Again he paused. Closely he scanned their faces for the effect of his words. The stillness of death reigned on all sides. The ringleaders in the revolt bowed their heads and glanced furtively at the dread being before them. Suddenly the Prophet’s whole attitude and manner changed. Every sinuosity of his graceful body became a hard, straight line. Rigidly erect, his brows lowering, his face contorted, his one sinister eye flashing—he was an avenging demon.
“Listen!” he shouted in thunder tones. “My children, you have displeased the Great Spirit. Another word—another thought—of the kind, and he will desert your cause and ally himself with the Seventeen Fires. If there be one among you that doubts my words, let him stand forth; and through the power the Great Spirit has bestowed upon me, I will slay him with a look. With a motion of my hand I can smite you blind. Do you still doubt? You have seen what I did with the noble Winnemac. Is not White Loon as brave and strong? Is not Stone Eater as valiant and bold? Look then!”
Again he was the bending, swaying, sinuous hypnotist. The glittering talisman upon his finger shot its light into the eyes of the two chiefs. Like charmed birds they fluttered and tried to free themselves from its spell. Their frantic efforts were vain. Then they became stiff—motionless, seeing nothing but the magic ring, hearing nothing but the Prophet’s voice.
“Come!” he cried.
In straight lines the two chiefs advanced.
Bradford paled slightly. La Violette turned aside her face. Ross Douglas had his eyes fastened upon the glittering jewel. Slowly he began to move forward. Many others were coming under the hypnotic influence—were approaching Tenskwatawa. The young American shook himself, dropped his eyes to earth—and retreated to a safe distance.
“Stop!”
Like automatons the chiefs obeyed.
“You see nothing—you are blind!”
Tenskwatawa’s voice rang out clear and cold. Scores of the savages clapped their hands to their eyes and groaned aloud. Stone Eater and White Loon uttered piercing wails.