THE day following that on which the events related in the preceding pages occurred there was an assemblage more than usually numerous, gathered in and around the capacious store of David Muir, in Marietta: immediately in front of his door was a small party, who, from their bearing and appearance, might be easily recognised as leading persons in the little community. In the midst of them was a roughly–dressed country lad, whose haggard appearance indicated wretchedness or fatigue, or both: near the group stood his horse, reeking with sweat, and showing that the messenger, for such he was, had not spared the spurs on the road. Many and eager were the questions put to him; and the countenances of his auditors evinced no ordinary degree of interest in his replies; several women, and a dozen or two of boys and girls, made repeated endeavours to penetrate into this important circle; and having contrived to overhear a disjointed word, here and there, such as “Indian,” “scalped,” “rifle,” &c. they slunk away, one by one, to spread it abroad through the village, that a neighbouring settlement had been attacked by a large body of Indians, armed with rifles and tomahawks; and that every man, woman, and child, excepting this messenger, who had escaped, was scalped! We will, however, introduce the reader into the centre of the above–mentioned group, and detail to him the substance of the news which created so much excitement. It appears that on the preceding day, two brothers, named Hervey, were riding homeward after attending a marriage, at a small settlement twenty miles to the northward of Marietta: they were not above half a mile in advance of several other men, also returning from the marriage; both were armed with rifles, having been shooting at a target for a wager, when on a sudden, a single Indian, uttering a loud war–whoop, sprang from a thicket by the road, and at one stroke of his war–club felled the elder brother to the earth; before the second could come up to his assistance, the same Indian aimed a sweeping blow at his head with the butt–end of his rifle; the younger Hervey warded the blow also with his rifle, but it fell with such force that both barrels were broken off from the stocks: with the rapidity of lightning, the Indian struck him heavily on the head, and he fell stunned from his horse. A few minutes afterwards, he recovered, and found some of his friends standing over him; his unfortunate brother lay dead and scalped at his side: his horse and the Indian had disappeared. Several young men dashed off immediately in pursuit, and tracked the hoofs successfully until the fugitive had entered the hardy and stony bed of a rivulet falling into the Muskingum; hence all further search proved unsuccessful, and they returned dispirited to their companions.