“They have told Mahaska that the expedition against the Delawares shall be successful. When the young men go forth Mahaska will hang a crimson plume in the door of her lodge to be worn by the brave who brings her the scalp of Shewashiet. Let Gi-en-gwa-tah take heed that no other hand than his bears off the prize.”
The chief murmured some unintelligible words, but she saw by the kindling of his eyes that only the loss of his own life would prevent his claiming the guerdon. Even in that busy moment she had time to hope that this might be the end—that the warriors might come back and lay the dead body of her husband at her feet—it was to spur him to new recklessness that she suggested the prize.
“All these things they told Mahaska clearly; they showed her a future for Gi-en-gwa-tah full of glory if he aids the queen—ruin and desolation for him as well as for all who oppose her.”
“The chief loves the queen,” he answered with deep feeling; “the wishes of her heart are his own.”
“It is well,” she said again; “then let Gi-en-gwa-tah listen and heed.”
He bowed his head silently and she went on:
“The voice of the great prophet came after. When he speaks Mahaska knows that the occasion is very solemn. He was angry and spoke harshly.”
“Not angry with the queen?” interrupted Gi-en-gwa-tah.
“Never that” she replied; “he knows that Mahaska will always obey his commands; but the people are blind and deaf, and hard to persuade; he foresees trouble in the carrying out of his desires; but so surely as they are not fulfilled, ruin and woe will fall upon the Senecas and all the nations connected with them.”
She watched him still with her eagle glance; it was necessary to startle him by those warnings before she made known her treacherous project.