He galloped up to Queen Esther as she rode, in gloomy silence, at the head of her warriors. The fury still smoldering in her eyes showed that her vengeance was not yet satisfied. Bloodshed only made her crave more, and she awaited a new opportunity to wreak her hate upon the people who had deprived her of a son.
“They tell me Catharine Montour is better,” Butler said, abruptly, as he drew his horse close to hers, that their conversation could not be overheard.
Queen Esther did not reply, but her lips compressed until the hooked nose and projecting chin almost met.
“You must be satisfied now that my suspicions are true—she is a traitress, and was from the beginning.”
“And will meet the fate of all traitors!” returned Esther, in a voice of terrible composure.
“But the chief is so blindly attached to his wife that he will not allow you to punish her as she deserves.”
“Allow me!” The gladiator rushed into the woman’s eyes. “I am Queen Esther; who dares dispute my will? I would drive Gi-en-gwa-tah himself out of the tribe if he opposed me!”
“Pleasant old devil!” muttered Butler; “I think I shan’t have much trouble in waking her up!” He bowed his head, saying aloud: “I know that Queen Esther is all-powerful.”
“You leave us soon?” she asked, without heeding his flattery.
“Yes. I must accompany my father and his men to Niagara—we shall find work enough there.”