She feared Gi-en-gwa-tah more than any other man; she was confident that she had greatly undermined the influence he had formerly possessed, but she knew that, despite her machinations, he still was much beloved, and she dreaded the weight his opinion and his passionate eloquence might have.
But one of two things remained: either he must yield to her will, or fall a victim to her vengeance, even if her own hand dealt the blow. Failing that, some plot must be formed, so thoroughly to disgrace him, that death, such as she had dealt her old enemy, the Fox, would be a blessing in comparison.
She was sitting alone in her dwelling, revolving these thoughts in her mind, even while the child of which he was the father lay sleeping on her knees. Her fondness for her babe was like the love of the tigress for its young; she would have fought for it, died for it; the idea of sharing its affection with any human being, would of itself have been enough to make her hate Gi-en-gwa-tah for having a right to expect duty and affection from it.
The door was opened softly and her husband stood looking in. She was so absorbed in her child, that she did not see him. There he stood, looking at her and his sleeping son, full of a love and tenderness which seemed almost unmanly to his reason. He stepped softly across the floor, fearful of disturbing the sleeping boy. She looked up.
“I thought the warriors had gone out to hunt,” she said; “how comes it that Gi-en-gwa-tah is here?”
“The chief wished to speak with Mahaska,” he replied, “and so returned to the village.”
She laid her child down upon a couch and turned coldly toward him. She had grown less careful of appearances now, and did not scruple to treat him haughtily.
“Mahaska holds secret councils with none of the chiefs,” she said; “Mahaska is a queen; but what has Gi-en-gwa-tah to say?”
He was deeply wounded by her tone; she had a keen satisfaction in stabbing him with such needle-thrusts, and she knew that he was sensitive enough to feel them keenly.
“There is a cloud between Mahaska and the chief,” he said, sorrowfully; “Gi-en-gwa-tah has tried to brush it away, but he can not; will Mahaska tell whence it comes?”