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
or the ice clear and the scouts slipped off their snow shoes, and
trotted at a good six-mile gait. Three times they halted for tea
and rest, but the fact that they were the bearers of precious
despatches, the bringers of inspiring good news, and their goal
ever nearer, spurred them on and on. It was ten o'clock that
morning when they left the mill, some thirty miles from
Ogdensburg. It was now near sundown, but still they figured that
by an effort they could reach the goal that night. It was their
best day's travel, but they were nerved to it by the sense of
triumph as they trotted; and the prospective joy of marching up
to the commandant and handing over the eagerly looked for,
reassuring documents, gave them new strength and ambition.
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