“As this body of our wise chief is a mark of the queen’s regard for our old men, it is but a type of the fate in store for the Seneca nation if she is permitted to exercise dominion over it. If it is your will to retain her as your ruler, then Gi-en-gwa-tah is a dog—a woman’s whelp—made to die by her hand as Upepah has died, and as others who oppose her will shall die. Let him die rather than live and see his people a lost, ruined, and disgraced race.”
He ceased, and stepping forth from the council-lodge, placed his hands together and shouted:
“Guards! do the duty of your queen, and make your chief a dog!”
Not one of the hundred chosen braves stirred; they stood abashed and awed before the noble man. Soon a murmur ran through the crowd of young men surrounding the lodge; some clutched their tomahawks and looked fiercely at the silent guards; others talked excitedly together; a powerful body gathered around Gi-en-gwa-tah, until he was encompassed by a human wall which it were dangerous for any person to attempt to penetrate. Within the council-chamber now arose the sound of voices engaged in dispute. Gi-en-gwa-tah listened. The chiefs were disagreed as to the course to be pursued. Some were for banishing the woman from their midst; some would have her slain; others would retain her, but deprive her of power. It was a moment of extreme pain to the chief; for soon surged up in his bosom his old love of the dazzling woman; she was the mother of his child, too; could he see his wife disgraced, driven away, or consent to her death? The struggle for a minute was fearful, for the cup was indeed bitter; but, there came back to him the last few days’ experiences—the remembrance of her scorn and galling insults—the knowledge of her duplicity and craft; and he was decided. She was no longer his wife—she was not the mother of his child, for she was a beautiful monster, as loathsome as a serpent and as treacherous.
“Guards!” he shouted, “bring hither Mahaska, the squaw of Gi-en-gwa-tah!”
The hundred men did not, for a moment, seem to comprehend the nature of the order.
“Dogs! I say, bring hither your woman master!”
The men moved slowly away to their task, for the fire in Gi-en-gwa-tah’s eyes, and the fierce temper sitting like a thunder-cloud on the features of the young braves surrounding him, proved to the guards that to disobey would be their own death-warrant.
They had not to proceed far, for Mahaska appeared on her way to the council. She was pale, and evidently intensely excited, though outwardly composed. Her dress was elaborate and gorgeous in the extreme, all the resources of her magnificent wardrobe having been taxed to add to her display. Evidently she knew what had transpired—some one of her body-guard probably having informed her of the proceedings—and she came forth realizing that the great and final crisis in her fortunes was to be faced. She was not unprepared; but, little did she know of the terrible strength of the elements against her.
Walking with a step of haughty independence, she passed on, the crowd giving way before her, and approached the lodge through an avenue of men. As she neared the entrance she confronted her husband, who stood with folded aims in her path.