“Now, Jim,” Wahbunou urged, “do your best.”
Jim stepped forward and tried to throw the pole as far as Wahbunou had, but it fell far short. Jim sighed. “I’m no good at this game.”
“You’ll soon learn, Jim,” comforted Wahbunou.
Jim did learn to throw the snow-snake pole as well as the other boys. Sometimes Chief Minnemung walked out to watch the children; he always smiled when Jim threw it farther than the others. Quite often during the winter the chief called Jim to his Wigwam, to play Pa Hudson’s drum for him and sometimes for all the Indians.
Jim grew tall during the winter, had plenty of food and was snug and warm in the wigwam. He would have been happy with the Potawatomis if only his parents had been with him. But often at night he could not sleep, because he kept seeing his parents riding sadly away with the Shawnees.
After a long, cold winter, spring came again to the valley. One fine day Wahbunou told Jim he had heard the men say they would be moving out of winter camp the next morning.
“But tonight, Jim,” Wahbunou went on, “we shall watch the dance of the women. This dance celebrates the beginning of our summer wanderings. Then we’ll break up into small bands again and we won’t see the rest of our clan until next winter.”
Jim looked doubtful. “The dance of the women, Wahbunou? What is that?”
“Wait and see, Jim. Wait and see.”
When the women came out of their wigwams in their ceremonial dresses, Jim scarcely recognized any of them. They had greased their hair until it shone in the glow of the campfires, painted their faces with vermilion and put on long white chemises, over which they had strung all the wampum necklaces they possessed.