“The English chiefs are very rich,” said Mahaska; “they would give great sums to the Senecas; they are very powerful and will finally drive the French across the great waters.”
“Gi-en-gwa-tah has found the French men brave,” he replied, firmly; “they fight like great warriors; they will not be conquered nor driven away.”
Mahaska could hardly restrain a movement of impatience, but she controlled herself; even her tutored face gave no sign of the tempest which had begun to rage within.
“Mahaska does not speak her own words,” she said, warningly; “Gi-en-gwa-tah contradicts the words of the prophet.”
“But Mahaska says he did not speak clearly; may she not be mistaken?”
“Only yesterday the chief saw the cloud-chariot which would have borne Mahaska away from her people forever if they had refused her wishes; does he doubt her already?”
“Gi-en-gwa-tah does not doubt; he only asks her to listen well to the voices of her spirits.”
“She listens; she repeats their words; Mahaska can not twist them to please Gi-en-gwa-tah.”
“No, no,” he said, quickly; “Mahaska knows that the chief does not wish that. Speak, Mahaska; the prophet did not bid you tell the Nations to forsake the French?”
The question took her by surprise; she was not prepared to make a direct avowal, and remained silent for a time.