But why, and whither?
In order to learn the rider's route, Rolf followed at a trot for
a mile. This brought him to a hilltop, whither in the silent
night, that fateful north wind carried still the sound
te -- rump te -- rump te -- rump.
As it was nearly lost, Rolf used his knife again; that brought
the rider back within a mile it seemed, and again the hoof beat
faded, te -- rump te -- rump.
"Bound for Canada all right," Rolf chuckled to himself. But there
was nothing to show whether this was a mere despatch rider, or an
advance scout, or a call for reinforcements.
So again he had a long wait. About half-past ten a new and larger
sound came from the south. The knife in the ground increased but
did not explain it. The night was moonless, dark now, and it was
safe to sit very near the road. In twenty minutes the sound was
near at hand in five, a dark mass was passing along the road.
There is no mistaking the language of drivers. There is never any
question about such and such a voice being that of an English
officer. There can be no doubt about the clank of heavy wheels --
a rich, tangy voice from some one in advance said: "Oui.
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