“You shall not kill this helpless prisoner! I—the daughter of the Prophet—command you to disperse. You shall not harm the paleface, unless you first kill me! Do you dare to kill Tenskwatawa’s daughter—the gift of the Great Spirit? Make but a move to touch me, and the Great Spirit will strike you dead in your tracks!”
Her eyes were blazing; her breast heaving. To the superstitious warriors who faced her, she was the living, breathing embodiment of supernatural power. Awed into silence, they forgot their purpose and began to draw away from her dread presence.
“Go—and quickly!” she commanded sternly. “Ere I lose my patience and call down upon you the curse of the Great Spirit!”
They waited to hear no more; but silently, sullenly shrunk away and disappeared among the neighboring huts.
“Saved—saved for the present!” La Violette panted, as she staggered into the cabin and sank in a quivering heap upon the floor.
“La Violette,” Ross called gently.
In answer, she burst into tears and sobbed softly. After a time she regained control of her feelings, and, arising, went to his side.
“You have saved my life, at the risk of your own,” he said with feeling.
“I have repaid the debt I owed you,” she answered very quietly. “You will be safe for a time, at least. I must leave you now.”
And ere he could make reply, she had withdrawn from the hut.