“Arise, father! You are not badly hurt. Here—let me help you.”
Stooping, she assisted the craven to his feet. He stared helplessly around him—and could hardly stand. With the whispered words,—“Go and hide your weakness!”—La Violette pushed him into the cabin. Then boldly walking up to Tecumseh and taking him by the arm, she said in a low tone:
“Is it thus that wise men settle their differences? For shame! Follow Tenskwatawa—and come not forth until you have a message of good cheer for your disheartened people.”
Tecumseh haughtily straightened his lithe form and folded his arms upon his chest, as though about to resent her cutting words. But again their eyes met—and, bowing deferentially, he stalked into the hut, closing the door after him.
La Violette—like Tecumseh and Tenskwatawa—had spoken in the Shawnee tongue; but Bradford and Douglas, standing near, had heard and understood every word. Now she stepped in front of the two white men and, addressing the older, demanded in English:
“Scar Face, why did you not interfere in Tenskwatawa’s behalf?”
“I didn’t dare,” Bradford replied truthfully.
“Dare!”—tossing her head contemptuously—“Are you not a man?”
“Yes; but——”
“But a coward?”