struck the Otsego, and joined the Mohawk at the point more than once mentioned in our opening chapters.  As these were the two ordinary paths—­if paths they could be called, where few or no traces of footsteps were visible—­it was more than probable any plan to arrest the traveller would be laid in reference to their courses.  The major had consequently resolved to avoid them both, and to strike boldly into the mountains, until he should reach the Susquehanna, cross that stream on its flood wood, and finding one of its tributaries that flowed in from the eastward, by following its banks to the high land, which divides the waters of the Mohawk from this latter river, place himself on a route that would obliquely traverse the water-courses, which, in this quarter of the country, have all a general north or south direction.  Avoiding Schenectady and Albany, he might incline towards the old establishments of the descendants of the emigrants from the Palatinate, on the Schoharie, and reach the Hudson at a point deemed safe for his purposes, through some of the passes of the mountains in their vicinity.  He was to travel in the character of a land-owner who had been visiting his patent, and his father supplied him with a map and an old field-book, which would serve to corroborate his assumed character, in the event of suspicion, or arrest.  Not much danger was apprehended, however, the quarrel being yet too recent to admit of the organization and distrust that subsequently produced so much vigilance and activity.

“You will contrive to let us hear of your safe arrival in Boston, Bob,” observed the father, as he sat stirring his tea, in a thoughtful way—­“I hope to God the matter will go no farther, and that our apprehensions, after all, have given this dark appearance to what has already happened.”

“Ah, my dear father; you little know the state of the country, through which I have so lately travelled!” answered the major, shaking his head.  “An alarm of fire, in an American town, would scarce create more movement, and not so much excitement.  The colonies are alive, particularly those of New England, and a civil war is inevitable; though I trust the power of England will render it short.”

“Then, Robert, do not trust yourself among the people of New England”—­ cried the anxious mother.  “Go rather to New York, where we have so many friends, and so much influence.  It will be far easier to reach New York than to reach Boston.”

“That may be true, mother, but it will scarcely be as creditable.  My regiment is in Boston, and its enemies are before Boston; an old soldier like captain Willoughby will tell you that the major is a very necessary officer to a corps.  No—­no—­my best course is to fall into the current of adventurers who are pushing towards Boston, and appear like one of their number, until I can get an opportunity of stealing away from them, and join my own people.”

“Have a care, Bob, that you do not commit a military crime.  Perhaps these provincial officers may take it into their heads to treat you as a spy, should you fall into their hands!”