When the sound of preparation for departure struck her ear she pushed back the curtains and stood in the entrance of her tent ready for action. Gi-en-gwa-tah, approaching the tent, informed her that the time indicated had arrived.
“Is the queen ready?” he asked.
“At all times ready,” she answered, in a voice intended to be audible to those near, “to serve her people and lead them on to victory. Mahaska’s plan is this: Gi-en-gwa-tah will march on with his braves and surprise the sleeping camp—he must come upon it from the front. Mahaska and her guard will advance from the other side to surprise them when they rush out in the confusion of a sudden attack.”
The plan was arranged entirely to suit her wishes.
The little camp of the advancing foe lay quiet in the midnight; the sentinels seemed to have fallen into broken sleep by the waning fires. Suddenly a terrible war-cry aroused the doomed band. It was too late to do more than rush wildly to and fro and meet death in its most horrible form before they actually realized that the enemy were upon them.
Terrible yells and awful war-whoops went up in the still air; the report of rifles, the whiz of tomahawks, and the clash of knives, made the night one scene of horror. The brave enemy, endeavoring to collect their weakened force and make a last stand, saw by the moonlight a woman ride furiously into the camp followed by a mounted guard which dealt death as they went. She rode her horse desperately down upon them; her band followed, trampling the savages right and left, crushing life out under their horses’ hoofs, and, as she dealt fierce blows on each side, her clear woman’s voice joined in that appalling battle-cry with a force and shrillness that made itself heard above all the terrible sounds that filled the air. When day broke the dying and dead lay piled thickly upon the forest sward. Mahaska’s command had been obeyed—not one of the number had escaped to warn their approaching brethren of the fate which awaited them!
When the fight was over Mahaska sprung from her horse, still grasping the bloodstained tomahawk. A dozen scalps hung from her saddle-bow; her face was ablaze with her fierce passions.
“And now for breakfast,” she exclaimed, with a laugh; “the morning’s work is well done.”
The braves crowded about her with congratulations upon her courage, and she listened with a smile soft and sweet as ever woman wore at homage offered to some feminine charm. While the Indians were removing the dead bodies and restoring an appearance of quiet to the camp, Mahaska sat at breakfast hidden from the terrible scene by a clump of undergrowth, and arranging her plans for meeting the arrival of the enemy’s expected reinforcements. Scouts came in and reported them on the advance; before an hour elapsed they would reach the camp.
The horses were concealed in the forest—the band divided in different portions who secreted themselves near the camp. The bodies of the murdered sentinels were propped upright against trees, their blankets fluttering in the wind, mocking death with a horrible appearance of vitality.