“But the best lodge has been given to La Violette and the woman who attends her.”
“What of the council lodge?”
“I have made it a temple of the Great Spirit. You cannot have it.”
And the Prophet flung up his head, with a gesture of weak defiance.
Bradford was furious. He was on the point of giving full sway to his seething passion, and beating the brains out of the miserable wretch before him; but he thought of the wounded man upon the litter outside, and checked himself.
“Where is La Violette?” he hissed fiercely.
As if in answer to the question, the curtain of skin was pushed aside, and the young woman stepped into the room. Bradford turned at her entrance. By the dim light of the flickering fire, he saw that she was pale and excited.
“Hiram Bradford, what is the meaning of this?” she cried sharply.
He thought she referred to his presence in the Prophet’s hut, and was attempting to frame a suitable reply, when she imperiously stamped her little foot and demanded:
“Answer me! Why have you killed that young man? And you claimed to be his friend!”