“Guard his horse,” cried Mahaska; “death to him who allows the traitor to escape! Now, on toward the lake!”
They paused neither for rest nor food till they came in sight of Senaca lake—Mahaska was so eager for revenge that she could hardly breathe till the moment arrived. Once only did the chief condescend to address argument or rebuke for the baseness and enormity of her conduct. She was riding near him for the moment, urging on the band to renewed exertions, when he turned toward her, saying:
“Mahaska has done a wicked thing; she is not worthy to be a queen among a brave people—Gi-en-gwa-tah can die—but his memory will be a curse that shall drag her down.”
“The dog snarls no longer!” she exclaimed, with a bitter laugh; “he begins to beg now; let him show his teeth to the last.”
“Gi-en-gwa-tah has no fear,” he answered; “Mahaska has not made the people wholly blind.”
“Gi-en-gwa-tah shall teach them to see,” she retorted; “they will listen to his voice—they will drive Mahaska into the forest at his bidding.”
“Let the queen wait,” he replied, with a calmness which galled her beyond endurance.
“The queen will bandy no words with a traitor,” she cried; “let the dog without a name be silent.”
His savage nature was on fire at the indignity with which he had been treated; he shook his pinioned hands, exclaiming:
“Mahaska is mad, and she will drive her people to destruction.”