Jim Long-Knife

By Florance Walton Taylor

"Jim Long-Knife" by Florance Walton Taylor. Published by Good Press. Good Press publishes a wide range of titles that encompasses every genre. From well-known classics & literary fiction and non-fiction to forgotten−or yet undiscovered gems−of world literature, we issue the books that need to be read. Each Good Press edition has been meticulously edited and formatted to boost readability for all e-readers and devices. Our goal is to produce eBooks that are user-friendly and accessible to everyone in a high-quality digital format.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Good Press
• Release date: Nov 5, 2021
• ISBN: 4066338064653

Book preview

Florance Walton Taylor

Jim Long-Knife

Published by Good Press, 2022

[e-mail]

EAN 4066338064653

Table of Contents

Chapter I A STRANGE GUEST

Chapter II WAS IT A TRICK?

Chapter III AN EXCHANGE AT THE SALT LICK

Chapter IV WINTER WITH THE POTAWATOMIS

Chapter V THE LONG-KNIVES

Chapter VI ON TO KASKASKIA

Chapter VII NO ADOPTION

Chapter VIII A PEACEFUL INTERVAL

Chapter IX THROUGH THE DROWNED LANDS

Chapter X CAPTURE OF VINCENNES

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Chapter I

A STRANGE GUEST

Table of Contents

Thirteen-year-old Jim Hudson thumped a melon with practiced fingers, then pulled it from the vine and laid it in a pile with the others. He wiped his hot forehead with his sweaty shirtsleeve, turning with a smile toward his mother. Look, Ma! he called, See how many melons we have. And how fine the turnips and corn look.

Ma Hudson, her rifle across her knees, was sitting on a large stump in the little clearing. She turned at the sound of Jim’s voice, and smiled wearily at her towheaded boy. Yes, Jim. We’ll have plenty to eat this winter, I’m thinking.

Jim moved on to another vine and glanced along the row to where his father was kneeling. Ma pushed her sunbonnet back over her faded yellow hair and resumed her watch into the wilderness surrounding the clearing.

All during the spring and summer the Hudsons had worked in this fashion. Jim and Pa had planted their crops and enlarged the clearing by felling trees, while Ma had sat ready with the Kentucky rifle, and looked for hostile Indians.

This year of 1777 was a fearful one for Kentucky settlers. Some had been captured or killed by Indians; others had returned to Virginia discouraged by repeated Indian attacks. The Hudsons, however, had not been molested and Pa Hudson was determined to stay on his land. It was the first farm he had ever owned; he loved every inch of this lush Kentucky wilderness. He and Jim continued to gather melons. Jim worked faster than his father, because each time Pa moved from one vine to another, he had to pick up his rifle lying close by on the ground.

Suddenly Jim raised his head and listened. Then he turned to his father. Pa, I hear something groaning. Do you?

Pa seized his rifle and was on his feet immediately. Where, son?

Jim cocked his head toward the right. Over there. Listen. There it is again.

At this moment Ma Hudson called, Pa, I hear groaning. She was already picking her way among the stumps toward the sound, the rifle grasped firmly in her hands.

Pa went striding through the melon patch. Wait, Ma. Let me go first. Soon he was ahead of her, with Jim beside him.

The three made their way through the tangled brambles into woods so dense the Hudsons seemed to be walking in twilight. Quite suddenly they saw a bridled horse standing quietly just ahead of them. In a moment the groaning sound came again, this time to the left of where Jim was standing.

He whirled around, scrambled over a large fallen tree and cried, Why, here’s a boy! Kind of a small boy, too. Jim started to stoop down toward the prostrate form.

Pa sprang to his side. Wait a minute, son. He peered through the gloom and saw an Indian boy smaller than Jim, dressed in a long blue cloth shirt, his face streaked with hideous vermilion. Maybe this is a trick, Pa muttered. Perhaps he’s been put here to lure us into a trap. Holding his rifle ready, Pa started looking about in the shadowy woods.

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.

The Hudsons took the boy and his horse back to their cabin without seeing another human being. While Jim tethered the horse at a safe distance from Nellie, Ma flew about the cabin getting water, her home-made soap, and clean rags for Pa. He set the wounded boy’s broken bone as best he could, supporting it with a rude splint. Then with Ma’s help, he washed the wound with soap and bound the shoulder with rags to hold the bone securely in place.

When they had finished Pa shook his head. I’m afraid he’s lost a lot of blood. He’ll be a while getting well.

Ma turned to Jim who was standing in the doorway of the cabin. Jim, we’ll have to put him in your bed. He’s awfully weak.

Jim nodded. Sure, Ma. He’s welcome to it. I can sleep on the floor.

Pa Hudson laid the boy carefully on Jim’s bed, muttering all the while. I don’t like harboring an Indian in my house. No, sir, I don’t. Then he turned to Jim. You stand guard at the door with Ma’s rifle and I’ll go back for the melons. Some Indians might come swooping in here to get him.

Ma’s eyes flashed as she stooped to pick up her rifle from the floor. No, Jim. You go help your pa. I’ll stand guard.

All right. We’ll be right back, Jim said; he dashed out to join his father.

When they had brought all the melons up to the cabin and stacked them in the shade, they fed and watered the Indian boy’s horse. Inside the cabin again they found the boy sound asleep. Now and then, Ma glanced at him as she prepared supper. Shall we wake him, Pa, and give him something to eat?

Pa studied the Indian for a few minutes. No. He’s breathing all right but seems in pain. Probably wouldn’t want to eat anyway. Let’s not bother him.

After supper the Hudsons conversed in low tones. Where do you suppose he came from, Pa? Ma asked.

Pa shrugged. I’ve no idea, but now we know the Indians have been near our farm.

Ma’s blue eyes widened and she shivered slightly. It makes me fearful, Pa. I’ve never really been afraid before. She laid a thin,