Jim hesitated. “My father wondered if you had been placed near our farm to spy on us, and see if we could be easily captured.” “Jim! My people would not do that. We have not raided any cabins this year. The prisoner we traded to the Shawnees had fired on Chief Minnemung. We had to capture him. And anyway, Chief Minnemung wanted his knife and gun.” While the boys talked the men finished their preparations and were ready to go. Suddenly Chief Minnemung swung down from his horse and walked toward Jim. “You ride with me today,” he said, putting his hand on Jim’s shoulder. Wahbunou gasped in surprise because none of the Indian boys had been asked to go on this hunting trip. Jim looked up at the tall, haughty chief, magnificent in his painted buffalo robe; he started to say he didn’t care to go. But the expression on Minnemung’s face told him this was not an invitation but a command. “Yes—yes, sir,” he managed, wishing with all his heart he did not have to accompany the chief. “What shall I do to get ready?” Chief Minnemung looked at him for a moment. “All right as you are. Come.” Then he turned and stalked back to his horse. “It is a great privilege, Jim,” Wahbunou whispered, still amazed by the chief’s order. Jim got on the horse behind the chief and the party of eighteen set out for the hunt. After they had ridden a little way into the forest, they separated into groups of two or three going in different directions. But Chief Minnemung and Jim went alone. As they rode along Jim noticed that the chief was carrying a rifle like his father’s, and wearing a long knife also like his father’s in a wampum belt which girded his beautiful robe. Jim pointed to the rifle. “You have a gun like my father’s.” Chief Minnemung grinned a hideous grin through his streaked vermilion paint. “_Shemolsea_,” he grunted. Then he patted the big knife and again said, “_Shemolsea_.” Suddenly Chief Minnemung reined in his horse. Then he tried to sight his rifle, but could not do it on the horse, so slid quietly to the ground. Once again he tried to sight the rifle. Jim looked to see what the chief’s quarry was. In the distance he saw a black bear, but it was too far away to shoot. The Indian kept fumbling with the rifle and suddenly the sound of a shot broke the stillness of the forest. Chief Minnemung shouted in triumph and dropped the gun. He had fired the rifle. But his triumph was short-lived, for his shout was answered by an unearthly moan. He had wounded the bear which was now charging toward him. The old chief stood frozen in his tracks when he realized the rifle shot had not killed the bear. Jim slid off the horse, grabbed the rifle from the ground, reloaded it and waited. The bear was coming nearer and Jim knew he must not miss his aim. The wounded animal would kill them, if he did not kill it first. When the bear was only a few feet away, Jim fired. This time the aim was deadly accurate, piercing the bear between the eyes. It fell in its tracks.