Ma Hudson’s hands trembled as she held her rifle and looked down at the boy. “Pa, he’s hurt. Look at his shoulder. This is no trick.”
Pa handed his rifle to Jim. “You watch with Ma, while I have a look at him.” He dropped to his knees to examine the boy, mumbling, “I’m still afraid it’s an Indian trick.”
As Pa turned the boy to one side, he saw an ugly wound where the blue shirt was torn from one shoulder. Then he looked closely at the wound. “Why, I can see a bone too, Ma. I think he’s broken his shoulder.”
Ma forgot about the possibility of other Indians lurking near, as she ventured closer to Pa to look at the boy again. “Pa, he’s not as old as Jim. We’ll have to take care of him. We can’t leave him here.”
“No, reckon we can’t,” Pa replied, as he tried to lift the Indian boy from the tangled underbrush. But the boy’s body was enmeshed in a stout wild grapevine. Pa took out his long knife and began slashing at the tangled vine.
At this moment, the Indian boy groaned and opened his eyes. He looked up at the Hudsons in alarm. When he saw Pa’s long knife, he was terrified and cried out, “Shemolsea! Shemolsea!”
“What did you say?” Jim asked, but the boy had lost consciousness again.
When Pa had freed the boy from the vine, he gathered him in his arms and turned to Jim. “You go ahead with the rifle, Jim, and Ma, you walk behind me. Mind you both keep a sharp lookout. We’ll have to take him back to the cabin.”
“But Pa,” put in Jim, “what’ll we do about the horse?” He nodded toward the animal standing a few feet away.
“Bring him along. And tie him up in our lean-to next to Nellie. But not too close to our horse. She might nip him.”