So Rolf inquired fully about the trail to Alexandria Bay that he
did not want to go to. Why should he be so careful? The mill
owner was clearly a good American, but the scout had no right to
let any outsider know his business. This mill owner might be
safe, but he might be unwise and blab to some one who was not all
right.

Then in a casual way he learned that this was the Oswegatchie
River and thirty miles down he would find the town of Ogdensburg.

No great recent events did he hear of, but evidently the British
troops across the river were only awaiting the springtime before
taking offensive measures.

For the looks of it, Rolf bought some tea and pork, but the
hospitable mill man refused to take payment and, leaving in the
direction of Alexandria Bay, Rolf presently circled back and
rejoined his friends in the woods.

A long detour took them past the mill. It was too cold for
outdoor idling. Every window was curtained with frost, and not a
soul saw them as they tramped along past the place and down to
continue on the ice of the Oswegatchie.

Pounded by the ceaseless wind, the snow on the ice was harder,
travel was easier, and the same tireless blizzard wiped out the
trail as soon as it was behind them.

Crooked is the river trail, but good the footing, and good time
was made. When there was a north reach, the snow was extra hard