He turned upon the astonished warriors, who did not understand. He made an earnest speech, in the Shawnee tongue, with many gestures. Simon caught only the drift of it, but Girty the renegade was arguing for the life of a friend. He explained that here was a man as dear to him as a brother. They had traveled the same trail, slept under the same blanket, lived in the same house. He had never asked a favor before. He had been with them three years and helped them. Now he wished only the life of this man, his former brother. Several of the older chiefs grunted approval. Simon's heart rose. But others spoke opposing. They said that the council already had decided; the Shawnees should not change their minds like squaws. Here was a very bad man. He had taken scalps, had stolen their horses, had flashed a gun at them when they tried to get their horses back again. He was too bad to be a Shawnee. He was from Kentucky, and henceforth all Kentuckians were to be killed. Even Captain Boone had deceived them. Besides, people had come to Wakatomica, to see the fun, and ought not to be disappointed! Simon's heart fell. Girty leaped up and spoke again, at length. He was answered. The debate lasted for an hour and a half. The council proceeded to a vote. The war-club was passed from hand to hand. Those who struck the floor with it, voted for death. Those who merely passed it on, voted for life. An old man, sitting in the center, kept tally by cutting notches in the two edges of a stick--one series of notches for the yeas, one series for the nays. Simon watched intently. He dared not show any sign of joy, but his heart thrilled to bursting when he saw that the nays were winning. The old man announced the result. Simon Girty turned to Simon Butler. "Well, my friend, you are safe. Come with me." It was the shortest speech yet, and the best. He led Simon outside. No Indian opposed. He took him to the trader's store and fitted him with moccasins, leggins, shirt, a handkerchief for his neck and another for his head. Took him home; had his own squaw dress the wounds from club and knife and switch. Made him one of the family. For twenty-one days Simon lived in clover. The Indians all treated him kindly. He wandered where he pleased, in the neighborhood. It seemed too good to be true. At the end of the blissful three weeks, he and Simon his friend were at Solomon's Town, a short distance from Wakatomica. They heard a shrill whoop; an Indian came running from Wakatomica. The heart of Simon Butler sank again. He did not like whoops in that tone of voice, and the Indian was signaling _them_. "It's the distress halloo. We are summoned to the council-house," said Simon Girty. "We must go at once." They and their friend Red Pole, a Shawnee, went to meet the runner. He shook hands with Red Pole and Simon Girty, but he refused Simon Butler's hand and scowled upon him.