“Let Mahaska’s will be obeyed. She is our prophet and Gi-en-gwa-tah is our chief.”
Rendered desperate by his situation, the doomed savage exclaimed:
“The Senecas are dogs to be led by a woman. The Delawares were right—they are dogs and cowards.”
A sudden rush was made toward the spot where he stood, but the woman sprung between the savages and her victim.
“Back!” she shouted. “Who dares to come between Mahaska and her prey!”
Her hair had broken loose from its coronet of feathers and streamed heavily over her shoulders; her rich dress flashed out in the firelight as the dusk increased; her face was like that of some beautiful fiend.
Before any one could move again she snatched a tomahawk from the belt of the nearest chief and flung it with unerring aim. A low, dull, horrible swash followed. The Indian gave one terrible cry—a fierce leap into the air, and fell dead upon the ashes of the council-fire.
“Mahaska has obeyed the great Mineto!” she exclaimed; “so perish all her enemies.”
She saw the savages standing stupefied, and pointed again to the cloud, which began to drift slowly away, sending back fiery threads of lightning.
“Behold!” she cried. “The cloud-chariot is floating off—Mahaska will stay with her people, but they must obey her, worship her, for she and Mineto are one!”