be in the pea patch.
There are food, ammunition and blankets in the hollow tree you know of,
at the edge of town. Don't fail. Goodby." She scurried away.

"God bless you for an angel," murmured Simon, peering after her. And
he hastened back to tell his comrades.

He knew that the Indians would have no thought of their guns before the
morrow. At midnight the three climbed the wall, by the ladder. The
guns were in the garden; so was Mrs. Harvey, waiting anxiously. In
after years he said that her dim figure, sitting there, was the most
beautiful thing that he ever saw. He never forgot Mrs. Harvey.

Outside, in the town, the yells of the drunken Indians were making the
night hideous. There was little time for thanking the good woman. By
daylight the three ought to be far from sight--and the hours seemed all
too few.

Trailing the guns, and stooping, using their best scout methods they
scuttled through the by-ways. They safely won the open; then ransacked
the hollow tree, and plunged on, to head south, through the forest, for
distant Louisville at the Falls of the Ohio. Upon a great circuit, to
throw off the pursuit, they traveled, traveled, traveled by a series of
night marches, until after thirty days they arrived at the Colonel
George Rogers Clark settlement, to-day the city of Louisville, Kentucky.

Simon had been absent from Kentucky nine months. In one space of four
weeks he had been beaten eight times by the gauntlet or otherwise; had
three times been condemned to burning at the stake, had been painted
black and was being condemned a fourth time, to certain death, when
rescued by the accident of meeting Chief Logan. But he lived to be
over eighty and died peacefully in his bed at last--which proves that
the most desperate peril is never hopeless. Dangers do not surely mean
death.

He went right out upon another scout against the Indians. He continued
to be a scout, and a soldier, and was with General "Mad Anthony" Wayne
at the decisive battle of the Fallen Timbers, in 1794, when the backs
of the Shawnees, Miamis, Wyandots, Delawares, Senecas, and all, joined
together by Chief Little Turtle, Chief Blue-jacket and Simon Girty,
were broken to fragments.

He fought the Shawnees again in the War of 1812. He had been living at
Urbana, Illinois, and was appointed brigadier general of the Illinois
militia; but he enlisted as a private.

When he died, in April, 1836, it was in his cabin on the site of