Drawing his blanket over his head to hide his face, the Pottawatomie turned and staggered from the spot. The assembled warriors quickly followed him, leaving the two white men alone with the Prophet.
“Again I have witnessed the power of Tenskwatawa,” Bradford said, smiling and extending his hand toward the red hypnotist. “Surely he speaks with the Great Spirit.”
Evidently the Prophet understood the flatterer’s purpose; for, ignoring the extended hand, he answered sternly:
“Yes; Tenskwatawa speaks with the Great Spirit. And the Great Spirit informs him that the young man at Scar Face’s side must die.”
Bradford was not disconcerted. He returned coolly:
“Is Tenskwatawa sure he heard the Great Spirit’s words aright?”
“Tenskwatawa heard aright,” was the haughty reply. “The young paleface is of the Seventeen Fires. He is an enemy of the redmen. To-day he fought against them, slaying two and wounding three. The Great Spirit says he shall suffer death by torture.”
“Did the Great Spirit inform Tenskwatawa that this young man—Fleet Foot—is my friend?”
“No. But is not Scar Face the friend of the redmen?”
“He is.”