as on between his own
people and the body of British sent westward to hold the upper Saranac.

True to the instinct of the scout, his first business was to find out
exactly what and where they were. From a thick tree top he saw the
red-coats spotting an opening of the distant country. Then they were
lost sight of in the woods. The desultory firing became volley firing,
once or twice. Then there was an interval of silence. At length a mass
of red-coats appeared on the highway within half a mile. They were
travelling very fast, in full retreat, and were coming his way. On the
crest of the hill over which the road ran, Rolf saw them suddenly drop
to the ground and take up position to form a most dangerous ambuscade,
and half a mile away, straggling through the woods, running or striding,
were the men in the colours he loved. They had swept the enemy before
them, so far, but trained troops speedily recover from a panic, if they
have a leader of nerve, and seeing a noble chance in the angle of this
deep-sunk road, the British fugitives turned like boars at bay. Not a
sign of them was visible to the Americans. The latter were suffering
from too much success. Their usual caution seemed to have deserted them,
and trotting in a body they came along the narrow road, hemmed in by a
forest and soon to be hedged with cliffs of clay. They were heading for
a death-trap. At any price he must warn them. He slid down the tree, and
keeping cover ran as fast as possible toward the ambush. It was the only
hill near--Beekman's Rise, they call it. As far as possible from the
red-coats, but still on the hill that gave a view, he leaped on to a
high stump and yelled as he never did before: "Go back, go back! A
trap! A trap!" And lifting high his outspread hands he flung their palms
toward his friends, the old-time signal for "go back."

Not twice did they need warning. Like hunted wolves they flashed from
view in the nearest cover. A harmless volley from the baffled ambush
rattled amongst them, and leaping from his stump Rolf ran for life.

Furious at their failure, a score of red-coats, reloading as they ran,
came hot-footed after him. Down into cover of an alder swamp he plunged,
and confident of his speed, ran on, dashing through thickets and
mudholes. He knew that the red-coats would not follow far in such a
place, and his comrades were near. But the alder thicket ended at a
field. He heard the bushes crashing close at hand, and dashed dow