“What are Mahaska’s warriors stationed by her palace for?” he asked, abruptly, with a sudden conviction that some treachery was intended by this sudden and secret move. “Whither is Mahaska going?”
She looked at him with undisguised triumph.
“The chiefs have desired Mahaska to go into the forest,” she said, “and watch the movements of the pale-faces; they are at war.”
“This hides some treachery toward our friends” he exclaimed; “Mahaska means evil.”
“Gi-en-gwa-tah mutters still like an old squaw,” she said, scornfully; “but his words are weak as the wind; Mahaska is going forth.”
“Let her wait!” he exclaimed, passionately; “Gi-en-gwa-tah will see the chiefs; there have been false whispers in their ears.”
“The squaws of burthen may obey Gi-en-gwa-tah; the warriors who serve under him may heed,” she cried, “but Mahaska is queen of the Senecas and a prophet in the whole Six Nations; let the young brave choose other words when he speaks to her.”
Astounded at her air of defiance, and yet not to be put aside, Gi-en-gwa-tah plead earnestly with her for a few moments, but his words were idle. It was too late now to seek the chiefs; there was nothing for it but submission—the wily woman had outwitted him. She turned away without even a show of parting, and passed out of the house where her horse awaited. Gi-en-gwa-tah gave some order to one of the savages and followed. Mahaska was in her saddle, exchanging last words with a few of the elder chiefs who had come up to witness her departure, when Gi-en-gwa-tah rode up to her side mounted on his war-horse.
She stared at him in haughty anger and surprise.
“Whither goes Gi-en-gwa-tah?” she demanded.