“He is not a woman that his words should fall easily and are lost, like the rain,” he answered.
“No!” she exclaimed, “he is silent because he is true to his name—because he is crafty and wants to work under ground; he wishes to carry on his plans in the dark and uproot the love of the people for Mahaska, but when he looks in her face he has no courage to speak.”
“Is the chief a child that he should fear to look a woman in the face?” the chief returned, contemptuously.
A deadly sweetness deepened the smile that still played over Mahaska’s lips. She evinced no other sign of the fierce passion which raged in her soul and which made her determine that the struggle between them should not be prolonged until the weight of his influence and years should be able to tell against her claims. The strife between them should end then and there—either disgrace or death should be his portion; she would risk all her power in one daring act.
As yet, though her influence was great, she could not count fully upon the savages. A few years later and the slavish submission to which she had reduced them was so entire that if she ever looked back upon that scene she smiled with contempt at the hesitation and caution which she had been constrained to use. Her passion and desire for revenge now overswept all bounds, making her alike insensible to the future, personal safety, every thing that stood between her and the gratification of her unwomanly hate.
The words of the Fox were received with new signs of disapproval by the people; the elder chiefs looked puzzled and surprised; those who had promised to support him kept aloof; but all these things only excited the obstinacy of the Indian—he would not yield then. Gi-en-gwa-tah, Mahaska’s newly-made husband, had started forward at those contemptuous words, but a glance from his wife restrained him and he fell back among the leading chiefs, panting with rage.
Mahaska drew her figure to its full hight. She pointed her finger at the Fox with a look of withering scorn, and her voice rung out over the crowd clear and distinct as the tones of a trumpet:
“The chiefs hear!” she exclaimed; “the people hear; will they be silent? Years ago the Senecas were warned by their prophet that the granddaughter of the great Nemono would one day come among them; he bade them listen and obey her implicitly, and promised that she would make them the greatest tribe among all the Six Nations. Mahaska came—she had been reared by the Great Spirit for that purpose—even in her childhood she had visions such as never came to the wisest of your old men; she obeyed the voice of the prophet—she came among her people to lead them on to power and glory.”
Subdued acclamations went up, but she checked the sound by a gesture.
“Upon the very entrance to her career she is checked by this crafty Fox; he seeks to undermine her power; the Great Spirit has warned Mahaska how he plots against her, but she does not fear his snares. Mahaska must be respected and obeyed; her power is that of a prophet and a chief; she is led by the voice of the Manitou and she can never err. She will not argue with this base dog; she will not stand at the council-fire where he is permitted to stand; she will reveal no wishes of the Great Spirit—hold no communion with her people, until they promise to heed her will in all things.”