In a menacing tone, Girty then interrogated him as to the condition of Kentucky.
"How many men are there in Kentucky?"
"It is impossible for me to answer that question," replied Kenton; "but I can tell you the number of officers, and their respective ranks, and you can judge for yourself."
"Do you know William Stewart?"
"Perfectly well; he is an old and intimate acquaintance."
"What is your own name?"
"Simon Butler!" replied Kenton, who had been known formerly by that name.
Never did the announcement of a name produce a more powerful effect. Girty and Kenton had served as spies together in Dunmore's expedition. The former had not then abandoned the society of the whites for that of the savages, and had become warmly attached to Kenton during the short period of their services together. As soon as he heard the name, he threw his arms around Kenton's neck, and embraced him with much emotion.
Then turning to the assembled warriors, who had witnessed this scene with much surprise, Girty informed them that the prisoner, whom they had just condemned to the stake, was his ancient companion and bosom-friend; that they had traveled the same war-path, slept upon the same blanket, and dwelt in the same wigwam. He entreated them to spare him the anguish of witnessing the torture, by his adopted brothers, of an old comrade; and not to refuse so trifling a favor as the life of a white man to the earnest intercession of one, who had proved, by three years' faithful service, that he was zealously devoted to the cause of the Indians.
The speech was listened to in silence, and some of the chiefs were disposed to grant Girty's request. But others urged the flagrant misdemeanors of Kenton; that he had not only stolen their horses, but had flashed his gun at one of their young men; that it was in vain to suppose that so bad a man could ever become an Indian at heart, like their brother Girty; that the Kentuckians were all alike, very bad people, and ought to be killed as fast as they were taken; and, finally, they observed that many of their people had come from a distance, solely to assist at the torture of the prisoner; and pathetically painted the disappointment and chagrin, with which they would hear that all their trouble had been for nothing.