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.