Ma had tied a change of clothes and moccasins for each of them in a large square of cloth.
When they were ready to leave, Ma sat on the horse, holding the pack of clothes, while Pa led the horse with one hand and carried his trusty Deckard with the other. Jim walked behind the horse, carrying Ma’s rifle, the treasured drum and drumsticks.
As they left their clearing Pa said, “We’ll come home as soon as we can.”
They trudged along silently, their moccasins and the horse’s hoofs, swishing softly through the fallen leaves. Sometimes Ma hummed softly to herself as if she were happy to be on the way to Harrodsburg. But Pa gazed resolutely ahead.
They heard no other sounds for a mile or so.
Then without warning, they found themselves surrounded by a dozen hideously painted Indians. Neither Pa nor Jim could raise their rifles before the Indians had seized and securely bound them.
In trying to raise his rifle, Jim had dropped his drum and sticks, but he was too frightened to notice this.
Ma screamed in terror as one of the Indians leaped upon her horse Nellie, tied Ma’s hands and rode off with her into the woods. Two other Indians tied leather thongs around Jim and Pa’s waists and began dragging them along behind Ma’s captor.
The rest of the band picked up the rifles, drum and sticks and followed along, their whooping and yelling piercing the calm autumn stillness.
Jim was terrified. He wondered if his father were; yet he could do nothing but stumble along behind the Indian who kept jerking the leather thong.