“Let Gi-en-gwa-tah go and sew wampum with the squaws!” she insolently exclaimed. “He has not the spirit of a chief.”
The chief’s haughty spirit rose to meet her own at this insult, and he answered:
“The queen speaks biting words because she is a woman. Gi-en-gwa-tah can not fling them back in return.”
Her rage kindled more hotly at the response, and she exclaimed, in a low, terrible voice:
“Gi-en-gwa-tah’s feet are on hollow ground—let him take heed lest it give way under him.”
“What does Mahaska mean?” he demanded, quickly.
“That the people will cease to be the slaves of the false-tongued French; that, if Gi-en-gwa-tah does not join the other chiefs, he will lose caste in the tribe.”
“Gi-en-gwa-tah will not consent to a wrong,” he said; “he will tell the people that they are deceived.”
“And Mahaska will go among them and say: ‘Regard that man—you desired him to be the husband of the queen whom you have reverenced and obeyed; he comes to you and says that her visions are false—her words those of lying spirits!’ Follow me to the council-fire—speak, and Mahaska will answer; come!”
She made a movement as if to rush away at once, but the chief did not move. His head sunk upon his breast—his face was dark with sorrowful thoughts. The idea of strife between himself and his idolized wife was terrible to him; he was perplexed and sorely at a loss how to act. He could not bear to think that this injustice should go on until the Six Nations had betrayed their trust, and proved themselves false to their pledges; yet, at the same time, it cut him to the heart to act in opposition to Mahaska’s wishes. He was too simple minded and too full of his first love for her to think, as yet, that she could wittingly be acting a treacherous part. He had felt the most implicit faith in her prophesies. It was not her truth he suspected, but he feared that she had been deceived by some false dream-spirit.