Jim hung his head and said in a low voice, “Wahbunou, I don’t want to be adopted by Chief Minnemung. And I don’t want to be a member of your tribe.” Wahbunou stared at Jim, thinking he had not heard him correctly. “You don’t want to be Chief Minnemung’s son?” Now Jim’s blue eyes were misty with tears. “No, Wahbunou. You and your people have been very kind to me, but I want my own people. I hope to find my father and mother. Don’t you remember that you didn’t want to live with us?” Wahbunou nodded slowly. “But, Jim, you don’t know where your father and mother are. Nor do I. I only know they were prisoners of the Shawnees. And they live far to the east. We Potawatomis do not mingle with them.” Jim’s lips trembled as he said, “If they’re still alive, I’ll find them some day, Wahbunou. I wouldn’t be happy being a real Potawatomi.” Wahbunou sighed and was silent for a while. Finally he said, “Jim, I do understand that you want to be with your own people. Believe me. But Chief Minnemung has spoken. His word is law with us. There is nothing that my father or I can do to prevent your adoption.” [Illustration: uncaptioned] Chapter V THE LONG-KNIVES Several days later Chief Minnemung sent word around that everyone was to prepare for the annual trading trip to Cahokia. Soon the women were busy sorting the fur pelts they had accumulated during the winter and spring, and tying them in separate bundles according to kind. When all were sorted, Jim was surprised to see how many bundles there were. “This Cahokia, Wahbunou? What is it?” Jim asked. He and Wahbunou were mounted on the horse ready to start on the journey. Wahbunou smiled. “Cahokia is a French village a long way from here. We go there every year about this time. The French have a trading post and we’ll trade our furs for many supplies which we need.” “What supplies, Wahbunou?” “I’m not sure what we’ll get this trip, but sometimes we get food or blankets. I think Chief Minnemung may want to trade for guns and some powder. The French are our friends; we always stay a while in their village. Then we’ll move on for the annual council of our tribe.” A shadow crossed Jim’s face at mention of the council, because Minnemung had told him the adoption ceremonies would take place there. Suddenly a plan of escape from the Potawatomis occurred to him. Perhaps he might be able to join the French while trading was going on; they might even help him find his parents. But he said nothing to Wahbunou. The Potawatomis had been wandering southeast, but now they turned about and began riding in a westerly direction, bearing a little to the north. It was so warm they didn’t try to cover many miles in a day. Sometimes they stayed several days in their overnight camps. This was the season for ripe berries, so the Indians stopped often to feast on wild raspberries or dewberries.