”

“Some one crept in here to steal or to kill,” was the reply as the speaker darted out of the shack to peer through the gloom, hoping to see or hear something of the fugitive.

But all was still, and, satisfied that the intruder had made good his escape, he turned to Joe, “I awoke suddenly, an’ felt, rather than saw, a man on his knees ’tween you an’ me. I swung my arm ’round an’ knocked him over, an’ ’fore I could grab him he vanished. If it wan’t for the ache in my arm where I whacked him, I should think I’d been dreamin’.”

“I don’t ’spose it’s safe to light a torch,” his companion whispered.

“No, it might give him the very chance he’s waitin’ for, an’ we better have our guns ready, in case he sends a bullet this way.”

They seized the rifles and sat motionless a long while, but the forest was as silent as if they alone were in it. At length Late stepped softly out under the trees until he could get a view of the stars, when he went back to his comrade, saying:

“It isn’t much more than midnight now, Joe. Lie down an’ get what sleep you can. I’ll call you in ’bout two hours to take a spell of standin’ guard.”

In such manner they spent the remaining hours of the night, and when it was light enough, made a thorough search of the woods all around the encampment, but not the slightest evidence could they find that any one had been in that vicinity.

“We’ll have to give it up,” Late finally said, “an’ get breakfast so’s to be off. But I swaney, my arm is still lame where I struck some one or something last night. I know ’twasn’t a nightmare.”

Half an hour later the boys were moving westward again, and not until the sun was directly overhead did they halt. Perhaps they might not have stopped just then, but, on coming into a little clearing, the lads caught sight of an old man cooking fish near the river bank. A canoe was drawn up near him, in which was the usual outfit of a voyager. He clearly was not suspecting any danger, for his rifle lay in the boat, and he made no effort to reach it on seeing them. Instead he cried cheerily:

“Good day, lads. Come along and have a bite with your uncle David. There are fish enough for three, and you are as welcome as if you had caught and cooked them yourselves.”

Holding their guns ready for instant use the boys advanced, and he, noting their caution, laughed merrily.

“Put up your shooters, youngsters, for David Daggett never yet hurt a human being, white or Indian. It isn’t his mission,” and then, lowering his voice as though he was imparting a profound secret, he continued, “Don’t you know who it is? Haven’t you heard of me before?”

Being told by the young scouts that they had never seen or heard of him before, and, therefore, could not know what his mission might be, he seemed disappointed.

“Never heard, eh? I thought the whole world knew of me. I am David Daggett, and my mission is to reckon up the birds of the forests. I have traveled miles doing it, and do you see that one flying across the river? He makes exactly twenty thousand I have counted. It’s slow work, lads, but David Daggett will some day be able to tell just how many birds there are in the Mohawk valley.”

The young scouts could but believe that the old man was crazy. They laid down their rifles, threw off the packs, and partook of the food which he, with a liberal hand, gave them. When, however, the boys would have contributed their share to the noon-day meal, he stopped them.

“No, no,” he said. “You are my guests now,” and, with a cunning glance, “though no one knows where I get my money, I always have enough to buy food for myself and my friends.”

While they were eating he told them many things about the birds which flew through the clearing. Evidently he knew the names and was familiar with the habits of all the feathered visitors, and as each passed, he counted it, adding ten to his number before the meal was at an end.

When the lads, thanking him for his hospitality, arose to resume their journey, he asked:

“Were you going up the river, my sons?”

“Yes,” they replied.

He seemed lost in thought during a dozen seconds or more, and then said:

“I like you, lads. You don’t make fun of the old man and his whims as some do, so I’ll carry you a piece up the river, though I’ve just come down stream. Get into the canoe; it will be a sight easier than tramping, and save you many a mile around the great swamp.”

Joe turned to Late, waiting for him to decide. Both knew of the swamp not far away, and understood that the old man was correct. It would be easier, and much time might be saved by paddling up the stream a few miles. They were two to one, and it was broad daylight. Surely there could be no risk in accepting Master Daggett’s invitation, therefore Late said:

“All right, sir; but let Joe and me take the paddles. We know how to handle them, an’ oughter be willin’ to do that much in return for your favor.”

The old man made no protest to this proposition, and during two hours or more the boys drove the light craft up the river until arriving at a considerable waterfall.

“We’ll have to land here,” the bird missionary said, “and carry the boat around.”

“We can hardly ask you to take us any farther,” young Wentworth replied. “We are now beyond the swamp, an’ you have saved us a good five-mile tramp, so we’ll thank you again for your kindness, an’ push on afoot.”

“Not by any means,” Master Daggett declared. “It makes no difference where I am. I find birds, birds, everywhere. I have counted seventy-two since we came up the river. I’ll see more above the falls. We’ll go on together until night.”

The boys could not persuade him to any other course, therefore they carried their packs above the falls and returned for the canoe, the old man walking by their side and assuring them he had not found such pleasant companions for many a day.

“I cannot bear to part with you,” he declared. “We’ll go on together as long as you can get along with the old man.”

The voyage above the falls differed greatly from that below. There the course had been through an unbroken wilderness; now they occasionally passed small clearings, in which were the cabins of hardy settlers; but they made no stops, and when the day was nearly spent entered again a long tract of forest. After having paddled another mile they came to a series of rapids, where a portage became necessary.

To their urging that he accompany them no farther, the old man grew indignant.

“I shall stay with you to-night,” he declared. “We’ll go around the rapids, and then make camp. You’ll have to land on the south bank for the portage, because the north side is impassable, except by making a long detour.”

Believing this statement to be correct the boys steered the canoe to the southern shore, and disembarked. The lads carried their packs around the rapids, while Master Daggett remained by the boat. Returning in a few minutes, they waited for him to shoulder his own traps, when they lifted the light craft and followed the old man up the bank. Traveling somewhat slower than he did, they had a chance to talk over the situation.

“We must get rid of him,” Late said in a whisper.

“Yes,” Joe agreed. “Let us cross over to the other bank for our camp, and then we can slip away in the mornin’ ’fore he wakes up.”

“A bright idea,” was the reply.

Therefore when they arrived at the upper end of the rapids, young Wentworth, turning to Master Daggett, said carelessly:

“There’s a better place for a camp across the river, Uncle David. Why can’t we go over there for the night?”

“Because I don’t want to,” the old man growled. “I never spend the night on the north side of the river. It gives me rheumatism.”

“An’ Late an’ I never camp on the south side; it gives us the chills and fever,” Joe retorted, thinking the separation with the old bird missionary might as well come then as in the morning, “so we’ll get you to set us across.”

For a moment the old man glared at him angrily, then said curtly:

“All right. Stow in your traps. I’ll leave mine here, for I shall come back after taking you over.”

Pleased with their success the young scouts put their packs into the light craft, and stepped in themselves. The owner of the canoe followed, taking up the paddle.

“I’ll row the boat across,” Late said, reaching for the oar.

“Sit where you are,” was the stern command. “I can handle this craft without any of your help.”

Apparently Master Daggett was in a surly mood, but the lads cared little for that, so long as he granted their request. With a vigorous stroke the old man sent the boat into the middle of the stream.

“See!” he cried. “I can whirl it around and around and around,” and as he spoke he set the canoe spinning with a rapidity that made his companions dizzy.

“Now we’ll go down the rapids,” he shouted, and drove the craft straight toward the falls.

Satisfied that the old man had suddenly gone mad, the lads sprang up to wrest the paddle from him, when, with a loud yell, he leaped on the gunwale, overturning the boat.

The water was deep, and the young scouts sank, as a matter of course. Joe was the first to get his head above the surface, only to find Master Daggett on the lookout for him. Seizing the boy by the neck, the crazy man forced him beneath the water again, shouting:

“Now you shall drown! Now you shall drown!”

Late got his head into the air just in time to see this attack, and swam to his comrade’s assistance. But the old man caught him by his hair with a grip as of iron, crying at the full strength of his lungs:

“I’ll drown you both, you young devils! I’ll drown you both!”

At this instant Joe succeeded in freeing himself from the grasp of the madman, and, nearly choked though he was, sprang upon the old fellow’s shoulders, forcing him beneath the surface.

This proved to be a fortunate move, for, finding himself in danger of drowning, Master Daggett let go his hold of Late, and, by a tremendous effort threw Joe off his back, swimming vigorously for the southern shore. The boys, still believing him crazy, made no attempt at pursuit; but struck out for the opposite bank.

“Quick!” Late cried as soon as he was out of the water. “If we hurry down below the falls we may save our packs.”

“But we’ve lost our guns,” Joe added, following his comrade as rapidly as his wet garments would permit.

They found, despite the statement of the old man, that there was a fair trail around the rapids on that side, and were soon at the lower end. But, rapidly as they moved, the lunatic outstripped them, and not only secured the packs, but began dancing about with, his rifle in hand, crying:

“I’ll shoot if you attempt to come over here! I’ll shoot you!”

The boys watched him in silence a few minutes, and then Joe exclaimed:

“This is a pretty fix! Our rifles are lost, the food is gone, we are wet to the skin, night is comin’ on, I’d like to know what we are goin’ to do?”

“Go back to the upper end of the falls and build a fire. Dry our clothes and camp out till mornin’. Then fish up the guns, an’ go our way!” his comrade said sharply, fumbling to see if the flint and steel were still in his pocket.

When they gained the higher bank it was to find that Master Daggett had been equally active, for he stood on the opposite side, still threatening to shoot them.

“We’ll get out of range before building a fire,” Late said as he led the way into the woods.

They soon came to a small clearing in which was a huge oak tree.

“Here’s a good place,” Joe cried.

“Yes,” his companion admitted.

They soon had a fire built under the tree, on the branches of which they hung their outer garments. The inner clothing they took off, wrung out and put on again, standing near the blaze to “dry out,” Joe meanwhile scolding.

“Talk ’bout gainin’ time by takin’ to the canoe. I guess we’ll know better than listen to a madman again.”

“I’m not so sure he is a madman,” Late said with emphasis.

“Why?” his companion asked in surprise.

“There’s too much method in his actions. Think it over. He’s managed to rob us of our guns an’ packs, an’ put us in a place where we may easily be shot down. I suspect he’s the fellow who visited us last night, an’ don’t believe that we have seen the last of him.”

“That may be,” Joe replied after a time of thought, “an’ we’ve got nothin’ but our knives to fight him with. It looks dubious, Late.”

The hours passed drearily. The garments dried slowly; there was nothing to eat; they could not sleep while half-clad, and there was the danger that the enemy would appear. Therefore they spent the time gathering fuel, and in keeping guard lest they be surprised. As the night grew older a cool breeze sprang up, and the boys began to feel uncomfortable.

“We shall have to put on our clothes, even if they are not entirely dry,” Late at length said, leaning over to feel of the garments.

Just as he stretched out his hand the sharp crack of a rifle rang out, and a bullet whistled close to his head. Then came a second report, and Joe, who appeared to be the target, dodged behind the huge oak.

His comrade joined him, and from behind this shelter they peered into the darkness mystified by the rapid firing. Then, from the rear could be heard a third report, and a ball buried itself in the tree-trunk.

“We are surrounded!” Late exclaimed in a low tone. “Quick! We must run before they have time to re-load. It’s our only hope of escape!”

Hatless, bootless, without breeches, coat or vest, the two scouts fled into the darkness, running as they never had before.

During a short time they heard the sound of footsteps, as of some one in pursuit, and then the noise grew fainter and fainter until it finally died away. The boys halted beneath a great pine, panting heavily.

“We are as safe here as anywhere,” young Wentworth declared, “and may as well stay where we are until mornin’.”

His comrade made no answer for a full minute, when he said:

“I don’t understand those three shots. Where could old Daggett have found any one to help him?”

“I don’t know,” was the reply, “but there must have been three in the party. No one had time to re-load.”

Slowly the moments passed, and then Joe spoke again:

“What shall we do in the morning?”

“Go back, an’ see if they have taken our clothes.”

“And if they have?”

“Keep on without them.”

The thought was not pleasing, and yet they could devise no other plan. If the hours had been long and dreary at the camp-fire, they were now tedious. Yet the young scouts made the best of a bad matter, and at the coming of day crept back to the clearing, only to find it deserted. There, in the slumbering coals, were the charred remains of their boots, their garments, and their guns.

When Late’s eye fell on the stockless barrels of the weapons, he exclaimed in anger:

“Old Daggett was the only one here last night! See, Joe, he fished out our rifles, and cleaned and re-loaded them before attacking us! After driving us away he burned everything, and cleared out.”

To confirm this supposition they went back to the river, and looked over to the opposite side where they had last seen their enemy. His traps were gone. The great forest had swallowed him and them.

During a moment only did the discomfited lads stand there inactive. Then, turning their faces for the third time westward, hungry, footsore, unarmed, scantily clad, yet undaunted, they set out through the forest toward their destination.

CHAPTER IX.
UNFURLING THE FLAG.

After traveling a mile or two the young scouts came to a break in the forest, where the big trees gave place to low bushes covered with wild berries.

“Here is our breakfast,” Late said, helping himself to the sweet, delicious fruit. Joe followed his example, and not until their keen appetites were somewhat appeased did the boys resume their journey.

“I don’t s’pose blueberries are very lastin’,” Joe muttered as they went on, “but they are better than nothin’.”

“They’ll last until we get somethin’ more substantial,” his companion replied, as he turned sharply into a rough cart path.

“Where does this lead to?” Joe asked.

“I don’t know any more than you do,” was the answer; “but it will bring us to a settlement of some kind, where we can get help.”

“What if the owner is a Tory?”

“Then we’ll be Tories,” was the decisive response. “We need food, arms, and clothes, an’ some friend or foe must furnish them.”

Latham was evidently fast approaching a desperate mood.

Before many moments they arrived at a cultivated field, and saw below them a valley of considerable size, in which were a large house, barns, cabins, and other outbuildings.

“Quite a place,” Late exclaimed as he and his comrade halted.

“Yes, an’ whoever lives there ought’er be able to furnish us with everything we need. But how are we goin’ to find out whether the people are for the colonies or the king?”

“By those chaps there,” was the reply, and the speaker pointed to two small boys, who, with baskets on their arms, had just clambered over a wall farther down the hillside. “They are goin’ berryin’. Draw back so they can’t see you till they get here. We don’t want to scare them to death.”

The young scouts drew back from the brink of the slope until hidden from view of the approaching lads, and waited. Five minutes later the youngsters came in sight, but were so busy wrangling over some matter as not to take heed of the half-clad strangers until almost upon them. Then their first inclination was to run away; but under the assurance of Late that they would in no way be harmed, the children drew nearer, staring with wondering eyes at the sorry objects they beheld.

“Who lives down there?” Joe asked.

“Father,” the elder of the boys replied.

“Yes, but what is his name?”

“Hiram Le Geyt.”

The scouts looked at each other in dismay an instant; then Late asked: “Have you a brother Ira?”

“Yes, but he’s serving the king,” the younger lad said proudly.

“Is your father at home?”

“No,” the other boy replied, evidently eager to impart information as well as his brother; “he has gone to Oswego to see Colonel St. Leger. He’s going to show him the way down here so he can lick the rebels.”

“I understand,” the tall scout said grimly. “Who is at home?”

“Ma and Grandmother, Lucy, Jane, Hiram, and me,” the lad explained.

“And Grandpa,” added the younger boy quickly.

“Yea, and Grandpa,” was the prompt assent. “I forgot him, he’s away so much.”

It would have been well for the questioner if he had asked more about “grandpa,” but another matter seemed more important just then.

“I wonder if we could get some old clothes down there?” he asked.

“And something to eat?” Joe added, perhaps because he thought that was fully as important.

“I reckon so,” both boys replied. “Ma’s awful good to the poor.”

The scouts laughed. “That fits us,” Joe cried, and they started down the slope almost on the run. They arrived at the big barn first, and entered it to find a negro at work. He stared at them a moment in amazement, and then asked gruffly:

“Who be ye? What ye doin’ here?”

“We were comin’ up the river last night, an’ our boat capsized,” Late explained. “Can’t you go to the house an’ get us some clothes an’ food? Tell Mistress Le Geyt we know Ira, who is with General Burgoyne.”

After a little persuasion the servant went off with their message. He was absent some time, but finally appeared with his arms full of old clothing.

“Missus says ye are to get inter these, an’ then come to the house,” he said. “She wants to talk with ye.”

The boys put on the garments, finding that they fitted fairly well, and then, conducted by the negro, went to the dwelling. Showing them into the living room, the colored man said curtly:

“Sit down. Missus will be here soon.”

Five minutes later a woman of about forty years entered, and with a smile said:

“Caesar tells me you are friends of my eldest son Ira, who is with General Burgoyne. May I ask your names?”

Her visitors told her in turn. “Latham Wentworth and Joseph Fisher,” she repeated. “I don’t recall the names; that is, I don’t recollect that Ira ever spoke of you. How long have you known my son?”

“Only a few weeks,” Late answered. “We met him first up at Lake Champlain, while he was waitin’ for the army to arrive.”

“We work under him,” Joe added. Then a bright thought came to his mind. “He carries an iron cross that can be taken apart, so he can hide his papers in it,” he continued. “He shows it to the Indians, an’ they let him come an go ’mong them.”

“I know now that you are indeed his friends,” she cried joyously, “for I gave him that cross myself. It is an heirloom in our family. But how do you happen to be here? Cæsar said you were capsized on the river.”

“We would not tell every one, good Mistress Le Geyt,” Late said in a low but significant tone, “but we do not mind tellin’ you that we are sent up country on a special mission.”

She nodded her head in a way that indicated she understood him, and said:

“Please come with me.”

She led them out into a great hall, where on a rack of deer horns were several rifles and fowling-pieces. Seeing that her visitors noticed the arms, she said as they passed:

“We have quite an arsenal. It is because all our men folks are fond of gunning; my husband, Ira, grandpa, and even the younger boys have their own favorite weapons.”

Coming to the great staircase, they ascended and entered a large chamber, where, spread out on the bed, were two costly hunting suits, and beside it two pairs of hunting boots, scarcely worn.

“I must apologize for sending those old garments out to you,” she said. “They might do for strangers, but not for friends of my boy’s. Those on the bed are much more suitable, and by the time you have put them on, breakfast will be ready,” and she left them to themselves.

“We shan’t know ourselves,” Joe cried as he began to put on the finer garments.

“No, an’ it’s all due to that happy thought of yours regarding the iron cross. What do you s’pose she’d say if she knew our Ira wasn’t her Ira?”

“Hush!” his comrade cautioned. “Some one is goin’ down the hall, an’ might hear you. But I do feel a little ’shamed to impose on so fine a woman as Mistress Le Geyt seems to be.”

“I don’t know ’bout that,” was the low reply. “One enemy robs us; another makes it good. Sort of evens up things, it ’pears to me. Though I confess I wish it was Master Le Geyt we were imposin’ on, instead of his wife.”

A bell now rang loudly at the foot of the stairs, and, taking it for the signal to come to breakfast, the young scouts hastened down to the lower hall where they found their hostess waiting. She led them into a large dining-room, saying:

“Sit down, and Matilda will wait on you. I shall have to ask you to excuse me for a while, as I have some household duties that must be attended to.”

After thus speaking she left the apartment by another door, and in another moment a negress came in to attend to their needs.

Fried chicken, vegetables, bread, pie, cheese, and coffee were furnished them in abundance by the waitress, who seemed delighted at their enormous appetites.

“Ye makes me think of Master Ira,” she declared. “He’s always mighty hungry when he’s been on a long tramp.”

At length they could eat no more, and arose to leave the table, when the hall door was suddenly thrown open, and David Daggett strode in, followed by four stout negroes.

“Seize those rebels,” he said to the men. “Stand still, you young devils,” he cried to the surprised lads, “or I’ll fire,” and he leveled a pistol at each.

In another minute they were surrounded, dragged from the room into the hall, carried bodily up the stairway, and thrust into a back chamber, whose windows were covered with heavy shutters securely fastened on the outside. Then the door was closed and locked.

“I have you at last,” an exulting voice called from without. “You may fool Sarah, but you cannot fool David.”

In the gloom the prisoners gazed into each other’s faces for some time before either uttered a word. Then Joe exclaimed:

“I never heard of a thing like this afore, Late! Here you an’ me have put ourselves right into that old man’s hands. I reckon he’s the grandpa those boys told about.”

“I reckon he is,” his comrade replied. “Do you s’pose they’ll take these clothes from us?”

“I hope not. I never had such a good suit before.”

The day passed; night came, as the prisoners could tell by peering through the cracks in the window shutters.

“Will they starve us?” Joe asked. “I’m as hungry as when we first came here.”

“So’m I,” Late replied. “I wonder if there’s any way out.”

He went from window to window, examining carefully and trying the shutters in turn. Neither alone, nor with Joe’s help could he move them.

“We are here to stay,” he said in a despondent tone.

But he was mistaken. About midnight a key was thrust into the lock, the bolt turned back, and the door opened. There stood the negro they had seen at the barn in the morning, with a candle in his hand.

“Come,” he said in a hoarse whisper.

They followed him down the stairs and into the dining-room, where they found an abundance of food on the table.

“Eat,” he said grimly.

Without a word they obeyed, and when their hunger was appeased, he led them back to the hall in front of the rack of arms.

“Take two,” he directed. Each lad took a rifle, with horn and pouch, and followed him again, this time through the front door into the yard.

Leading them around to the barn, he showed them two horses, saddled and bridled.

“They’re yourn,” he announced. “Go down that lane to the road. Turn to the left, and you’ll be at Little Falls ’fore mornin’. Here’s a note from Missus.”

He thrust the paper into Late’s hand. Then the lads mounted and rode slowly away. A half-mile beyond the house they came to the road of which the negro had spoken. Turning into this they galloped along as rapidly as the rough way and darkness would permit. At dawn the tiny settlement was in sight. Pausing to rest the panting steeds, they opened and read Mistress Le Geyt’s letter.

“My dear guests,” it began, “I regret greatly that my father, David Daggett, imprisoned you. He is not quite himself, and insists that you are rebels. No persuasion of mine can convince him you are Ira’s friends. He declares he saw you come from the lines of the enemy, and followed you all the way up the river. I suspect your misfortunes were due to him, and, as far as possible, make restitution. Cæsar will fix your room so that it will look as if you made your own escape. Tell Ira, when you see him, that I did all I could in your behalf, for his sake. Your friend,

“Sarah Le Geyt.”

“Look here, Late,” Joe exclaimed after they had read the note, “these horses are goin’ back to that woman! The clothes an’ guns I’m willin’ to keep in the place of those that crazy old David burned; but I won’t take anything more.”

“I reckon that’s the proper figure,” his companion said after a little thought. “We can send them back from the settlement. It’s less than forty miles to the fort, an’ by hard walkin’ we can fetch there ’fore midnight. Can’t you write a note tellin’ her why we send the horses back?”

“I’m not much at writin’,” Joe replied; “but I can fix up somethin’. Guess we can get what’s needed on ahead here.”

The young scouts were more fortunate than they had expected. At the falls they met a man who wanted to go down the river to his home, a few miles below Hiram Le Geyt’s. He readily consented to take the animals back, and deliver their letter to the mistress. Therefore Joe, with some suggestions from Late, wrote:

“Good Mistress Le Geyt: We are rebels, so we send back your horses. We keep the other things ’cause your father destroyed ours. We can’t tell you how we came to know ’bout Ira. Thank you for all you did for us. We’ll be kind to the next Tory we meet, for your sake. Good-by.

“Late and Joe.”

“I feel better,” the latter said, when the man, who was taking back the horses, had disappeared. “It don’t seem as though we’d imposed on that woman quite so much.”

“I was wonderin’ if she’d have been so kind to us had she known we were rebels,” his comrade said. “Howsomever, we’ve ben purty square with her, seein’ she’s a Tory.”

A few moments later they set out for the fort, striking off through the forest, as their custom had been, instead of following the regular trail, a fact which saved them from another encounter with David Daggett, for he, with a half-dozen servants at his heels, had come in hot pursuit.

But they, ignorant of all this, tramped steadily along mile after mile, stopping but once for a brief rest, and about nine o’clock that night delivered their message to the commander of the fort, Captain Abraham Swartwout.

He rubbed his hands gleefully when they told of reinforcements on the way.

“I can hold out until they get here, even if St. Leger sweeps down on me with his whole force,” he declared. “I don’t like that Indian business, though. It means burning and butchering all the way from Oswego here. Some one ought to go up along the road, warning the settlers, and telling them to come in here with their families for protection.”

“We will go,” the young scouts said in the same breath. “General Schuyler told us to remain as long as we could be of any service to you.”

“Well, rest to-night and to-morrow,” the captain replied, “for you need it. Monday morning I’ll send you out for the double purpose of warning the settlers, and watching the movements of the red-coats. I’ll arrange a set of signals by which you can let me know what is going on outside, without coming into the fort. You’ll run less risk of being discovered and shot down;” then he called an orderly who took them first to the mess room, where they were given supper, and then to the barracks. In an hour both were sleeping soundly.

The following day the young scouts “did nothin’ but sleep and eat,” as Late expressed it, but immediately after breakfast on Monday they went to the commander’s quarters. He received them kindly and led the way to one of the bastions. From there he pointed out a tall tree on a hill opposite, asking:

“Do you see that big pine?”

“Yes, sir,” the lads replied.

“It is across the river, and likely to be beyond the lines of the enemy when they are besieging the garrison. Here are four strips of cloth, red, black, white, and green, each of which will have a different meaning when tied in the top of that tree. The white will be taken that reinforcements are close at hand; the red, that they have been discovered and are about to be attacked; the green, that they need help; the black, that they have been defeated. The red and white will tell me that the Indians are deserting the British; the red and green, that the British are about to be attacked in the rear; the red and black, that they have been defeated; while the white and green will signify that they are advancing on the fort; and the white and black that they are preparing to give up the siege.”

The boys repeated these instructions until they had them fixed in mind, and then Joe said:

“You can’t see these colors in the night, captain. We might want to signal then.”

“These are only for the day; we will have another arrangement for the night,” he replied. “Can either of you hoot like an owl?”

“Yes; both of us,” Late replied.

“Then one hoot takes the place of the white, two of the red, three of the green, and four of the black. From that you can make up your combinations,” the officer explained. “These cries are to be given from the tree, and the man stationed on this bastion will be prepared to report them promptly to me.”

“Very well, sir, we’ll do our best to keep you posted on all outside movements,” Late promised, “an’ should anything occur that you ought’er know, which can’t be reported by signals, we’ll bring it in to you at the risk of our lives.”

“Let it be something very important, then,” Captain Swartwout replied with a smile, after which he led the young scouts to the great gate of the fort, where he bade them Godspeed.

During several days they were busy among the settlements for many miles around. In some cases their warnings were promptly heeded, and the people fled to the fort in time to escape the Indians, who in a few days were scouring the entire region in search of victims. Others delayed too long, and fell a prey to the merciless foe. Before arriving at Oswego, the young scouts themselves were compelled to turn back before the advance guard of the enemy.

By exercising great caution, however, they kept just out of reach, and yet near enough to make out the movements of the enemy.

One night, as they stealthily avoided a small party of Indians that had made camp on the banks of Wood Creek, the young scouts became aware that some one else was engaged in the same work as themselves. Eager to learn who he was, they followed his trail for some distance through the brush. At length the man emerged into an open space, where the moonlight fell upon him, and with suppressed exclamations of surprise both lads recognized their old enemy, David Daggett.

“I wonder what he is doin’ here?” Joe whispered in his comrade’s ear.

“We’ll find out,” Late replied in the same cautious manner.

Therefore when Daggett moved on, they kept as close to his heels as was possible with safety to themselves. Having passed the Indian camp, he walked rapidly, with the air of one who knows where he is going.

“He’s bound for the British army,” Late said, speaking scarcely above his breath. “Probably he has a message of some kind. I wish we could find out what it is.”

Fortune soon favored them, and in a way they little expected. A half-mile farther on the old man was hailed by a picket. To the call, “Who goes there?” he answered, “A friend,” and received the customary direction: “Advance, friend, and give the countersign.”

This Master Daggett could not do, and for some time he parleyed with the guard, trying to persuade the man to allow him to pass.

“I’m a loyal subject of the king,” he cried, “and have come with important news for your commander. Let me go on!”

But the sentinel was firm. Then the Tory grew angry.

“I’ll show,” he screamed, “that you have no right to stop me. Your own commander will come to let me in,” and he drew from his pocket a small silver bugle. Putting this to his lips, he sounded a few sharp, shrill notes. Twice he repeated the call, and then, restoring the instrument to his pocket, calmly folded his arms and waited.

A moment later the captain of the guard, followed by a squad of soldiers, came running down to the post where, finding the sentinel with his gun trained on an old man who stood a few rods distant with folded arms, he demanded:

“What does this mean? Who blew those bugle notes?”

Before the picket could speak Master Daggett answered:

“I did,” he said. “It is a call to your commander. Step one side, please, and wait. He’ll be here in a moment.”

“More likely it was a call to the enemy,” the officer cried angrily. “Here, boys, seize that fellow and bring him into camp.”

“That command will cost you your commission, young man,” the old Tory said sternly. “And, soldiers, unless you want to go to the guard-house, you’d better keep your hands off.”

“Seize him, boys; we’ll find a way to put a stop to his nonsense,” the officer cried, running forward at the head of his men; but before he could touch the old man, a stern voice in the rear cried:

“Let that man alone, and go back to your stations!”

They knew the voice and obeyed, leaving the triumphant Tory face to face with their commander and a second man in the dress of a civilian.

“Hello, colonel! Hello, Hiram!” was Master Daggett’s salutation. “I thought those bugle notes would fetch you.”

“Why did you call, father?” the man in plain clothes asked.

“Because yonder numskull wouldn’t let me in,” was the angry reply, “and now I won’t go in for anybody. If you want to hear my news, you’ll have to get it here.”