In half an hour there was no appearance of any thing unusual having occurred in the camp. The savages were all hidden—the bodies had been so artfully arranged that those approaching the camp could not perceive the terrible cheat until they were in the midst of the ambush.
Mahaska, panting like a wild animal, crouched in her covert eager for the coming massacre—her whole senses were absorbed in the desire for carnage which possessed her like a demon. Peering out from her hiding-place she watched the enemy approach. They marched on without a suspicion of danger and soon reached the outskirts of the camp. Suddenly before and behind sprung up the ambushed Senecas, and the war-whoop that had drowned the death-cries of their brethren again smote the air.
The enemy, taken by surprise, fell back in confusion, while the Senecas rushed upon them with the resistless force of a tornado. The attacked savages however rallied and the struggle commenced in all its horror. Everywhere in the thickest of the strife Mahaska was to be seen, and her appearance urged on her men to renewed exertion. Her hair had broken loose from its confinement and streamed wildly over her shoulders; her voice rung out clear and strong as a trumpet’s challenge; she looked, in her fierce beauty, like some heathen goddess inspiring the savages to unheard of massacre and horror. Her presence filled the enemy with superstitious terror; they could not believe that it was a woman thus rushing into the blackness of the fray. Always at her appearance they fell back, paralyzed by the fear that they were contending against the power of a supernatural being. The battle raged fiercely till near noon, then the enemy fell back, their force dwindled to but a small band.
“After them!” Mahaska shrieked, springing upon her horse. “Guards, follow your queen!”
She dashed on, followed by her murderous host. The enemy broke in wild confusion before the fierce onslaught. It was the most complete victory which the tribe had had for a long time. Mahaska rode back toward her village at the head of her men, victorious and triumphant. The entire population came out to welcome their white queen with new adoration.
“Mahaska told you that the prophet would fight by her side,” she exclaimed. “Now what do the chiefs say to those who doubted her power and would have kept her shut up in her palace while the battle went on?”
“The braves will follow their queen on the war-path!” was the general cry; “now and forever.”
Gi-en-gwa-tah stood silent; he was proud of the success she had won, and it would have been impossible for him to explain the mingled feelings which disturbed his breast. His proud heart ached at the distance which separated him from the woman he loved with such profound worship. He began to comprehend that any fresh triumph, any accession of power, forced them still wider apart, and left her more alone in the path she had marked out to follow.
CHAPTER X.
THE SIMOOM OF PASSION.
For some time there had been no further communication between Mahaska and her husband upon the disputed point of the French alliance. Not that the woman had been idle; she had never relaxed in her exertions among the tribes, and she knew that not only the chiefs among the Senecas were with her, but so many leaders among the other Nations, that she should be able to carry the whole body at the desired moment.