She smiled scornfully as she answered:
“Gi-en-gwa-tah is full of fancies as a sick girl; Mahaska can not understand them—she is a chief!”
He started at the taunt; the fire flashed into his eyes; but he did not yield to the anger which her words excited.
“Mahaska keeps aloof from the chief,” he said, “and carries her child with her.”
“Is it that Gi-en-gwa-tah complains of?”
“The great lodge is dark to him when she and the child are not here,” he answered, with a tenderness and simple pathos inexpressibly touching in the hardy, stalwart man.
“Does Gi-en-gwa-tah wish to take the place of the squaws and tend Mahaska’s babe?” she sneered.
Again the hot color mounted to his forehead and the flash to his eyes, but he answered with quiet dignity:
“Mahaska does ill to mock the chief.”
“He talks riddles,” she returned; “the queen does not understand. If the chief has a message for Mahaska, let him speak; if he has questions to demand, let him ask.”