ome friends,
but he had more enemies. The worst was James Girty, a brother to Simon
Girty.

James Girty told the Indians that he had asked Man-nuch-cothe how he
would like to live with old friends again; and Man-nuch-cothe had
laughed and said: "I will live here long enough to take a scalp. Then
I will steal a horse and go back to the whites."

This enraged the town. A grand council was held, to decide about John
Slover. It lasted fifteen days. John spoke in his own defence, in the
Shawnee tongue. He knew many of the chiefs by name. They knew him.
He spoke well.

"I am here. I am not ashamed. I lived with you twelve years. You
treated me kindly. On my part I never tried to escape. You gave me
many chances, but I was red. Your cabins were my home. You were my
fathers and brothers. When I left, I did not run away. I had found my
own blood. It called to me. I said good-by, and shook your hands.
You were willing. It was done in the open, there at Fort Pitt. That
was a peace council. You had no thought of war again. I had no
thought of war again between the red people and the white people. We
all were to be brothers. When I lived with you, I would have helped
you fight your enemies. That was my duty. A warrior's duty is to
serve his country. Your country was then my country. When I went to
live with the whites, I became a warrior there. Their country was my
country. If you think I deserve death for acting like a warrior, you
may kill me. I am in your power. I am alone. As for the words of
James Girty, they are lies. I have not spoken with him. You know me.
Do you take me for a child? I am not a child; I am a man. If I had
thought such a thing that he says, would I have been foolish enough to
say it to him? No. He is an enemy to all whites. Everybody knows
that. Then why should I have told my thoughts to him, as he says? He
lies, in order to kill me. I am done."

The council listened keenly. Some of the chiefs believed, and
softened. The speech rang true; it came from the heart. The sentence
was postponed and John Slover was released and kindly treated. He took
up quarters with an old squaw, who called him her son. He went to the
dances. He was an Indian again. All this might mean little, but he
took hope.

The town was eager for news of the war between their British father
across the water, and the Long Knives.

"The war is over," John explained. "A great British gen