“Artena would tell Mouseh this,” she said, and the words sounded like icy water dropping upon red-hot steel; “this she would tell Mouseh, the war-chief of the Modocs. If he takes the life of Cohoon, she will bore his heart with a bullet, and tear his scalp from his head!”
Instantly the Indian dropped the pistol, and wheeled upon the girl.
He saw the flashing eyes, the pallid lips, and the tightly-clenched hands.
For several moments he did not speak. The chiefs surged nearer, but he waved them back with his pistoled hand, never once taking his eyes from the Squaw Spy.
“Artena is mad,” he said, at length, after looking her in the eye. “She knows not what she says. Steamboat, take her.”
He looked at the young warrior who had stepped to her side, and his red hands encircled her arms.
But she wrenched herself loose, displaying in the action a strength that astonished the spectators, and before Steamboat Dick could secure her, she stood beyond reach, and his Spencer rifle was clutched in her hands.
“Artena’s head is not cracked!” she cried, directing her words at Captain Jack. “She means just what she says. If Mouseh raises his revolver to Cohoon’s head again, the Modocs shall be chiefless!”
Jack glanced from the girl to his tribe, then back again.
“Artena,” he said, “is a Modoc, Cohoon is a Warm Spring dog. His forefathers fought ours long years ago. The tree of hatred has thrived between the two nations, and the river of death has watered its roots. She can not love the man who— Ha! what says Artena now?”