“False!” she gasped. “A fiend from among the pale-faces is not falser! He hates the very name of an Indian—the Senecas worst of all! Away with all treaties—broken from this hour! Mahaska swears it! Does the chief hear?” she cried, turning furiously toward him.
“He hears,” he replied, in a tone expressive of great agitation.
“No more talk of keeping faith,” she shrieked; “whoever comes between Mahaska and her revenge, shall die like a dog.”
“What revenge does she seek?” he asked.
In her passion she had used the word incautiously, but she was too nearly mad to remember prudence.
“Yes, revenge!” she repeated. “Mahaska hates the whole race, but that man and his pale wife worst of all! That girl’s mother broke the heart of Mahaska’s mother; she will have revenge! That man insulted and defied Mahaska—she will have his heart’s blood! Let the chief beware; he is either with or against the queen in this thing; let him think well; so surely as he tries to thwart her, he shall meet the doom of the Fox!”
She poured out her threats fearlessly; all other arguments had failed; fear of her anger might check him; at all events, in her insane passion she must speak.
“The prophet warned Mahaska; the serpent’s nest shall be crushed! Gaston De Laguy!” she called again, unconsciously employing the language of her youth. “Beware! Better have trusted to the mercy of a panther than have crossed the sea again. Both you and Adèle, your noble wife, shall be in my power—both—at my feet, suing for mercy only to be trampled under foot! Revenge is now possible—give me my revenge!”
The chief understood enough of the rapid words to gather their import, and his brow grew darker and sadder.
Suddenly she darted toward him, and caught his arm in her grasp.