“Better give me the rifle now, Jim. It’s most too heavy for you with that limb on your shoulder. We’ll work our way home by Coon Hollow Trace. There’s always plenty of game in that neighborhood.”
When they arrived at Coon Hollow, a small crossroads in the forest, Jim said, “Look, Pa. I think I see someone coming down that trace.” He nodded toward the north.
Instantly Pa laid the deer on the ground and held his rifle ready. He peered ahead for a moment, then said, “I see two men, Jim, and I think one’s leading a pack horse. We’ll wait a little.”
As the men came nearer, Pa suddenly recognized the taller one. “George Rogers Clark! As I live and breathe.” Then he raised his arm in greeting. “Howdy, Mr. Clark. I don’t reckon you remember me. I’m Jim Hudson. I used to work the land bordering your father’s farm back in Virginia. And this is my son, Jim.”
The tall, red-haired man looked at Pa Hudson for a moment and then smiled, his hazel eyes shining and friendly. He shook hands with Jim, then with Pa. “Of course I remember you, Hudson.” He gestured toward his companion. “This is Tom Shelton. He’s one of the settlers going back to Virginia with me.”
“Howdy,” Tom Shelton said, shaking Pa’s hand.
George Rogers Clark looked inquiringly at the Hudsons. Then he asked, “What are you doing out here so far from Virginia?”
“We came out here three years ago,” Pa replied, “to take up a claim. It’s wonderful land; my boy and I are clearing it as fast as we can.”
While Pa talked about his dreams for his claim, Jim stared at the splendidly built man his father had called Mr. Clark. He was taller than Pa, young too, and most impressive-looking.
Tom Shelton shook his head when Pa paused for breath. “No more Kentucky for me. I’m beat. I can’t take these Indian raids any longer. Last week finished me. My nearest neighbors were attacked and taken prisoners. I got all my possessions with me.” He nodded toward the heavily laden pack horse. “Many of us settlers are going back with Colonel Clark. Better join us, Hudson.”