rolf in the woods-第61章

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many　a　noble　epic　poem。



No　need　to　consult　his　compass。　The　blazing　lamp　of　the　dark　sky

was　his　guide；　straight　east　his　course；　varied　a　little　by　hills

and　lakes；　but　nearly　the　crow…flight　line。　At　first　his　pace　was

a　steady；　swinging　stride；　then　after　a　mile　he　came　to　an　open

lake　shore　down　which　he　went　at　a　six…mile　trot；　and　then　an

alder　thicket　through　which　his　progress　was　very　slow；　but　that

soon　passed；　and　for　half　a　mile　he　splashed　through　swamps　with

water　a　foot　deep：　nor　was　he　surprised　at　length　to　see　it　open

into　a　little　lake　with　a　dozen　beaver　huts　in　view。　〃Splash；

prong〃　their　builders　went　at　his　approach；　but　he　made　for　the

hillside；　the　woods　were　open；　the　moonlight　brilliant　now；　and

here　he　trotted　at　full　swing　as　long　as　the　way　was　level　or

down；　but　always　walked　on　the　uphill。　A　sudden　noise　ahead　was

followed　by　a　tremendous　crashing　and　crackling　of　the　brush。　For

a　moment　it　continued；　and　what　it　meant；　Rolf　never　knew　or

guessed。



〃Trot；　trot；〃　he　went；　reeling　off　six　miles　in　the　open；　two　or

perhaps　three　in　the　thickets；　but　on　and　on；　ever　eastward。　Hill

after　hill；　swamp　after　swamp；　he　crossed；　lake　after　lake　he

skirted　round；　and；　when　he　reached　some　little　stream；　he　sought

a　log　bridge　or　prodded　with　a　pole　till　he　found　a　ford　and

crossed；　then　ran　a　mile　or　two　to　make　up　loss　of　time。



Tramp；　tramp；　tramp；　and　his　steady　breath　and　his　steady　heart

kept　unremitting　rhythm。







Chapter　73。　Rolf　Makes　a　Record



Twelve　miles　were　gone　when　the　foreglow　　the　first　cold

dawn…light　showed；　and　shining　across　his　path　ahead　was　a　mighty

rolling　stream。　Guided　by　the　now　familiar　form　of　Goodenow　Peak

he　made　for　this；　the　Hudson's　lordly　flood。　There　was　his　raft

securely　held；　with　paddle　and　pole　near　by；　and　he　pushed　off

with　all　the　force　of　his　young　vigour。　Jumping　and　careening

with　the　stream　in　its　freshet　flood；　the　raft　and　its　hardy

pilot　were　served　with　many　a　whirl　and　some　round　spins；　but　the

long　pole　found　bottom　nearly　everywhere；　and　not　ten　minutes

passed　before　the　traveller　sprang　ashore；　tied　up　his　craft；

then　swung　and　tramped　and　swung。



Over　the　hills　of　Vanderwhacker；　under　the　woods　of　Boreas。

Tramp；　tramp；　splash；　tramp；　wringing　and　sopping；　but　strong　and

hot；　tramp；　tramp；　tramp；　tramp。　The　partridge　whirred　from　his

path；　the　gray　deer　snorted；　and　the　panther　sneaked　aside。

Tramp；　tramp；　trot；　trot；　and　the　Washburn　Ridge　was　blue　against

the　sunrise。　Trot；　trot；　over　the　low；　level；　mile…long　slope　he

went；　and　when　the　Day…　god　burnt　the　upper　hill…rim　he　was　by

brown　Tahawus　flood　and　had　covered　eighteen　miles。



By　the　stream　he　stopped　to　drink。　A　partridge　cock；　in　the　pride

of　spring；　strutted　arrogantly　on　a　log。　Rolf　drew　his　pistol；

fired；　then　hung　the　headless　body　while　he　made　a　camper's

blaze：　an　oatcake；　the　partridge；　and　river　water　were　his　meal。

His　impulse　was　to　go　on　at　once。　His　reason；　said　〃go　slow。〃　So

he　waited　for　fifteen　minutes。　Then　again；　beginning　with　a　slow

walk；　he　ere　long　added　to　his　pace。　In　half　an　hour　he　was

striding　and　in　an　hour　the　steady　〃trot；　trot；〃　that　slackened

only　for　the　hills　or　swamps。　In　an　hour　more　he　was　on　the

Washburn　Ridge；　and　far　away　in　the　east　saw　Schroon　Lake　that

empties　in　the　river　Schroon；　and　as　he　strode　along；　exulting　in

his　strength；　he　sang　in　his　heart　for　joy。　Again　a　gray　wolf

cantered　on　his　trail；　and　the　runner　laughed；　without　a　thought

of　fear。　He　seemed　to　know　the　creature　better　now；　knew　it　as　a

brother；　for　it　gave　no　hostile　sound；　but　only　seemed　to　trot；

trot；　for　the　small　joy　of　running　with　a　runner；　as　a　swallow　or

an　antelope　will　skim　along　by　a　speeding　train。　For　an　hour　or

more　it　matched　his　pace；　then　left　as　though　its　pleasant　stroll

was　done；　and　Rolf　kept　on　and　on　and　on。



The　spring　sun　soared　on　high；　the　day　grew　warm　at　noon。　Schroon

River　just　above　the　lake　was　in　his　path；　and　here　he　stopped　to

rest。　Here；　with　the　last　of　his　oatcake　and　a　little　tea；　he

made　his　final　meal；　thirty　eight　miles　had　he　covered　since　he

rose；　his　clothes　were　torn；　his　moccasins　worn；　but　his　legs

were　strong；　his　purpose　sure；　only　twenty…two　miles　now；　and　his

duty　would　be　done；　his　honours　won。　What　should　he　do；　push　on

at　once？　No；　he　meant　to　rest　an　hour。　He　made　a　good　fire　by　a

little　pool；　and　using　a　great　mass　of　caribou　moss　as　a　sponge；

he　had　a　thorough　rub…down。　He　got　out　his　ever…　ready　needle　and

put　his　moccasins　in　good　shape；　he　dried　his　clothes　and　lay　on

his　back　till　the　hour　was　nearly　gone。　Then　he　girded　himself

for　this　the　final　run。　He　was　weary；　indeed；　but　he　was　far　from

spent；　and　the　iron　will　that　had　yearly　grown　in　force　was　there

with　its　unconquerable　support。



Slowly　at　start；　soon　striding；　and　at　last　in　the　famous　jog

trot　of　the　scout　he　went。　The　sky　was　blackened　with　clouds　at

length；　and　the　jealous；　howling　east　wind　rolled　up　in　rain；　the

spindrift　blurred　the　way；　the　heavy　showers　of　spring　came　down

and　drenched　him；　but　his　pack　was　safe　and　he　trotted　on　and　on。

Then　long；　deep　swamps　of　alder　barred　his　path；　and；　guided　only

by　the　compass；　Rolf　pushed　in　and　through　and　ever　east。　Barely

a　mile　an　hour　in　the　thickest　part　he　made；　but　lagged　not；

drenched　and　footsore；　warm　and　torn；　but　doggedly；　steadily　on。

At　three　he　had　made　a　scant　seven　miles；　then　the　level；　open

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　B