The woman laid her hand softly on his arm:
“Gi-en-gwa-tah’s brow is dark; there is a shadow on his heart because Mahaska his queen revenged herself on her enemy. She was warned by the prophet that this man’s death was necessary; he was dangerous to Mahaska; he would have disputed her power, and led his people into great troubles. Mahaska does not love to shed blood, but she must obey her visions; she was warned to do this.”
She spoke in a tone which greatly impressed the brave; he had the most implicit faith in her supernatural communications.
“Mahaska has done well,” he answered; “she is a chief now—she might tread the war-path with the noblest of the tribe.”
“But, Mahaska does not wish Gi-en-gwa-tah to think her cruel,” she said; “she is a woman to him—she loves the chief.”
His dusky face glowed under her words, spoken in that thrilling, impassioned tone. She watched him narrowly. To her crafty nature there was a bitter pleasure in this loathsome deceit; the more fondly he loved her, the sterner the retribution she should be able in the future to bring upon him for having been the man whom fate had assigned as her husband.
“The Fox hated Gi-en-gwa-tah,” she went on; “he was plotting against him; cannot Gi-en-gwa-tah think why? He wanted to be the husband of the queen—he would have used all his arts to put the young chief away, that he might aspire to his place.”
A fierce light shot into Gi-en-gwa-tah’s eye; she had touched the right chord; he forgot every thing, except that the murdered man would have conspired against his happiness with her.
“The dog is dead,” he hissed; “let him lie unburied; his carcass shall become food for the crows. Mahaska has done well; her visions never speak falsely.”
She smiled in his face, with the fascination which, in her past life, had thrilled many a noble white heart.