As I traced it with my eyes a considerable body of mounted men suddenly appeared on the summit.

Without fear that they could see me at that distance I watched eagerly as they trotted down the long slope.

They were plainly a squadron of British Dragoons, their arms and cross-belts shining in the sun, in spite of the dust kicked up by their horses' hoofs.
I waited until convinced they were coming to the house, before drawing back out of sight.

It was difficult to decide what was best for me to do.
Should I wait, trusting to my rough clothing, and pass myself off as a countryman, or take advantage of the brief time left in which to escape?
If I essayed the first choice I could explain the situation, and start these troopers on the trail; if not they might fail to understand and ride on thoughtlessly.

What such a body of mounted men were doing in the neighborhood I could merely guess at--either they were riding through to New York on some matter of importance, or else had been sent out hurriedly to discover what had become of Delavan's foragers.