Jim shook his head. “I can’t, Willie. I’m on guard here, remember.”
After another burst of fire by the Americans, there was a sudden, answering roar from the guns inside the fort.
Just at this moment Colonel Clark appeared with a man to relieve Jim. “You boys eat your supper. Report back here when you’ve finished, Jim,” Clark said, and went on to direct the firing which was now continuous.
“Come on, Jim. I know where we’re supposed to go.” Willie led the way to one of the villagers’ homes, where seven or eight soldiers were just finishing their meal.
“Come in, boys,” called a rosy-cheeked woman. “There is plenty of food for all of you.”
The boys sat down to a bountiful dinner of roast duck, the best meal they had eaten since their buffalo feast many days ago. While they were eating, the woman kept staring at Jim. Finally she said, “Soldier, have I seen you before? There’s something very familiar about your face.”
Jim looked blankly at her. “I don’t know, ma’am. I don’t recall ever having seen you.”
Still she looked at him. “It’s sure queer. You remind me of someone. I can’t quite figure—say, what’s your name? Mine’s Jeanne Duval.”
Jim smiled. “Sometimes I’m called Jim Long-Knife. The Indians gave me that name. But my real name’s Jim Hudson.”