About dusk they stopped for the night by a small stream. Pulling the Hudsons from their horses, they tied Pa and Jim to one tree, Ma to another. Several women began making fires and filling kettles with water; while other women prepared supper. The children laughed and scampered in and out of the stream. The men paid no attention to their three white prisoners, but sat quietly along the bank of the stream, talking in very low tones. Jim’s head ached so badly from his jolting, upside-down ride through the woods that he could scarcely see. He was glad, though, that his parents were still with him. He looked at the half-grown children playing around the camp, expecting to see Wahbunou, but the boy was not among them. Ma Hudson was still so frightened she couldn’t talk, but she was not so shaken up as Pa or Jim, because she at least had ridden upright. When supper was ready, one old woman brought scant servings of stew in small gourds to the Hudsons, and three small dry corncakes. Ma wasn’t able to eat a bite, but Pa and Jim found the stew surprisingly good. They could have eaten another helping, but the woman did not bring them any more. After the Indians had eaten their fill, the women banked the fires for the night; men and boys relaxed on the ground. Poor Ma Hudson had either fainted from fright or had fallen into an exhausted sleep. Pa turned his head slightly toward Jim and whispered, “I’m afraid it was a trick, Jim. Putting Wahbunou with his injured shoulder near our clearing, I mean. He probably reported we could be taken prisoner easily, since we had no near neighbors to help us.” Jim glanced toward the Indian group, then at his father. “But, Pa, Wahbunou isn’t with these Indians. All the men and boys are sitting right over there together. Besides, we don’t even know if this is Wahbunou’s tribe.” Pa looked at the group. Then he nodded his head. “You’re right, son. He isn’t there.” Jim wriggled a bit trying to loosen the thongs which bound him, but with no success. “I wonder what they’ll do with us now, Pa.” Pa tried to shake his dark hair away from his eyes. “Well, since they didn’t kill us on the spot, I wonder if they intend to deliver us to Hamilton in Detroit. You remember Colonel Clark said the British commander there was paying the Indians to bring white prisoners to him.” Jim nodded. “Yes, I remember. But why, Pa? And where is this Detroit?” “You remember when I was in Harrodsburg last year I heard about Great Britain waging a war with our countrymen back east. Now I think this British Hamilton in Detroit is figuring on winning all our Kentucky territory by having the Indians fight for him. They are to scare the settlers into returning back home or to capture them for Hamilton. I’m not sure where Detroit is, but I think it lies far to the north.” Jim glanced toward the Indians again. “Look, Pa. They have our rifles and drum.”