“The Senecas have been a nation of warriors since the Great Spirit sent the red-men upon the earth,” said he; “it is not at the voice of a maiden that he will weaken their braves and destroy their women.”
The half-breed’s fury was now aroused to its deadliest heat.
“Either the lying-tongued warrior is given up to my vengeance,” she cried, “or I quit the tribe forever! Do not think to detain me—the Great Spirit would send down a chariot of fire from yonder cloud and bear me from your sight, did I not execute my wishes.”
“Let Mahaska decide!” exclaimed numberless voices; but the chiefs about the council-fire were silent, scarcely knowing how to act in this strange turn of affairs.
“Mahaska will not wait,” she cried, in a strong voice; “the chiefs hear the voice of the people; let them give up the lying dog or Mahaska leaves them forever. Behold the black cloud—how it spreads and deepens—coming nearer and nearer to snatch Mahaska from her tribe. So Mineto speaks; his voice breaks from the cloud.”
A low roll of thunder preceded her words by a single moment.
“No, no!” shouted the crowd. “Mahaska shall not go—give up the Fox to her—give him up! give him up!”
The doomed man sat motionless in his place; not a muscle quivered; not a line in his face betrayed the terrible suspense which he endured.
“Will the chiefs speak?” cried Mahaska; “are they dumb or do they dare to hesitate?”
She flung up both arms toward the black cloud and muttered words in a language unknown to them. The heavy cloud settled lower and lower as if approaching slowly at some mandate of her own. A quiver of flame ran through it, and the thunder that had but muttered before boomed out fearfully. Chiefs and people were alike terrified at the idea of her being suddenly snatched from among them by supernatural means, and they cried out like the voice of one man: