“Gi-en-gwa-tah is content with the faith of his fathers,” he said, still struggling to maintain his composure. “Mahaska is not like herself to-day; her words are sharp as arrows. Has some evil spirit taken possession of her?”
“A spirit that shall rend the chief in pieces if he oppose her,” she cried, in a terrible voice; “let him beware!”
“Gi-en-gwa-tah will do his duty whatever happens; he has never yet turned aside from it.”
“Gi-en-gwa-tah may wrap himself in a blanket and weave baskets in the door of his lodge; he is not fit to be a chief. Let him prove himself a coward and the people will tear the eagle plumes from his hair!” she exclaimed, stamping upon the floor in her rage.
He took a step forward and looked in her face with an expression of concentrated indignation she had never seen there before.
“Gi-en-gwa-tah is the chief chosen for Mahaska,” he said. In a deep voice; “she may be a queen, but let her not speak base insults to her husband!”
She laughed aloud, driven beyond the possibility of self-control by the storm his words aroused, the first approaching menace which she had ever heard from his lips.
“Mahaska chose—Mahaska can put aside; she is a queen still! Does the chief threaten her? Let him follow her to the village; the council shall decide between them; let him come!”
She took a step toward the door but he did not stir—not for any price would he have had her exhibit herself to the people while in that insane fury, which his natural dignity of character felt was so degrading to her state.
“The council can not come between the chief and the queen,” he said; “this matter must be settled in their own lodge, not before the eyes of all the people.”