nds in the other, and the British had several
times trotted past within easy range, without provoking a shot.

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

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

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

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

"Who are yo