Pa looked up at his wife, his brown eyes thoughtful. “Now, Ma, I don’t think he did anything so wrong. He was probably afraid we would try to keep him from going, so he just left quietly in the night. I don’t believe he was ungrateful. As Jim says, he probably longed for his own people.”
Jim finished his breakfast in silence and then suddenly said, “Do you suppose some of the Indians came for him?” Jim’s eyes flashed in excitement.
Pa picked up his rifle and put on his homespun jacket. “I don’t think they did, Jim, but I’ll have a look around to see if there are new tracks of any kind. I believe I would have heard them. He probably just rode off alone.”
Ma began to take away the pewter bowls. “I don’t like it at all. I feel queer, as if we were surrounded by Indians. I’m afraid we aren’t safe here any more.”
Chapter II
WAS IT A TRICK?
Not long after Wahbunou’s disappearance, a chill north wind blew into the lush Kentucky valley, warning the Hudsons that winter was not far away. Frosty mornings greeted them, and the trees putting on their mantles of brown, red and gold, told them it was time to harvest both turnips and corn.
Jim and Pa spent several days gathering them, while Ma did sentinel duty sitting on a stump with her rifle ready for use. But she was uneasy while on guard, jumping at each snap of a twig.
Finally the corn was shucked and piled high in one corner of the cabin. Pa stored the turnips in a deep hole near the lean-to, so they would keep all winter. One nippy day when the harvest was finished, Pa turned to Jim after breakfast. “Jim, let’s go hunting today. I’d like to lay in a supply of game before it gets any colder.”
Jim’s blue eyes sparkled. “Today, Pa?”