Who more willing to act the spy than the happy-go-lucky young giant, fair-haired Simon Kenton alias Butler? With him he took his comrade Montgomery again, and Ranger George Clark. Alas, it was to be Montgomery's last outward trip. The Simon Kenton trail was always the danger trail, and he made it doubly dangerous by his recklessness.
They had no difficulty in reaching Little Chillicothe. It was a large town, of the Shawnee round bark houses, and surrounded by a rude palisade fence. When all the families seemed to be asleep, and silence reigned, they went inside—gliding here and there and wakening not even the dogs.
Simon sought out his two comrades, and touched them, as a signal. They followed him. At the edge of the town he had found the Shawnees' horse-pound, or yard. It contained more than a dozen horses. The opportunity was too good to be passed by. Nothing would do but that they must have each a horse, upon which to ride back.
Even with that all might have been well, had they not waxed greedy. Now they did a very foolish thing—the first of several foolish things. Simon was determined to steal all; the two others agreed to it. They rapidly fitted the hide halters that they discovered, mounted, and began to lead and drive the loose horses through the opened gateway.
But the horses were wild; did not like the smell of white men. They snorted alarmingly, and cavorted and reared. Dogs commenced to bark, voices arose, inquiring and scolding; the three men worked desperately with the stubborn animals. And suddenly the voices swelled.
"The horses! The Long Knives are here, stealing our horses!"
The town was in an up-roar.
"To the tall timber and keep goin'," Simon panted. "Lead all you've got. I'll follow."
So instead of riding free, out they hustled, Clark and Montgomery each with a fistful of halter thongs, Simon lashing and whooping and laughing behind.
They dashed at top speed through the forest, never minding the branches. They had seven horses. Such a mad-cap prank it was! The village rang with the hue and cry, and the forest aisles echoed. Presently the tumult died away. The blind course had plunged into a swamp, and the three mischief-makers were forced to halt uncertainly. They listened keenly. They heard no sound of pursuit. The town evidently was reconnoitering.