Wahbunou put his finger to his lips. “Shh, Jim! They’re coming.” Then he signaled to his horse to lie down at the edge of the grass.
The horse obeyed immediately and none too soon either. The next moment the boys saw a band of white men marching out of the forest. And they kept coming, more men than Wahbunou could count. Just before they plunged into the thick prairie grass the boys could see they had long rifles and wore sparkling long knives in their belts. The sun shining on the knives made them visible even at this distance.
“Shemolsea!” gasped Wahbunou, dropping to his knees.
Jim also dropped down into the grass and turned to Wahbunou. “Wahbunou,” he whispered, “what do you mean by Shemolsea? I remember you said that word the day my father found you in the woods. And Chief Minnemung said his rifle was Shemolsea.”
Wahbunou whispered, “Shemolsea—Long-Knife. Men who carry long knives. You know your father had one. He is Shemolsea.”
“Oh! You mean all of us Kentucky settlers are Long-Knives?” Jim started to stand up, but Wahbunou pulled him down. “Do you want them to kill you, Jim?” he whispered in terror.
“Why, they wouldn’t kill us. Maybe I might know some of them.” Jim raised up to take another look at the men. Their column had turned southwest and Jim could no longer see their faces. There were so many men Jim was afraid to call out to them. “I wonder who they are and where they’re going,” he muttered, half to himself.
Wahbunou was whispering, “As soon as they’ve gone, we’ll have to ride fast and tell Chief Minnemung about the many, many Long-Knives we’ve seen.”
“I think I’ll go and join them,” Jim cried, scrambling up from the tall grass.
Wahbunou tripped him and he fell headlong. “No, Jim. That you cannot do. Chief Minnemung would kill me if anything happened to you. You must ride back with me.”