pen wood of Thunderbolt was reached and his stride became a
run; trot, trot, trot, at six-mile gait, for but fifteen miles remained.
Sustained, inspired, the bringer of good news, he halted not and
faltered not, but on and on.

Tramp tramp, tramp tramp--endless, tireless, hour by hour. At five he
was on Thunder Creek, scarce eight miles more to the goal; his limbs
were sore, his feet were sore; bone tired was he, but his heart was
filled with joy.

"News of battle, news of victory" he was bringing, and the thought lent
strength; the five mires passed, the way was plain with good roads now,
but the runner was so weary. He was striding, his running was done, the
sun was low in the west, his feet were bleeding, the courier was brain
worn and leg worn, but he strode and strode. He passed by homes but
heeded them not.

"Come in and rest," called one who saw nothing but a weary traveller.
Rolf shook his head, but gave no word and strode along. A mile--a short
mile now; he must hold out; if he sat down he feared he could not rise.
He came at last in sight of the fort; then, gathering all his force, he
broke into a trot, weak, so weak that had he fallen, he could scarcely
have got up, and slow, but faster than a walk: and so, as the red sun
sank, he passed the gate. He had no right to give tidings to any but the
general, yet they read it in his eyes. The guard broke into a cheer,
and trotting still, though reeling, Rolf had kept his word, had made his
run, had brought the news, and had safely reached his goal.

Chapter 74. Van Trumper's Again

Why should the scout bringing good news be differently received from the
one that brings the ill? He did not make, the news, he simply did his
duty; the same in both cases. He is merely the telegraph instrument.
Yet it is so ever. King Pharaoh slew the bearer of ill-tidings; that was
human nature. And General Hampton brought in the tall stripling to his
table, to honour him, to get the fullest details, to glory in every
item as though it all were due to himself. Rolf's wonderful journey was
dilated on, and in the reports to Albany he was honourably mentioned for
exceptionally meritorious service as a bearer of despatches.

For three days Flying Kittering was hero of the post; then other runners
came with other news and life went on.

Hitherto the scouts had worn no uniform, but the execution of one of
their number, who was captured by the British and treated as a spy,
resulted