Connecticut Boys in the Western Reserve: A Tale of the Moravian Massacre

A TALE OF THE MORAVIAN MASSACRE
...BY...
James A. Braden.
AUTHOR OF “FAR PAST THE FRONTIER,” ETC.
ILLUSTRATED BY W. Herbert Dunton C
AKRON, OHIO THE SAALFIELD PUBLISHING CO. NEW YORK CHICAGO MADE IN U. S. A.
Copyright, 1927 By The Saalfield Publishing Company
A dismally wet and cold September day had come early to a close and thick darkness had settled down an hour since, when the horse attached to a heavy, canvas-covered, two-wheeled emigrant wagon stopped, at its driver’s command, before an inhospitable looking house, from one window of which a feeble light was shining. The rain splashed drearily, the wind moaned in a ghostly way about the structure whose dim outlines were just visible, and flapped the canvas over the wagon fitfully.
The barking of a gruff-voiced dog from somewhere near the house gave certain sign that the arrival of the cart had been noticed by that animal, as a tall, broad shouldered boy sprang lightly down from the vehicle and walked briskly toward the door of the gloomy building.
“Now, never mind, Ring,” spoke a young, but full and pleasant voice from the front of the wagon, as a large dog that stood beneath growled deep in its throat in answer to the barking of the other canine. Instantly the dog was quieted and at the same moment came the sound of knocking at the door of the partially lighted house. A full minute passed, and the knocking was vigorously repeated before there was a response.
“This ain’t a tavern any more; we can’t keep ye,” said a man who put his head out, before the caller could speak.
“This is the Eagle tavern, isn’t it?” the boy inquired calmly, and the light through the half-open door showed him to be a muscular youth of probably eighteen years, though the serious look about his eyes and mouth, and his dark hair gave him a somewhat older appearance.