Jim looked puzzled. “But didn’t they hunt for you?”
“Oh, yes, for several days. My father said they finally gave me up for lost, thinking I had been killed by a bear.”
“Then it wasn’t a trick that you happened near our clearing?”
“Trick?” It was Wahbunou’s turn to look puzzled. “What do you mean, Jim?”
Jim hesitated. “My father wondered if you had been placed near our farm to spy on us, and see if we could be easily captured.”
“Jim! My people would not do that. We have not raided any cabins this year. The prisoner we traded to the Shawnees had fired on Chief Minnemung. We had to capture him. And anyway, Chief Minnemung wanted his knife and gun.”
While the boys talked the men finished their preparations and were ready to go. Suddenly Chief Minnemung swung down from his horse and walked toward Jim. “You ride with me today,” he said, putting his hand on Jim’s shoulder.
Wahbunou gasped in surprise because none of the Indian boys had been asked to go on this hunting trip. Jim looked up at the tall, haughty chief, magnificent in his painted buffalo robe; he started to say he didn’t care to go. But the expression on Minnemung’s face told him this was not an invitation but a command.
“Yes—yes, sir,” he managed, wishing with all his heart he did not have to accompany the chief. “What shall I do to get ready?”
Chief Minnemung looked at him for a moment. “All right as you are. Come.” Then he turned and stalked back to his horse.