In a short time the Indians began packing to leave the salt lick. When they were ready, Wahbunou said, “Jim, you are to ride with me because we do not have extra horses.” He led Jim over to his horse. Jim recognized it as the one he had tied in their lean-to alongside Nellie. The boys climbed up on the horse. “Now,” Wahbunou explained, “we are going to our winter camp. It is still a long distance away. Hang on tight, Jim, because we’ll be riding hard today.” Jim did as he was told, but with a heavy heart. Here he was—going to some strange place with Wahbunou and the Potawatomis, while his mother and father were prisoners of the Shawnees. He swallowed hard, wondering if he would ever see them again. [Illustration: uncaptioned] Chapter IV WINTER WITH THE POTAWATOMIS The Potawatomis rode hard for several days against a biting northwest wind. Finally they stopped on the banks of the _Au Sable_ River, in a wide valley protected by rolling hills. It was an ideal camp site because the hills protected the Indians from bitter winter winds. Several families had already arrived. Wahbunou told Jim that these people were members of another clan in his tribe. His clan, the Golden Carp, always tried to return to this camp to hear news of their relatives and to share in the tribe’s winter sports. The women began immediately setting up wigwams. These they made with poles fastened to the ground in a circle, and the tops drawn together in a cone. They covered this framework with their _aquapois_, or reed mats made of cattail flags, to shut out snows and winter winds. The men rested a few days, then decided to go on a short hunting trip to get fresh meat. Early in the morning of the hunt, the men painted their faces with the vermilion, which Jim had first seen on Wahbunou’s face. “Wahbunou,” Jim said, “why are the men painting their faces?” Wahbunou turned from watching his father prepare for the trip. “They always wear it, Jim, when they go hunting or riding for a war raid. The day you found me in your country, I was on a hunting trip with my father and the other men. But I became separated from the rest. I was trying to catch up with them when I was brushed off my horse and broke my shoulder.” “Do you usually hunt near our farm?” “Oh, no. That was the farthest south and east we had ever ridden. But hunting wasn’t good in the places we knew. If you had not found me I would have died, because my people did not miss me until they returned to camp.” Jim looked puzzled. “But didn’t they hunt for you?” “Oh, yes, for several days. My father said they finally gave me up for lost, thinking I had been killed by a bear.” “Then it wasn’t a trick that you happened near our clearing?” “Trick?” It was Wahbunou’s turn to look puzzled. “What do you mean, Jim?”