'You're right enough,' said Lamont, carelessly. 'She is—'
'What is she to you?' broke in the old Chief violently. 'No longer will she look upon those of the tribe as equals, no longer does she respect the needs of her sire. When I call for her, the answer comes, "She is absent; she has gone to the forest." When I search, failure but mocks my efforts. What have you done to her? Why have you turned her against her own people?'
'She is a good deal to me,' said Lamont. 'I am going to make her my wife.'
The old Chief clasped claw-like hands and trembled to his knees.
'Leave me this, only this,' he wailed pitifully. 'See, I would not bow myself to the white man for a small matter. But now I will humble myself for Menotah's sake. The white man has taken everything from me. He stole my land, driving me back to the forest, which is worthless to him; he killed the buffalo,[3] and took away our life support. Now, if we rise to reclaim our own, he takes away our life. White man—give me back my daughter. Take not away the only gladness of my last days.'
'Get up,' said Lamont, scornfully. 'What are you grovelling about there for? I am as good a man as any of yours.'
'May the Great Spirit aid me. May he save my child from her fate.'
'I guess your god will listen, if you shout loud enough; but he certainly can't stop me from making Menotah my bride.'
The aged Chief rose in feeble manner, a strange picture of crushed humanity. 'What good can come from such a marriage?' he quavered. 'Does the crow mate with the gull? Nature herself teaches you to take a wife from your own tribe. Yet, I tell you this, should you treat her wrongly, an old man's curse shall follow you to death. The earth will hate you, and the wind shall blow poison through your veins.'
The other laughed cynically. 'Good!' he exclaimed. 'You talk well, old man; it is a pity you will not live to see my downfall.'