Colonel Clark seemed to be turning something over in his mind. Finally he smiled. “I remember. But how do you happen to be out here in the Illinois country?”
Then Jim told the long story of how he and Pa and Ma had been captured by the Shawnees on the way to Harrodsburg; how later he had been traded to the Potawatomis, with whom he had spent the winter. When he was telling of seeing the column of Long-Knives, Colonel Clark interrupted him.
“Just a minute, boy. Did the Indians with you see us?”
Jim shook his head. “No, sir, only Wahbunou. We had stayed behind the rest to eat more berries. Wahbunou promised me he would not tell he had seen the Long-Knives.”
Colonel Clark looked puzzled. “That’s hard to believe, Jim. I wouldn’t trust an Indian not to warn his people of an army of white men near them.”
The tall soldier scowled, as did several others. But no one spoke a word.
“But, sir,” Jim replied, “we saved Wahbunou’s life, so he promised not to tell about the Long-Knives. He knew of my plan to escape.” Jim explained how the Hudsons found Wahbunou near their clearing and of Chief Minnemung’s decision to adopt Jim. “That’s why I ran away, sir. I didn’t want to be a Potawatomi. I hope to find my parents, but I don’t know if they’re alive.”
George Rogers Clark nodded. “I trust they are, Jim, and I can’t blame you for not wanting to be a Potawatomi. For the present you’ll go with us and be a part of my volunteer army. We’re crossing the river tonight and marching on Kaskaskia.”
“I see you have a drum. Perhaps we’ll need a drummer before this night is over.” He turned and motioned to the tall soldier. “This is Simon Kenton, Jim. You are to go with him and do whatever he says.”
“Yes, sir.”