Kenton was now led to the stake, stripped of his clothing and bound with hands extended above his head. Faggots were heaped about his feet and all the preparations completed for burning him. At this juncture the Indians seemed to waver in their purpose. The chief men withdrew, leaving the scout to the spiteful persecution of the villagers, who found a fiendish pleasure in pulling his hair, pricking him with knives, and beating him with sticks and clubs. This continued until nightfall, when Kenton was released from his bonds and removed under a strong guard to one of the wigwams. The next morning he realized why he had been spared from the flames on the previous day. The chiefs had declared that it would be a pity to dispose finally of so strong a man until he had been subjected to all the torture he was capable of enduring. He was now condemned to “run the gantlet,” and when he emerged from the cabin in which he had passed the night he saw the painted warriors assembled and ready to perform their part in the affair. Across the square two lines of braves were drawn up, facing inwards, with a space of about six feet between them. Each was furnished with a club, tomahawk, or leathern thong. Kenton was required to traverse this lane of inhuman wretches whilst they rained blows upon him in passing. This cruel pastime of the Indians was not designed to kill the victim, but many a man sank dead before going through the ordeal and none completed it without receiving the most severe injuries. Kenton was a swift runner but as he looked down that double row of waiting warriors, more than one hundred yards in length, he determined not to attempt its entire passage. When he started at the utmost speed he could command, it was with eyes alert for a gap in the line through which he might make his escape. The opportunity offered when he had covered about half the distance. Dashing through the opening, he dodged the Indians who attempted to intercept him and took refuge in the council-house. Of course he was soon once more in the clutches of his tormentors but they did not force him to run the gantlet again. Instead, a council was held to determine his fate. After considerable discussion it was decided that he should be taken to a town named Waughcotomoco and there burned. Whilst preparations were in progress for the death of Kenton, Simon Girty, the renegade white man, came into Waughcotomoco with a settler’s wife and her children, whom he had captured. Curious to see the prisoner under sentence to be burned at the stake, he went to the wigwam where Kenton was confined. Great was the surprise of Girty to find his old companion and benefactor. Since they had last seen each other, Girty had forsworn his race, and his name had become execrated along the border as that of an unnatural creature devoid of pity and destitute of principle.