“I’m Jim Hudson. I escaped from the Indians last night and I’ve been trying to find you all day.”
“A likely story,” muttered the shorter man. “Probably you’re some spy sent out by the Indians.”
Jim shook his head. “No, sir. I saw a big band of Long-Knives yesterday and I’ve been trying to find them.”
“Let’s take him to Colonel Clark,” the shorter man suggested.
Jim’s eyes sparkled. “Clark, did you say? George Rogers Clark? Is he red-haired?”
The tall soldier spoke again. “Say, boy, you know too much. Come on, get going.”
As they walked single file through the woods, they made Jim walk between them. After stumbling over fallen trees and brambles for about a mile, they came upon a group of ragged men sitting and standing in the dense shade along a river.
“Colonel Clark, sir,” began the tall soldier, “we’ve found a white boy; he says he was a prisoner of the Indians. But he knows too much. Must be some trick here.”
A ragged, commanding figure with red hair turned from the men and walked over to Jim. His stern, hazel eyes seemed to penetrate Jim’s whole body as he said, “Well, lad, who are you? What are you doing here?”
Jim was so excited he could scarcely talk. “Colonel Clark, I’m Jim Hudson. I don’t suppose you remember me, sir, but I remember your red hair. I met you late last year with my father at Coon Hollow. We had been hunting and had bagged a deer. You advised my father to go to Harrodsburg until the Indian scare was over.” Jim looked hopefully at the colonel.