m
and scolded him, until late at night. Simon really did not care. He
had done his best, they might do their worst.

In the morning he was taken on up to Wakatomica. It was a larger town.
On this trip he had been closely watched; and here he was punished by
the gauntlet in earnest. It about finished him. Then they painted him
black, the death color. Half clothed, battered and spent, he was
sitting upon the dirt floor of the bark council-house, while the
Shawnees squatted in a circle and discussed the next event (which
probably was to be the burning at the stake), when a new party entered
the doorway.

They were three white men in Indian garb, a white woman and seven
children as prisoners, and one Indian bearing a bunch of seven fresh
scalps!

The woman's name proved to be Mrs. Mark Kennedy. A pitiable object she
was, too. Simon recognized the three white men: Simon Girty himself
(his scout-partner at Fort Pitt), James Girty, a brother, and John
Ward--all squaw-men who were aiding the Shawnees against the Americans.

None of them appeared to know him; and before they spoke to him he was
put outside, while the council heard their report and decided what to
do with the women and children.

Surely, Simon Butler-Kenton realized that he was in a very nest of
trouble. The council-talk continued for a long, long time. It was
late in the afternoon before he was hauled inside again, to hear his
fate pronounced. He had given up hope. He could expect mercy from the
Girtys least of all. They had deserted the American service in a huff,
and were noted as the bitterest enemies of everything and everybody
connected with it. Their hearts were hot and red.

He was greeted with a general, savage scowl. Simon Girty pointed to a
dirty blanket spread upon the floor.

"Sit down."

Simon the victim tottered a moment; the insulting tone angered him.
Girty grabbed him by the shoulder and forced him down.

"How many soldiers are there in Kentucky?"

"I don't know. I'm only a private and it's not my business to know. I
can tell you the number of officers and you can judge for yourself."

"Do you know Captain Stuart?"

Captain Stuart was a leader of the Virginia militia, had tried to save
the life of Chief Corn-stalk at the Point Pleasant fort, and had
defended settlements against the Shawnees.

"I know him well. He is an old friend."

"What is your name?"

"Simon Butler."

Girty stared as if paralyzed. Simo