One afternoon they happened upon a large berry patch bordering a heavy forest. Everyone ate his fill of berries while the women and children gathered some in their kettles and gourds to take with them. Wahbunou told Jim they would be leaving the forests now and riding through wide meadows of prairie grass. There would not be another opportunity to pick berries this summer. The two boys tethered their horse, scrambling farther and farther into the brambles away from the rest of the Indians and seeking larger and larger berries. All at once Jim looked back and saw the Potawatomis riding away without them. “Wahbunou!” he cried. “Look! Minnemung and the rest are leaving.” Wahbunou glanced toward the disappearing group. “In a minute, Jim. We can catch them easily. Let’s get just a few more berries.” He pointed to a heavily laden bush nearby. “Let’s get those, then we’ll go.” Jim glanced uneasily at the band of Indians now almost out of sight in the tall prairie grass. He didn’t want to be left in this trackless ocean of grass. “We’d better go, Wahbunou.” Wahbunou tossed his head and laughed. “I can catch them easily, Jim. My horse isn’t far away and he’s faster than any save Chief Minnemung’s.” Then he turned again to the berries. The boys had been stuffing themselves with the delicious fruit for perhaps ten minutes, when Wahbunou’s horse suddenly began pawing the ground. Wahbunou cocked his head to one side and listened. “I hear the sound of many feet, Jim. I think it’s the feet of many men.” Now it was Wahbunou’s turn to be alarmed. Jim frowned. “I don’t hear anything, Wahbunou. Let’s be on our way.” “You wait,” cautioned Wahbunou, seizing his horse’s bridle. “I don’t hear any horses’ hoofs, just the sound of men.” He led his horse to the edge of the berry patch, where he could see the broad expanse of prairie. The grass was almost as tall as Jim’s head, it rippled rhythmically in the wind, making it look like waves of the ocean. It had a sort of singing sound which Jim had never heard before. “I hear only a sort of singing,” Jim said. “I think it’s the wind in this grass.” Wahbunou put his finger to his lips. “Shh, Jim! They’re coming.” Then he signaled to his horse to lie down at the edge of the grass. The horse obeyed immediately and none too soon either. The next moment the boys saw a band of white men marching out of the forest. And they kept coming, more men than Wahbunou could count. Just before they plunged into the thick prairie grass the boys could see they had long rifles and wore sparkling long knives in their belts. The sun shining on the knives made them visible even at this distance. “_Shemolsea!_” gasped Wahbunou, dropping to his knees. Jim also dropped down into the grass and turned to Wahbunou. “Wahbunou,” he whispered, “what do you mean by _Shemolsea_? I remember you said that word the day my father found you in the woods. And Chief Minnemung said his rifle was _Shemolsea_.”