“Then how can an enemy of the redmen be the friend of Scar Face?”
“Fleet Foot fought only to save his life. He was attacked by twenty braves. I ran to his rescue. I saved his life and brought him here. He is my prisoner. Let Tenskwatawa enter the council lodge and again talk with the Great Spirit.”
“Tenskwatawa has no need to talk further with the Great Spirit nor with Scar Face,” the Prophet muttered in a decided tone. “The young paleface is of the Seventeen Fires; he fought with the great White Chief—he must die.”
“If Fleet Foot meets death at the hands of the redmen, I meet death with him,” Bradford said firmly.
An evil smile flickered around the corners of Tenskwatawa’s wide mouth, as he replied menacingly:
“If Scar Face be so anxious to meet death, he has not far to go. I will call my children and give him and Fleet Foot as toys, into their hands.”
The Prophet opened his lips, to carry his threat into execution. As though understanding the import of what had been said, Duke raised his bristles and growled hoarsely. Startled by the sound, the Prophet recoiled a step. Taking advantage of his unguarded attitude, Bradford dropped his gun, and leaping forward, caught the Shawnee around the body and carried him into the council lodge. Douglas and Duke quickly followed.
Setting the red hypnotist in the center of the bare floor, Bradford panted fiercely:
“You infernal impostor and scoundrel! Your uncanny power has no influence over me. I am no superstitious Winnemac. You would give Fleet Foot and me into the hands of your red fiends, eh? Well, you shall die first!”