But fate was against him at every turn.  Thinking only of the enemy behind, he forgot that there might be an enemy before; and he suddenly found that he had plunged into the center of a fresh party of horsemen, who had sallied from the town at the firing of the guns, and happened, unfortunately, to stumble upon the poor prisoner, now making a last effort for freedom.  His heart sunk at once from the ardor of hope to the lowest pit of despair, and he was again haltered and driven into captivity like an ox to the slaughter.

On the second day he arrived at Waughcotomoco.  Here he was again compelled to run the gauntlet, in which he was severely hurt.  Immediately after this ceremony, he was taken to the council-house, and all the warriors once more assembled to determine his fate.

He sat silent and dejected upon the floor of the cabin, when the door of the council-house opened, and Simon Girty, James Girty, John Ward, and an Indian, came in with a woman as a prisoner, together with seven children and seven scalps.  Kenton was immediately removed from the council-house, and the deliberations of the assembly were protracted to a very late hour, in consequence of the arrival of the last-named party with a fresh drove of prisoners.

At length he was again summoned to attend the council-house, being informed that his fate was decided.  Upon entering, he was greeted with a savage scowl, which, if he had still cherished a spark of hope, would have completely extinguished it.  Simon Girty threw a blanket upon the floor, and harshly ordered him to take a seat upon it.  The order was not immediately complied with, and Girty impatiently seizing his arm, jerked him roughly upon the blanket, and pulled him down.

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.