Editor’s Note: This is an ongoing series which runs each Thursday morning titled the Richland Chronicles Volume 2, by author Paul Lintern. It is set in the summer of 1831 and tells the story of Richland County through the eyes of young people. This is the second in a three-book trilogy. Volume 1 was Amelia Changes Her Tune.

“Gone Fishing. Took care of horses I. and W.P.”

That was the note on the front door of the Inn as the boys set out, finding the Zeiters’ canoe buried under brush along the Black Fork, a couple of miles from the Inn.

Most people kept their canoes or small boats hidden under bushes or piles of sticks a few feet or yards from the edge of the small river, rather than carry them back and forth from home. That meant that some people could find a hidden canoe and take it wherever they were going, often not returning it.

Therefore, it always was a relief when the canoe was found, as it was for Isaac and Wolf Paw. While Isaac was the horse expert, Wolf Paw was the canoeist. He directed from the back with his commands and his paddle.

Together the boys rode the strong current that recent rains had created. Because the creek, never more than a few yards wide, was well used, the Black Fork was free of trees or large limbs that normally would fall across and block the way.

A trip down the Black Fork was interesting for sightseeing, because there were plenty of houses and farms along the way, plus many former homes and businesses. These were mills and cabins and smithing shops that were used when the river had been the main route for travel, during the first 15 years or so of the century, as Richland County was being settled.

By the end of the War, in 1815, roads were becoming more common and easier to use. The Black Fork and its southern neighbor Clear Fork, were still popular, but no longer the main way to travel. They waved at many who were waking up to the day, and called out to some of the friends they knew because they visited the Inn, or attended church, or helped build neighbors’ barns.

“We should do this more often,” Isaac said. “I forgot how fun this river is.”

“Tell me that when we turn around and have to go upstream,” Wolf Paw said.

Still, the trip went quickly. By noon, they were pulling the canoe along the bank near Newville, a settlement that had been one of the first in the county. They walked a short distance through an open field (after hiding the canoe under a bush) and through an opening in the woods.

A short time later, they came upon an area full of small trees and thick bushes, different from the forest they had been walking in. Wolf Paw came upon it first, a stone foundation, square, about three feet tall, with stone steps leading up to a gap in the middle of the front.

“This was a house,” he said.

“I thought this was an Indian village,” Isaac said.

“Elizabeth said it had a lot of different people, and the houses were more permanent than a usual village. Many of the houses were like Grandmother’s house at the reserve,” Wolf Paw said.

As they looked around, they found evidence of several houses and barns, the central lodge, a mill side, some fence posts and a well.

“You can almost see it,” Wolf Paw said.

“Maybe you can,” Isaac replied. “All I see is a forest that has won its way back.”

“All of nature will do that if it gets a chance,” came a voice from behind them.

Isaac nearly jumped out of his skin; Wolf Paw’s eyes were huge as they turned around and saw a large man only a few feet away. He had a musket but did not seem threatening. Isaac wondered if they were in trouble for trespassing.

“Who have we here?” The man asked.

“Isaac Zeiters, sir, and my friend Wolf Paw. I am from up north, at the Oakland Inn, he is from the Wyandot Reserve.”

“Quick with the information. Not always a good idea, but thank you for that. I will honor your trust. I am Samuel Lewis. Been here longer than just about anyone else. Used to live not far from here; in fact I was the first white man to live in this township.”

“You live here now?” Isaac asked.

“No. I moved over to Millsborough for a while, and now live between Mansfield and Mifflin … Zeiters. You Jacob’s boy?” Samuel asked.

“No, his nephew. John is my, stepfather.”

“Who was your Pa?”

“David Baughman.”

“You’re Katherine’s son. Sure knew your pappy well. Fine man. Helped him remove some of his trees. Wasn’t around that day he died. Still sorry. You know, I see the resemblance. You are a Baughman,” Samuel said.

“And a Zeiters,” Isaac said, surprised at himself.

“Your new pappy is a good man, too. Helping to start a church I hear. Hard worker, done good by your family. Never forget that.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Excuse me, but why are you here?” Wolf Paw asked.

“I’ll ask you the same,” Samuel said.

“My Aunt Elizabeth told us about Greentown. We had never seen it,” Isaac said.

“Well I have,” Samuel said. “Spent a lot of time here. Had a lot of friends here. None of them died in the fire, but part of me did, part of them all.

“We were at the front of that War, in 1812. The county was at the edge, and the British were making alliances with the Indians just north and west of us.

“The Indians here were friendly, although there are some rascals in any group, and they did not want to leave. They thought they would ride out the war, but some other well-meaning folks talked them into finding refuge over by Upper Sandusky.

“This fire was a big mistake. Started by a soldier who was not following orders. In fact, he was doing the opposite. But in such times common sense often takes a holiday,” Samuel said.

“Why didn’t they come back?” Wolf Paw asked.

“Things change,” Samuel said. “Things change.”

Isaac saw Wolf Paw wince.