“She shall die!” exclaimed the prophet of the tribe, who had always been Catharine’s secret enemy; “the great medicine has had a vision—the white woman shall no longer stay in the tribe she wishes to sell!”
“Let her die!” echoed a score of stern voices.
“No,” returned Esther, “sudden death were too sweet; drive her forth into the wilderness; let the cold and the wild beasts destroy her, and leave her bones to bleach without a grave.”
“The queen speaks well,” returned the prophet; “it shall be so.”
“This very night!” exclaimed Esther. “Let the tribe go in a body to her lodge—let her be dragged forth and driven into the forest, followed by the curses of the people whose queen she has braved—whose chief she has betrayed.”
A low murmur of approval ran through the group, and the whole tribe gathered nearer the council-fire, like a pack of wolves on the scent of blood.
The warriors rose in a body and filed into rank; but before they could take a step in advance, Catharine came out of the shelter of the tree and confronted them.
“You need not seek her like wild beasts hunting their prey,” she said; “Catharine Montour is here!”
There was an instant hush as Catharine Montour stepped, with that calm, sad face, into their midst. Even those savage hearts were awed by her fearless dignity; but Queen Esther was less human, and her voice woke again the fierce passion which her artful address had aroused.
“She braves the Shawnee chiefs because they are old!” exclaimed the fiendish woman. “She comes among you with her hands dyed in the blood of your people—Gi-en-gwa-tah’s brother fell by her treachery.”