“I was bid to speak as I have,” she said; “this is not the season for more words; by the time the chiefs return, Mahaska will see clearly and will then tell Gi-en-gwa-tah all.”
She dropped the subject and began speaking of other things, artfully making allusions to the English, their growing power, and comparing their magnificent presents to their allies with the meager gifts which the French had bestowed upon the tribes.
Gi-en-gwa-tah was greatly disturbed by all that she had said, and left the lodge to complete his preparations for departure. He believed that Mahaska would yet be convinced of the good faith of the French. Certainly in his opinion, nothing, not even warnings from higher people, could warrant his nation in throwing aside their pacific treaty with them unless some act of faithlessness should render them justified in so doing.
“Go,” muttered Mahaska, as he disappeared; “not long will I argue and barter with that fastidious savage; my foot once on his neck and I can throw off these irksome disguises, and free myself of him forever—fool! blind fool, that he is!”
She stamped upon the ground as if already feeling her victim beneath it; a spasm of fury swept over her features, so darkening and distorting them that the face no longer seemed the same which had looked so smilingly at the deluded chief.
CHAPTER IV.
THE TEST OF HONOR.
On the morning appointed, the great body of warriors departed upon their expedition, commanded by Gi-en-gwa-tah, who already had won so much distinction by his courage and success.
From the threshold of her lodge Queen Mahaska saw them file past her. She stood there, surrounded by the old chiefs, and something in the scene suggested to her mind, stored with the records of olden times, the descriptions she had read of armies in the middle ages, going forth to vindicate the cause of beauty. She smiled bitterly as the conceit passed through her thoughts, then she took a long crimson feather from her coronet, and wove it among the boughs drooping over the door of the lodge. It was a sign they all understood: the warrior who returned with the bloody trophy she had demanded, could claim the crimson plume.
When the band had disappeared, the people returned to their usual indolence, and Mahaska was left to the solitude of her lodge.