Stout and, beyond question, venerable
benches stood close to the wall on both sides of the entrance.
Directly over the broad, low door with its big wooden latch and bar,
was the word "Welcome," rudely carved in the oak beam. It required no
cultured eye to see that the letters had been cut, deep and strong,
into the timber, not with the tool of the skilled wood carver but with
the hunting knife of an ambitious pioneer.
A shocking incongruity marred the whole effect. Suspended at the side
of this hundred-year-old doorway was a black and gold, shield-shaped
ornament of no inconsiderable dimensions informing the observer that a
certain brand of lager beer was to be had inside.
He lifted the latch and, being a tall man, involuntarily stooped as he
passed through the door, a needless precaution, for gaunt, gigantic
mountaineers had entered there before him and without bending their
arrogant heads.
CHAPTER II
THE FIRST WAYFARER LAYS HIS PACK ASIDE AND FALLS IN WITH FRIENDS
The little hall in which he found himself was the "office" through
which all men must pass who come as guests to Hart's Tavern. A steep,
angular staircase took up one end of the room. Set in beneath its
upper turn was the counter over which the business of the house was
transacted, and behind this a man was engaged in the peaceful
occupation of smoking a corn-cob pipe.
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