“It is a great privilege, Jim,” Wahbunou whispered, still amazed by the chief’s order.
Jim got on the horse behind the chief and the party of eighteen set out for the hunt. After they had ridden a little way into the forest, they separated into groups of two or three going in different directions.
But Chief Minnemung and Jim went alone. As they rode along Jim noticed that the chief was carrying a rifle like his father’s, and wearing a long knife also like his father’s in a wampum belt which girded his beautiful robe.
Jim pointed to the rifle. “You have a gun like my father’s.”
Chief Minnemung grinned a hideous grin through his streaked vermilion paint. “Shemolsea,” he grunted. Then he patted the big knife and again said, “Shemolsea.”
Suddenly Chief Minnemung reined in his horse. Then he tried to sight his rifle, but could not do it on the horse, so slid quietly to the ground. Once again he tried to sight the rifle. Jim looked to see what the chief’s quarry was. In the distance he saw a black bear, but it was too far away to shoot.
The Indian kept fumbling with the rifle and suddenly the sound of a shot broke the stillness of the forest. Chief Minnemung shouted in triumph and dropped the gun. He had fired the rifle. But his triumph was short-lived, for his shout was answered by an unearthly moan. He had wounded the bear which was now charging toward him. The old chief stood frozen in his tracks when he realized the rifle shot had not killed the bear.
Jim slid off the horse, grabbed the rifle from the ground, reloaded it and waited. The bear was coming nearer and Jim knew he must not miss his aim. The wounded animal would kill them, if he did not kill it first.
When the bear was only a few feet away, Jim fired. This time the aim was deadly accurate, piercing the bear between the eyes. It fell in its tracks.
Chief Minnemung waited a few moments, then turned to Jim. “White boy, Jim, you have saved Chief Minnemung’s life. I will not forget this moment. Minnemung not know how to use Shemolsea gun.”