“Let Mahaska at least wait here till the day breaks,” urged the chief.
She turned upon him with a look of contempt.
“Wait here that the dogs of pale-faces may come up and rescue her?” she exclaimed. “Is the queen a mad woman to heed such advice? If Gi-en-gwa-tah had no other counsel to offer, he had better leave off his eagle plumes.”
The chief was stung beyond endurance by the insult.
“Gi-en-gwa-tah is indeed a chief,” he answered, “and Mahaska is only his wife, only a squaw, in spite of the favor his people have shown her.”
The woman turned upon him in speechless rage; her right hand moved slowly, as if clutching for her tomahawk, but he paid no attention to the menace.
“The wife of the Governor-chief shall be returned to him,” he said.
“Who will give her back?” she almost whispered, in the hoarseness of her rage.
“Gi-en-gwa-tah,” he replied. “The chief will not permit his people to be false and treacherous, to gratify the anger a woman.”
“Gi-en-gwa-tah will give her back?” she repeated, slowly.