The Indian Queen

A dark plot lay buried in Mahaska’s soul, of which she had as yet given no hint even to the chiefs. She intended to forsake the alliance with the French and carry the Six Nations over to the service of the English in the war then 22imminent between the two powers. But the time for that action had not yet arrived, though her thoughts were constantly dwelling upon it, and after that night’s thought she rose up stronger and more determined than ever, as her hatred for the French increased from the reflections which Gi-en-gwa-tah’s words had aroused in her mind.

Before giving any clue to her scheme to the other chiefs, she wished to sound Gi-en-gwa-tah upon the subject and learn if it was possible that he could be brought to second her schemes. She knew how honorable he was, unlike the generality of his nation; in his eyes a pledge was sacred, and the very idea of breaking off the alliance with the French, unless some treachery or ill-treatment on their part gave reason for it, would have been abhorrent to him. Still, with all her wonderful knowledge of human nature, she did not thoroughly understand the chief; she could not give his savage mind credit for all the uprightness which it possessed; so utterly false was she herself that, with the usual weakness of such natures, she believed that every man could be induced to yield to a plan which he felt to be wrong if the personal temptation and reward were sufficiently strong.

Long before she left her girlish home in Quebec to dwell among the Indians, this idea of breaking off the alliance with the French had been paramount in her mind, and it was only the lack of opportunity which had prevented her already making such communications to the English Generals as would induce them to offer overtures to the tribes then comprised in the great Iroquois league known in history as the Six Nations, of whom it was now her scheme to become sole chief. She was not aware how strong a feeling of friendliness Gi-en-gwa-tah held toward the French, and she determined, even before he went away upon the war-path, to give him some idea of the plan in her mind under the promise of inviolable secrecy; well knowing that, however he might regard her design, she could trust his word; the most fearful tortures could not have wrung from him a secret which he had pledged himself to preserve.

There were many things besides her hatred of the French urging her on in this matter, though that was the dark foundation upon which all her plans were laid, and other desires 23were faint and poor beside the craving for vengeance which filled her soul against her father’s people. She felt certain that the English would aid her in her schemes if she would turn the tribes over to them—they would do their utmost to increase among the Indians a belief in her supernatural gifts, they would lavish upon her rich presents and plentiful sums of money which would make her still more powerful and more firmly settled in her sway.

All these things she was confident an alliance with the English would afford her, and she determined to enter upon her work at once. Difficulties had, for a long time, been frequent between the French and British, and she saw clearly that, ere long, they must ripen into war. It was for that she wished to be prepared.

She wanted so to work upon the minds of the leaders of the tribes that they would be ready to fall into her plans when the moment arrived; she wished the rupture to be sudden; she would deceive the French up to the last moment and then turn unexpectedly against them in some battle, and overwhelm them by this sudden onset of the savages whom they had treated as allies and friends.

Her thoughts rushed forward to the time when she might actually rush into Quebec with her train of bloodthirsty Indians, carrying desolation and death into the city of her birth. She recalled the streets and houses familiar to her girlish years; in fancy she saw them in flames and heard the death-shrieks from scores of voices that had been familiar in the past and had known only accents of friendship and affection for her. But she only remembered, with added hatred, all who had shown her kindness. Every proof of affection had stung her like a wrong. They had dared to pity her for the Indian blood which darkened her veins, and their kindness had sprung out of the commiseration they felt for her condition.

The day would come when they should be repaid with interest—when she would give back dagger-thrusts for every tender smile, and laugh at the death-agonies of those who had sought to brighten her first youth by their sympathy.

Gi-en-gwa-tah was sitting in their lodge during the early part of the day which had crowned her bloodily as queen, when she said, abruptly:

24“Mahaska had strange visions last night.”

He turned toward her with a face full of curiosity and interest.

“What did the voices say to Mahaska?” he asked.

“They spoke vaguely,” she replied—“for Mahaska’s ear alone.”

He looked disappointed, and she added, in her softest voice:

“But things which Mahaska would not declare at the council, surely she may whisper to her chief; they did not forbid her to do that. Mahaska knows that she can trust her brave.”

Gi-en-gwa-tah drew himself proudly up:

“The chief has never broken his word,” he said; “that which Mahaska tells him in the secrecy of her lodge shall never be whispered to the wind outside.”

“It is well,” she returned; “better even than his courage Mahaska loves the chiefs honor; she will trust him.”

“She may do so; he will be silent as the grass over the graves of our fathers—let Gi-en-gwa-tah hear the queens visions.”

He liked to call her by that title; his nature was too noble for him to feel the slightest jealousy of her power, and even the thought which had of late crossed him of his own secondary position brought no bitterness toward her; it only made him burn to distinguish himself by greater deeds, that he might win for himself honors which should prove him worthy to have been selected as her husband.

After a few moments’ pause she said, in the deep, impressive tone in which she was wont to relate her visions:

“Mahaska was not alone until almost dawn; all night the voices of her spirits filled the lodge like the sighing of the south wind; many things they told her. They are pleased that the Fox is gone. Mahaska saw him, too, at a distance; he could not approach her for her presence is sacred, but he stood far off, moaning and wringing his hands, full of suffering and misery for the trouble he tried to bring upon her. He took with him no hunting-knife, no tomahawk, into the land of shadow; he suffers from hunger and cold, and there are none to help him. All the spirits say to him: ‘thus shall it befall those who plot against the queen whom Mineto has given to the Senecas.’”

Gi-en-gwa-tah shuddered at the picture she drew. Mahaska noted the effect of every word.

25“They have told Mahaska that the expedition against the Delawares shall be successful. When the young men go forth Mahaska will hang a crimson plume in the door of her lodge to be worn by the brave who brings her the scalp of Shewashiet. Let Gi-en-gwa-tah take heed that no other hand than his bears off the prize.”

The chief murmured some unintelligible words, but she saw by the kindling of his eyes that only the loss of his own life would prevent his claiming the guerdon. Even in that busy moment she had time to hope that this might be the end—that the warriors might come back and lay the dead body of her husband at her feet—it was to spur him to new recklessness that she suggested the prize.

“All these things they told Mahaska clearly; they showed her a future for Gi-en-gwa-tah full of glory if he aids the queen—ruin and desolation for him as well as for all who oppose her.”

“The chief loves the queen,” he answered with deep feeling; “the wishes of her heart are his own.”

“It is well,” she said again; “then let Gi-en-gwa-tah listen and heed.”

He bowed his head silently and she went on:

“The voice of the great prophet came after. When he speaks Mahaska knows that the occasion is very solemn. He was angry and spoke harshly.”

“Not angry with the queen?” interrupted Gi-en-gwa-tah.

“Never that” she replied; “he knows that Mahaska will always obey his commands; but the people are blind and deaf, and hard to persuade; he foresees trouble in the carrying out of his desires; but so surely as they are not fulfilled, ruin and woe will fall upon the Senecas and all the nations connected with them.”

She watched him still with her eagle glance; it was necessary to startle him by those warnings before she made known her treacherous project.

“What said the prophet?” demanded Gi-en-gwa-tah.

“He says the people have followed foolish counselors; Mahaska must set them right.”

“They will hear the voice of their queen,” returned the chief; “they know how the prophet loves her.”

26“But the prophet does not love the French nation,” she exclaimed, quickly; “he says they are like jays, rich in bright colors, but with many tongues and full of lies.”

Gi-en-gwa-tah looked at her in trouble and astonishment, but did not reply.

“The Nations have been deceived; the French chiefs do not mean fairly by them; they will let the Iroquois fight their battles, and when they are weakened will take away their lands.”

“The French chiefs have kept their word with the Nations,” returned Gi-en-gwa-tah; “did Mahaska hear the prophet aright?”

A thrill of anger burned in her breast; the opposition which she had feared was rising up in the very outset.

“Let Gi-en-gwa-tah listen,” she said, calmly; “he only sees the faces of the French chiefs, the prophet looks into their hearts. The pale-faces will have long and bloody wars between themselves; the Indians have no cause to love either; if they are wise they will join the side which is to prove the most powerful and where they have not already been cheated by false promises.”

“The Six Nations must keep their pledge,” exclaimed the chief; “they have smoked the pipe of peace with the French leaders; they have taken his presents; they would be dogs if they deserted him.”

“The English chiefs are very rich,” said Mahaska; “they would give great sums to the Senecas; they are very powerful and will finally drive the French across the great waters.”

“Gi-en-gwa-tah has found the French men brave,” he replied, firmly; “they fight like great warriors; they will not be conquered nor driven away.”

Mahaska could hardly restrain a movement of impatience, but she controlled herself; even her tutored face gave no sign of the tempest which had begun to rage within.

“Mahaska does not speak her own words,” she said, warningly; “Gi-en-gwa-tah contradicts the words of the prophet.”

“But Mahaska says he did not speak clearly; may she not be mistaken?”

“Only yesterday the chief saw the cloud-chariot which would have borne Mahaska away from her people forever if they had refused her wishes; does he doubt her already?”

27“Gi-en-gwa-tah does not doubt; he only asks her to listen well to the voices of her spirits.”

“She listens; she repeats their words; Mahaska can not twist them to please Gi-en-gwa-tah.”

“No, no,” he said, quickly; “Mahaska knows that the chief does not wish that. Speak, Mahaska; the prophet did not bid you tell the Nations to forsake the French?”

The question took her by surprise; she was not prepared to make a direct avowal, and remained silent for a time.

“I was bid to speak as I have,” she said; “this is not the season for more words; by the time the chiefs return, Mahaska will see clearly and will then tell Gi-en-gwa-tah all.”

She dropped the subject and began speaking of other things, artfully making allusions to the English, their growing power, and comparing their magnificent presents to their allies with the meager gifts which the French had bestowed upon the tribes.

Gi-en-gwa-tah was greatly disturbed by all that she had said, and left the lodge to complete his preparations for departure. He believed that Mahaska would yet be convinced of the good faith of the French. Certainly in his opinion, nothing, not even warnings from higher people, could warrant his nation in throwing aside their pacific treaty with them unless some act of faithlessness should render them justified in so doing.

“Go,” muttered Mahaska, as he disappeared; “not long will I argue and barter with that fastidious savage; my foot once on his neck and I can throw off these irksome disguises, and free myself of him forever—fool! blind fool, that he is!”

She stamped upon the ground as if already feeling her victim beneath it; a spasm of fury swept over her features, so darkening and distorting them that the face no longer seemed the same which had looked so smilingly at the deluded chief.

28

The chief’s love for his wife was a feeling so powerful that all others had fallen into insignificance beside it. To please and gratify her were the highest wishes he had, and, in spite of her white blood, her education, she might well have been proud of his love.

32His personal advantages were very great; he was one of the handsomest men in the tribe, a bold, manly type of beauty, and had always been regarded as the most prominent among the young chiefs. He was open and honest to a degree astonishing in an Indian, with a regard for his word which no temptation could have forced him to break, his whole character presenting a strange contrast to that of Mahaska, whose highest action was dictated by craft, and whose promises were only meant to deceive.

When she first came among them she had ordered the building of a stone mansion, by the lake, which she styled her palace, and had carried out her plans in spite of all difficulties.

“Where should the queen live?” she asked. “Is Mahaska a squaw that Gi-en-gwa-tah should give her a bark wigwam? Yonder by the lake stands the unfinished walls of her lodge; the queen will not have full faith in the chief until he urges on her wishes and makes his lazy people toil to complete it.” She would have no further discussion, and anxious to gratify her the chief urged on the work with new zeal and haste, and every morning when Mahaska looked out upon it, she could see her new mansion assuming habitable shape. At length the palace, as she loved to call it, was completed—the wonder and admiration of the whole tribe, who had labored so faithfully in its construction.

It was now autumn; the forest wore the latest glory of its gorgeous coloring. Already the leaves lay strewn like a rich carpet about the paths of the wilderness; the wind caught a deeper and more mournful tone, but the air was still balmy and soft, for the sunlight lay warm and pleasant over the beautiful lake. It seemed as if the soft autumn weather was lingering to the latest moment, unwilling to yield the last traces of its beauty to the chill embrace and desolation of winter.

Meanwhile Mahaska was floating on toward the full tide of success in her schemes; her control over the people increased a manner that was magical, and the brave Gi-en-gwa-tah, with all his bravery, was chief among her adherents and her servitors. The nature this untutored savage appeared lifted out of itself by the love which filled his heart; reason 33did not control his feelings, for Mahaska, as a woman, was so entirely set apart from all other women that reverence and worship appeared her due. She was satisfied with her influence over him, but her quick perception perceived one fact—if the fulfillment of her wishes stood between him and that which his stern sense of honor considered just, she was certain to meet the most resolute opposition in her husband. When that reflection occurred, the repulsion which she had from the first harbored toward the chief, gained strength. But there was no trace of these feelings in her manner; she grew more gentle and considerate, and fairly dizzied his strong senses with the numberless fascinations she cast about him.

Gi-en-gwa-tah was sorely troubled in his mind concerning the manner in which the new dwelling was to be arranged. He had visited Quebec, seen luxurious dwellings in several other cities, and knew what Mahaska had a right to expect; but the attainment of his wishes was not easily reached. He consulted with his intimate friends, and they held long conversations, which would have amused and astonished those accustomed only to the stern, hard side of the Indian character.

Gi-en-gwa-tah owned a rich store of furs and sundry valuables which he had received from white traders in return for skins, and it was decided between the two that these should go toward the adornment of the mansion, although the chief was, by no means, satisfied, and his old mother, Meme, who had now become an inmate of his lodge, according to the usage of the tribe, took a true feminine delight in adding to his perplexities. She had promised to keep his secret faithfully, and above all not to reveal to Mahaska the doubts which disturbed his mind; but the old woman soon found an excuse for informing her son’s wife of every word he had said the first time they were alone.

“Gi-en-gwa-tah fears that Mahaska will pine for the luxuries that the pale-faces love,” she said.

“The queen has a right to live like a sovereign,” she answered; “would they have her sit on the ground like a squaw of burthen?”

“Gi-en-gwa-tah has many furs; he will make cushions for Mahaska; the fire-places in her great lodge would each hold a wigwam.”

34“The Great Spirit will send all that the queen needs,” said Mahaska.

The old woman looked at her wonderingly. She firmly believed in the supernatural destiny of her new-found daughter.

“The Great Spirit will send power and victories,” she said.

“He will also send all that Mahaska requires,” persisted Mahaska. “Mahaska has her visions; they warn her of all that will happen.”

“And will there come gifts like those of the governor-chief?” she asked, in surprise.

Mahaska made a quick gesture; any allusion to her old life always enraged her—the mention of a single name linked with the past shook her self-control to its center.

“Gi-en-gwa-tah’s mother babbles like a blind squaw,” she said, contemptuously; “is she growing a child again?” then she added, quickly; “let Gi-en-gwa-tah cease to trouble his mind. Such gifts as he has let him carry into the queen’s palace; when the time arrives all that she wishes will follow.”

The woman could not restrain her curiosity.

“When were these things promised to Mahaska?”

“Is it for Meme to question concerning the revelation of the Great Spirit?” she demanded.

“Mahaska speaks wisely,” she replied; “Meme will seek to learn no more.”

“She shall see the palace blossom like the wilderness in summer,” said Mahaska; “it shall become sacred among the Nations because it will be filled with gifts from the Manitou.”

“May Meme repeat these things to Gi-en-gwa-tah?”

“Let her tell him all; what the queen has been promised shall come to pass before he leads her to the dwelling.”

It was the most bewildering thing that had ever happened to the old woman—she could not in the least comprehend it; but she placed the utmost faith in Mahaska’s words and waited patiently for their fulfillment.

She went back to the chief, and, without revealing her betrayal of his confidence, told him of Mahaska’s words, which filled his mind with wonder equal to her own.

Gradually it crept about among the people that the Spirit had promised to send rich gifts to their queen, and they regarded her with new awe and reverence.

35There was more truth in the queen’s assertion concerning the promised gifts than appeared probable; although she certainly did not base her expectations upon any supernatural agency. She was left free in her actions; the only person who ever watched her movements was Gi-en-gwa-tah, and he did it only from the restlessness of his great affection. She was accustomed to take long rides in solitude—to row upon the lake night or day; but she did not fail to give even these relaxations a mysterious signification. She told the Indians that spirit-voices spoke to her, and in the wind that rocked her canoe upon the moonlit waters she held communion with the shade of her ancestor, the great prophet, Nemono. By these means she secured herself against intrusion; even Gi-en-gwa-tah would not have ventured to watch her movements at such times, for fear of bringing the anger of the Manitou upon himself by intruding upon those religious rites which he had been taught to venerate.

We have spoken of the plot which from the first had been forming in her mind to win the Six Nations from their alliance with the French, and carry their power over to the English in the warfare then imminent. This desire had been seconded in the most unexpected manner, while she was revolving means for obtaining communication with the English leaders. Her advent among the Indians already was a subject of much curiosity with the whites, and a politic English Governor determined to do every thing in his power to win her good offices in bringing to his side the assistance of the Indian tribes then pledged to the interests of the French.

Mahaska had gone out to ride in the forest; she was miles beyond the Indian village, galloping wildly along, feeling a sort of relief in the swift pace and freedom from all human observation. Suddenly a form started up before her in the path; she checked her horse and instinctively her right hand clenched the tomahawk which she always carried in her girdle, although she supposed it to be some one of her own tribe who had wandered there upon a hunting expedition. The savage, made signs of friendly greeting and approached her horse. As he drew near she recognized a half-breed whom she had known at Quebec—a man afterward discovered to be an English spy, but who had escaped punishment by a dextrous flight.

36“Rene,” she called in French; “Rene.”

He bounded toward her, and with elaborate signs of respect began pouring forth a volley of delight at seeing her again.

“What brings you here?” she asked, checking his compliments.

“The desire to see Mahaska once more,” he answered.

She smiled, then darted a stern glance at him.

“You are an English spy,” she said; “the Indians are friendly with the French; have you come to carry back information concerning their movements?”

“No, lady; the Virgin is my witness, no.”

“If you were discovered and recognized they would put you to death.”

“But the queen would protect me; you would not let them harm poor Rene,” he said, humbly.

“Why should I interfere? What interest can I have in your life?”

“Because I have endangered it in seeking you,” he replied; “you would not allow an humble messenger to be molested.”

“You were seeking me?” she repeated.

He made a gesture of assent.

“And a messenger, you say? From whom? What do you want?”

He drew close to her horse; she still kept her hand on the hilt of her tomahawk, watching his movements with her eagle glance, but evinced no fear.

“Can I speak openly?” he almost whispered. “Is there no one to overhear me?”

“We are quite alone; tell me your errand at once.”

“I have a letter for you, lady; I was to place it in your own hands with all secrecy. Wait—you shall see how Rene fulfills the commands of those who employ him.”

He thrust his hand into his hunting-shirt and tore it open at the breast; made a slit in the lining with his knife and drew out a sealed package.

“There it is,” he said; “it will tell you all you wish to know.”

Mahaska grasped the letter, feeling confident that in some way this epistle would aid her schemes. She motioned the 37spy to retire, and he crept away to some distance with the stealthy tread which had become natural to him.

Mahaska allowed the reins to fall upon the neck of her well-trained steed, and broke the seal of the letter. Still she did not relinquish her vigilance; her quick ear caught the least movement of the half-breed as if it were some artfully-spread snare she was quite ready to meet. But the instant her eyes fell upon the writing her suspicions vanished, for she recognized the signature of the English Governor.

The letter was long and artfully written, making it appear for her interest to bring the Indians over to the English. There were liberal promises of gifts and money—messengers were waiting her answer to set forth at once to consult with her.

Mahaska folded up the letter and concealed it in her bosom. For a few moments she yielded herself to the reflections called up by this new opening for her schemes of vengeance. She, however, soon aroused herself and turned toward the half-breed.

“Can you come to my lodge to-night for the answer?” she asked.

“Yes, lady.”

“But if you are seen you will be scalped before I can interpose.”

“Rene can skulk like a fox,” he said; “there is no danger.”

“Then come after midnight; you will find me at the entrance and will carry the letter I shall give you to the English Governor without loss of time.”

He bowed in silence; she gathered up the reins and galloped swiftly back toward the village.

38

Some new trouble had again broken out with a neighboring tribe, and Gi-en-gwa-tah went with a band of warriors to desolate their territory.

Mahaska, ever on the alert, perceived that a favorable moment had arrived for bringing the great body of chiefs to her views in regard to the English alliance. She had been craftily at work for weeks, but now she intended to urge her cause with boldness.

Delegates from several of the Six Nations chanced to be there, and that, added to the absence of Gi-en-gwa-tah, rendered the time a favorable one for acting promptly. She feared the honest rectitude of the chief, and knew that he would have great influence among the people; so she trusted to having matters so far settled before his return that any opposition on his part would prove useless.

The old chiefs were debating about the council-fire upon some unimportant matter. She sent them word, by one of her honorary body-guard, that she was coming to hold a consultation. Mahaska had appropriated to herself a guard of one hundred warriors, to be always at her command. When she wished to go upon the war-path the band swelled to twice 46that number, and, during all the after years of her life, it was a mark of high distinction to be chosen a member of that body.

She had not yet gone personally into battle, though the time came when there was no carnage in which she did not take part—when for years and years her very name was a sickening terror among the whites, and the sight of one of the white queen’s private guard was a signal for coming slaughter which knew neither distinction nor mercy.

She presented herself among the chiefs, who received her with all possible honor, and waited to hear her errand.

“Queen Mahaska’s sleep has been troubled for many nights,” she said; “her visions have been vague and indistinct; but, of late, her anchor, the prophet Nemono, has spoken clearly to her again, and bid her speak words of wisdom to the chiefs.”

They bowed their heads, saying:

“We will hear the words of the great prophet.”

“For many, many moons,” continued Mahaska, “the Six Nations have been friends with the French; they have aided them in their wars, and have given their young men to die for them; they have helped them to preserve power and dominion to which they had no right. Is it not true? Let the chiefs answer.”

“It is true,” they said with one voice.

“But what have the French done in return for the red-men?” she went on, her voice deepening and her form dilating with new majesty. “They have offered many promises, but Mahaska can find no trace of their fulfillment. They have taken lands which were yours; they have treated your young men harshly; they have refused to buy your furs at honest prices—was this the conduct of friends? They laugh at you; they say that the chiefs are old squaws to be cheated with presents of tobacco and beads. Mahaska has dwelt among them; she knows their thoughts. They will spurn you like dogs when you have worked their bidding! Have the Six Nations no warriors that they submit to such insults?”

She hurried on with a passionate speech which carried her hearers blindly along the stream of her eloquence. She urged upon them the advantages of an alliance with the English, 47assuring them that it was desired by the prophet. She threatened them with the anger of the Great Spirit if they refused to obey, and, at length, worked them up to a pitch of enthusiasm which rendered them ready and willing to concede to her desires.

Three chiefs were appointed as a delegation to confer with the English Governor, from whom Mahaska had received such offers of friendship. She sent by them letters of instruction to the British authorities, and when every thing was done that was necessary to her plans she awaited Gi-en-gwa-tah’s return with composure, satisfied that it was then too late for him to demur to her schemes with any success.

The war-party came back at last, and when Gi-en-gwa-tah learned what had happened during his absence he was greatly troubled, and burning with indignation. He called a council at once, and made a speech full of feeling and honor to the chiefs, which was coldly received. During his absence Mahaska quietly and subtly had done much to undermine his influence; he was, therefore, totally at a loss to account for the change he perceived among his people.

He sought the queen with his mind full of bitterness. She understood these signs of discontent the moment she looked in his face, and said, coldly:

“Gi-en-gwa-tah brings back more frowns than scalps from the war-path.”

The cutting sarcasm increased his irritation.

“The queen has done an evil thing,” he said, gloomily; “she has listened to the voice of lying spirits.”

Mahaska sprung to her feet in sudden fury. She had grown so accustomed to undisputed sway that even the slightest opposition roused her to terrible passion.

“Who comes into Mahaska’s presence with false words?” she cried. “Has Gi-en-gwa-tah drank too much fire-water on his bloodless war-path that he enters here with such folly on his tongue?”

“Gi-en-gwa-tah speaks wisely,” he answered, with quiet dignity. “The French are our brothers; Mahaska should not have urged the chiefs to break their long-respected pledge.”

“Is Gi-en-gwa-tah to come between the queen and her dreams?” she demanded. “Mahaska hears the words of 48wisdom from the lips of the great prophet—can Gi-en-gwa-tah translate them better than she? Let him beware how he opposes the wishes of the Manitou—how he brings shame on Mahaska!”

The chief looked in astonishment at the rage in her countenance—she was beginning to drop the mask which she had worn since their marriage.

“The red-men have no complaint to make against the French,” he urged.

“Let Gi-en-gwa-tah go and sew wampum with the squaws!” she insolently exclaimed. “He has not the spirit of a chief.”

The chief’s haughty spirit rose to meet her own at this insult, and he answered:

“The queen speaks biting words because she is a woman. Gi-en-gwa-tah can not fling them back in return.”

Her rage kindled more hotly at the response, and she exclaimed, in a low, terrible voice:

“Gi-en-gwa-tah’s feet are on hollow ground—let him take heed lest it give way under him.”

“What does Mahaska mean?” he demanded, quickly.

“That the people will cease to be the slaves of the false-tongued French; that, if Gi-en-gwa-tah does not join the other chiefs, he will lose caste in the tribe.”

“Gi-en-gwa-tah will not consent to a wrong,” he said; “he will tell the people that they are deceived.”

“And Mahaska will go among them and say: ‘Regard that man—you desired him to be the husband of the queen whom you have reverenced and obeyed; he comes to you and says that her visions are false—her words those of lying spirits!’ Follow me to the council-fire—speak, and Mahaska will answer; come!”

She made a movement as if to rush away at once, but the chief did not move. His head sunk upon his breast—his face was dark with sorrowful thoughts. The idea of strife between himself and his idolized wife was terrible to him; he was perplexed and sorely at a loss how to act. He could not bear to think that this injustice should go on until the Six Nations had betrayed their trust, and proved themselves false to their pledges; yet, at the same time, it cut him to the heart to act in opposition to Mahaska’s wishes. He was too simple 49minded and too full of his first love for her to think, as yet, that she could wittingly be acting a treacherous part. He had felt the most implicit faith in her prophesies. It was not her truth he suspected, but he feared that she had been deceived by some false dream-spirit.

“Why does not Gi-en-gwa-tah follow?” cried Mahaska, tauntingly. “Let him go among the people and tell them that their queen is a child—that she deceives herself and them—why does he not come?”

“Gi-en-gwa-tah only asks his wife to reflect.”

“Mahaska’s thoughts are like the flight of an eagle,” she interrupted; “and they fly alway toward the sun—Gi-en-gwa-tah’s thoughts are like owls that doze while others act.”

He was greatly irritated by her open contempt and unrestrained sarcasm, but he still answered with grave dignity that expressed far more sorrow than anger.

“When the chiefs return from their mission we will hold council again,” he said; “bitter words will not bring wisdom either to Gi-en-gwa-tah or the queen.”

“The Six Nations shall obey Mahaska,” cried the infuriated woman, cold and terrible in her rage; “sorrow and desolation shall smite him who opposes her! The race of Gi-en-gwa-tah shall become extinct—the children he hopes for, to be sunshine in his old age, shall rise up to curse him. Let him beware; he struggles against the Great Spirit; he will be uprooted like a pine tree smitten by the tempest.”

She looked a heathen prophetess inspired by her deity; her hands were outstretched, her form erect, her eyes blazing with passion. In spite of his firmness the chief was greatly troubled by her words.

“Mahaska’s heart has gone away from the chief,” he said, mournfully.

Words of deeper scorn rose to her lips. Her first impulse was to rush forth among the people, denounce him as a traitor and a coward and rouse all their fury against him. But she checked herself; it was better to wait. The people’s attachment to him was very great, and she might injure her own influence by too sudden action.

She therefore changed her demeanor; assumed a kindlier air; sat down by him and conversed more quietly—using all 50her arts to blind his clear judgment—appealing to his love—exercising unmercifully her great control over his mind; but through it all, the honest dictates of his soul broke through and through her schemes, and, in spite of the pleadings of his heart, refused to be convinced.

Before the winter set in Mahaska conceived the project of making a visit around among the several powerful tribes constituting the Six Nations, hoping by the influence of her presence to increase still more her power and to aid the furtherance of the ambitious projects which had formed in her wily brain. She was accompanied on her journey by Gi-en-gwa-tah and several of the principal chiefs, escorted by her body-guard, and all the state and pomp which she commanded was freely displayed.

Among all the Nations she was received with every demonstration of respect; all sorts of festivities were instituted in her honor and her counsels were listened to with profound attention.

Her plans in regard to the English alliance were working well. The delegates had returned with highly favorable reports, and Mahaska wrote to the Governor, that, come when it might, the next struggle would see the Six Nations in alliance with the British.

She managed artfully to hold consultations with the chiefs concerning this matter during every absence of Gi-en-gwa-tah, and succeeded in establishing the impression that he was weak and vacillating, at the same time that his ambition was inordinate and could not endure to witness the success of men superior to himself. Yet, while she was thus undermining his future, the noble savage was aiding in every way to extend her power. The freshness of his love came back at the sight of her beauty and the admiration she excited, and he forgot 51entirely the glimpses he had of late caught of the terrible spirit that lay hidden under that gracious exterior.

Nothing could surpass the graciousness of the queen during her journey. She knew only too well how to assume the appearance of generosity. She made beautiful presents to the chiefs and their wives, scattered her profuseness right and left, and, as she quitted each tribe in succession, was followed by the love and wonder of their untutored minds. She seemed to them like a being suddenly descended among them from a higher sphere. They were never weary of gazing upon her beauty. She dazzled their eyes with her rich attire and the costly goods which had been the price of her treachery toward the French.

The snow began to fall heavily when Mahaska returned to her tribe and again established herself in her palace by the Seneca lake. Her friend, the English Governor, had furnished her with new gifts and her dwelling was now replete with every article of comfort and luxury. She had instructed the Indian women who performed the duties of servants in many things which relieved her from the coarseness of savage life, and the sumptuous table spread in her house would have done credit to the most civilized household.

A year had passed—it had swept Mahaska far into the darkness of her new career, and left many a stain of blood upon her soul which blotted out the last trace of her youth forever. But a change came which, had she been a woman of ordinary womanly instincts, would have subdued her fierce nature. She sat in her palace crowned with the priceless blessing of maternity. And her daring soul did soften under its tender influence.

Love for her child became for the time the one redeeming feeling of her life, yet, like all emotions in her nature, it received a sort of ferocity from its very strength. She pictured to herself a grand future for her boy; he should be skilled in all the arts and knowledge of the whites, while hatred toward his grandfather’s race would be the only faith she impressed upon his soul.

The day her child was a month old she had made the occasion one of high festival among the people, and she sat with her babe upon her knees listening to the rejoicings that went 52up from the revelers without. Gi-en-gwa-tah was absent at the birth of his child and had not yet returned, but his arrival was daily expected. Mahaska was full of savage joy in his absence, for the child had been all hers for a time at least. She could not bear the idea of witnessing his love for it, and dreaded with intense selfishness that the time might come when her boy would give affection in return, to the brave savage that had been forced into her life.

“Never,” she muttered; “he is all mine. No one shall share his love—the savage who claims him shall have no part in my treasure.”

Saying these words she pressed her lips upon the forehead of the sleeping babe as if registering a vow, so wickedly did she mingle evil thought with the tenderest and holiest feelings that our human nature can possess.

While she sat thus nursing her child with womanly seeming, the door was flung open, and, with a quick, joyous tread, Gi-en-gwa-tah entered the apartment.

Mahaska started so violently that the babe was disturbed in his slumber, and uttered a faint cry that smote her heart like a sudden blow; and she grew inwardly furious to see the man she so bitterly hated looking down upon her and her child with an expression of such absorbing love, claiming participation in her joy.

He bent over her, his dark, noble features aglow with emotion, his eyes misty with the new tenderness which overflowed his heart.

“Mahaska—Mahaska!”

He could speak no other words. He bent over her, encircling his wife and child in his arms. She drove back the bitter tide that surged up from her heart, and forced herself to greet him with an appearance of pleasure.

“Mahaska and her boy have been waiting for days,” she said; “the chief has been long in returning.”

“The days have seemed like years to Gi-en-gwa-tah,” he answered; “he had left his heart here and was like one in the dark till he could come back and find it.”

“Gi-en-gwa-tah speaks pleasantly like the south wind,” she returned, with a smile; “he has been studying the flowery language of the pale-faces.”

53“It is his heart that speaks! Mahaska has not pined because this little flower opened its eyes to console her for the chief’s absence.”

She held up the babe to his admiring gaze.

“Is he not brave and beautiful?” she cried.

The chief looked at him with a sort of wonder, not daring even to touch his new treasure, so full of strange thoughts which he could not fathom that he was quite speechless. The babe awoke and looked around; his large black eyes dwelt wonderingly on the chief.

“See how brave he looks,” said Mahaska; “the chief will find a great warrior in his son.”

“Mahaska will be happy and content now,” he said, gravely.

“She was so before,” replied the young mother.

“Sometime her face was sad—the wilderness was dark and made her youth gloomy.”

“It is Mahaska’s home,” she replied; “she is among her people and asks no more.”

He looked fondly down upon her, with a betrayal of feeling which habit did not often permit him to reveal.

“The people are more drawn toward their queen than ever,” he said; “she can stir their hearts as the wind ruffles the water.”

She smiled proudly. Better than he did she understand the power in her hands; his generous nature could not conceive the use which she intended to make of it.

“The chief has heard that before many moons the tribe will go out on the war-path,” she said.

He bowed his head.

“This time Mahaska will lead them,” she exclaimed; “she is weary of leading the life of a squaw.”

He looked at her in astonishment.

“The queen will do more wisely to stay at home and consult with the old chiefs,” he said; “her wisdom will aid the warriors.”

Her eyes flashed; she laid the babe down upon her knees again.

“The Great Spirit has warned Mahaska,” she said; “will Gi-en-gwa-tah teach her duty after that?”

He was silent, and she went on:

“Mahaska will lead forth the warriors; the people shall 54see that she is great in the battle-field as at the council-fire. Her soul thirsts for action; she will work out brave deeds with her own tomahawk.”

He attempted further expostulation, but she cried out:

“Is Gi-en-gwa-tah ashamed to fight by the side of a woman? Does he think Mahaska a coward?”

“Gi-en-gwa-tah loves Mahaska; he fears for her safety.”

“Nothing can harm her when she is protected by the Great Spirit,” she answered; “her enemies will flee her path like dust before the whirlwind. The prophet has spoken, and the queen will obey.”

Gi-en-gwa-tah still looked troubled, but he had learned the uselessness of opposition—he might as well have struggled against an earthquake as against the power of that woman’s will.

“The queen has much time for thought,” he said, calmly; “she will decide wisely.”

“She has decided! Did I not say that the prophet had come in dreams, saying: ‘Let Mahaska lead her warriors forth to the war-path—without her presence they will take no scalps, but will return feeble and broken, leaving half their number to be buried like dogs by their enemies.’”

“The Senecas have been always brave.”

“Is Mahaska to find opposition only in her own palace, from the father of her boy?” she exclaimed.

The lightning of her eyes checked further expostulation.

“Let Mahaska decide,” he answered. “It shall be as she says.”

He turned from the subject, but his words rankled in her mind. She began to believe, judging of his nature by her own instincts, that he was jealous of her power, and could not bear the idea of her winning new glory on the war-path.

“He shall be swept aside like chaff,” she thought. “Gi-en-gwa-tah, beware! The clouds grow black—the earth resounds under your feet! Twice you have disputed Mahaska—attempt it once more, and your little glory shall go out like a feeble flame that my deeds will extinguish.”

The chief left her alone, and she remained bending ever her babe, watching with solicitude his slightest movement, yet all the while brooding over the dark thoughts forming in her mind.

55

For some time there had been no further communication between Mahaska and her husband upon the disputed point of the French alliance. Not that the woman had been idle; she had never relaxed in her exertions among the tribes, and she knew that not only the chiefs among the Senecas were with her, but so many leaders among the other Nations, that she should be able to carry the whole body at the desired moment.

She feared Gi-en-gwa-tah more than any other man; she was confident that she had greatly undermined the influence he had formerly possessed, but she knew that, despite her machinations, he still was much beloved, and she dreaded the weight his opinion and his passionate eloquence might have.

But one of two things remained: either he must yield to her will, or fall a victim to her vengeance, even if her own hand dealt the blow. Failing that, some plot must be formed, so thoroughly to disgrace him, that death, such as she had dealt her old enemy, the Fox, would be a blessing in comparison.

She was sitting alone in her dwelling, revolving these thoughts in her mind, even while the child of which he was the father lay sleeping on her knees. Her fondness for her babe was like the love of the tigress for its young; she would have fought for it, died for it; the idea of sharing its affection 62with any human being, would of itself have been enough to make her hate Gi-en-gwa-tah for having a right to expect duty and affection from it.

The door was opened softly and her husband stood looking in. She was so absorbed in her child, that she did not see him. There he stood, looking at her and his sleeping son, full of a love and tenderness which seemed almost unmanly to his reason. He stepped softly across the floor, fearful of disturbing the sleeping boy. She looked up.

“I thought the warriors had gone out to hunt,” she said; “how comes it that Gi-en-gwa-tah is here?”

“The chief wished to speak with Mahaska,” he replied, “and so returned to the village.”

She laid her child down upon a couch and turned coldly toward him. She had grown less careful of appearances now, and did not scruple to treat him haughtily.

“Mahaska holds secret councils with none of the chiefs,” she said; “Mahaska is a queen; but what has Gi-en-gwa-tah to say?”

He was deeply wounded by her tone; she had a keen satisfaction in stabbing him with such needle-thrusts, and she knew that he was sensitive enough to feel them keenly.

“There is a cloud between Mahaska and the chief,” he said, sorrowfully; “Gi-en-gwa-tah has tried to brush it away, but he can not; will Mahaska tell whence it comes?”

She smiled scornfully as she answered:

“Gi-en-gwa-tah is full of fancies as a sick girl; Mahaska can not understand them—she is a chief!”

He started at the taunt; the fire flashed into his eyes; but he did not yield to the anger which her words excited.

“Mahaska keeps aloof from the chief,” he said, “and carries her child with her.”

“Is it that Gi-en-gwa-tah complains of?”

“The great lodge is dark to him when she and the child are not here,” he answered, with a tenderness and simple pathos inexpressibly touching in the hardy, stalwart man.

“Does Gi-en-gwa-tah wish to take the place of the squaws and tend Mahaska’s babe?” she sneered.

Again the hot color mounted to his forehead and the flash to his eyes, but he answered with quiet dignity:

63“Mahaska does ill to mock the chief.”

“He talks riddles,” she returned; “the queen does not understand. If the chief has a message for Mahaska, let him speak; if he has questions to demand, let him ask.”

“He came to tell Mahaska news which he heard only now.”

“News?” she repeated. “What news has Gi-en-gwa-tah which the queen does not know? Did the birds of the air bring it?”

He did not appear to notice the taunt; his determined composure only served to irritate her the more.

“Speak,” she cried, “and have done; Mahaska has no time to waste in talk such as pleases old squaws.”

“Mahaska thought the French chief a bad man,” he said.

“He is,” she interrupted, “a base coward.”

“She wished to break off the treaty on account of it—”

“And it shall be done; Mahaska’s will is the prophet’s; it shall be done. Woe to those who stand in her path!”

“It is not needed now,” he said; “Mahaska has no more to fear from him; the French chief has left the great city.”

“Left? Where is he gone—is he dead?”

“Not dead; he has gone across the great waters—back to his own country, and will return no more.”

This was an unexpected and most unwelcome obstacle, since she had fixed upon the Governor’s falsity as the principal reason for breaking the treaty. The tidings made her more enraged.

“But another will come,” she cried, “worse than he was—baser, more cowardly.”

“Mahaska can not know that.”

She turned upon him with a furious gesture.

“How is Gi-en-gwa-tah able to tell what the queen knows; can he read her thoughts or hear her voices?”

“She has not yet heard the name of the new Governor-chief.”

“Tell it then!” she exclaimed; “tell it and have done. The chief caws like a crow and utters no news at last. Who have they sent as Governor now?”

“A man whom Mahaska once knew—”

“His name,” she interrupted, “his name!”

“It is hard for the chief to speak; the red-men called him Willow Bough; his nation called him—”

64He was hesitating over the word, when a sound from Mahaska made him look up; it was like no human cry—a strangled tiger might have uttered such a moan.

He looked at her in horror. She was pale as a corpse, her features so convulsed that they looked scarcely human—her arms were stretched out, her fingers knotting themselves together, as if crushing some unseen object.

“De Laguy,” she cried, “Gaston De Laguy?”

The chief called her name in accents of vague terror, but she did not appear to heed; still the long fingers writhed and the lips muttered:

“Gaston De Laguy.”

Strange thoughts flashed across the mind of the chief, thoughts which he could not explain, but which stung like a knife. Her terrible agitation, the tone of deadly agony and hate in which she pronounced that name, all carried his fancy to what he had known of her past life, and connected her fierce hatred toward the French with that man.

He had little time to indulge these painful reflections; Mahaska tottered into a seat, her hands fell to her side, and her strong self-control began to exert itself.

“You bring me this news,” she exclaimed, at length, in a voice worn and hollow from her passion; “you say there is nothing to fear now? Blind fool, there is every thing to fear!”

“Is the young brave false, too?” he asked.

“False!” she gasped. “A fiend from among the pale-faces is not falser! He hates the very name of an Indian—the Senecas worst of all! Away with all treaties—broken from this hour! Mahaska swears it! Does the chief hear?” she cried, turning furiously toward him.

“He hears,” he replied, in a tone expressive of great agitation.

“No more talk of keeping faith,” she shrieked; “whoever comes between Mahaska and her revenge, shall die like a dog.”

“What revenge does she seek?” he asked.

In her passion she had used the word incautiously, but she was too nearly mad to remember prudence.

“Yes, revenge!” she repeated. “Mahaska hates the whole 65race, but that man and his pale wife worst of all! That girl’s mother broke the heart of Mahaska’s mother; she will have revenge! That man insulted and defied Mahaska—she will have his heart’s blood! Let the chief beware; he is either with or against the queen in this thing; let him think well; so surely as he tries to thwart her, he shall meet the doom of the Fox!”

She poured out her threats fearlessly; all other arguments had failed; fear of her anger might check him; at all events, in her insane passion she must speak.

“The prophet warned Mahaska; the serpent’s nest shall be crushed! Gaston De Laguy!” she called again, unconsciously employing the language of her youth. “Beware! Better have trusted to the mercy of a panther than have crossed the sea again. Both you and Adèle, your noble wife, shall be in my power—both—at my feet, suing for mercy only to be trampled under foot! Revenge is now possible—give me my revenge!”

The chief understood enough of the rapid words to gather their import, and his brow grew darker and sadder.

Suddenly she darted toward him, and caught his arm in her grasp.

“Let the chief speak,” she cried, in the Indian tongue; “does he join Mahaska or not? Must she expect aid or enmity from him?”

“Never enmity,” he exclaimed, “Mahaska knows that.”

“Gi-en-gwa-tah hesitates! This is no time for him to choose his words! If he opposes Mahaska further, he is her enemy; the chief knows how Mahaska can hate!”

He did not appear to heed the menacing tone in which the last words were spoken; she turned from him and paced up and down the room. Once she paused and looked down upon her sleeping child, but her face, instead of softening at its innocent slumber, gathered new ferocity.

“Let Mahaska weigh well her actions,” said the chief, after a pause, with a calmness which contrasted strangely with her agitation. “This is no light matter that she contemplates; let her not decide from her own passions—”

She turned upon him as if she could have smitten him to the ground.

66“Gi-en-gwa-tah speaks folly,” she cried; “is he a coward, too? Does he fear the long rifles of the Frenchmen?”

He disdained even to answer her by the braggadocio so common among the Indians; and, though his whole frame shook with agitation at the insulting words, his voice was unmoved, as he said:

“Let Gi-en-gwa-tah’s past speak for itself! The chief fears to break his word; never did he do it, even when as a boy he first began to hunt the wild deer; he could not see his people go back from their pledges and prove themselves false as the lying Tuscaroras, whatever their gain might be.”

“The chief had better go among the pale-faces that he man learn the mummeries of their faith, and turn his brethren into black-coated owls, such as live in the stone lodges in Quebec,” retorted Mahaska, with bitter irony.

“Gi-en-gwa-tah is content with the faith of his fathers,” he said, still struggling to maintain his composure. “Mahaska is not like herself to-day; her words are sharp as arrows. Has some evil spirit taken possession of her?”

“A spirit that shall rend the chief in pieces if he oppose her,” she cried, in a terrible voice; “let him beware!”

“Gi-en-gwa-tah will do his duty whatever happens; he has never yet turned aside from it.”

“Gi-en-gwa-tah may wrap himself in a blanket and weave baskets in the door of his lodge; he is not fit to be a chief. Let him prove himself a coward and the people will tear the eagle plumes from his hair!” she exclaimed, stamping upon the floor in her rage.

He took a step forward and looked in her face with an expression of concentrated indignation she had never seen there before.

“Gi-en-gwa-tah is the chief chosen for Mahaska,” he said. In a deep voice; “she may be a queen, but let her not speak base insults to her husband!”

She laughed aloud, driven beyond the possibility of self-control by the storm his words aroused, the first approaching menace which she had ever heard from his lips.

“Mahaska chose—Mahaska can put aside; she is a queen still! Does the chief threaten her? Let him follow her to 67the village; the council shall decide between them; let him come!”

She took a step toward the door but he did not stir—not for any price would he have had her exhibit herself to the people while in that insane fury, which his natural dignity of character felt was so degrading to her state.

“The council can not come between the chief and the queen,” he said; “this matter must be settled in their own lodge, not before the eyes of all the people.”

“Gi-en-gwa-tah knows well what their judgment would be,” she answered, mistaking his hesitation for a dread of the disapproval of the tribe; “he dare not go before the chiefs and say that he opposes the will of Mahaska—the command of the prophet.”

“Mahaska speaks from her anger; Gi-en-gwa-tah does not hear the voice of the prophet in her words.”

It was the first time he had ever really rebuked her—the first time he had ever ventured to doubt her; but love gave to the savage that intuitive knowledge of her feelings which love alone can give; he saw she was actuated by a desire of vengeance against the new Governor; he felt, with a horrible pang, that in her old life that man had been every thing to her—that it was affection turned to hate which now urged her on.

“Let Gi-en-gwa-tah repeat those words,” she almost whispered, in a tone that sounded like the hiss of a serpent; “let him say again that he does not believe her visions; it shall be the last time he ever utters such doubts.”

“Gi-en-gwa-tah does not doubt her; he knows that she is a great prophetess; but, now, she can not be speaking what her spirits have told her, for until Gi-en-gwa-tah brought the tidings, she thought the young French brave across the deep waters.”

That he should have in a measure penetrated her feelings and possess acuteness to argue thus, inflamed her passion still more; her first impulse was to kill him where he stood; only a keen sense of the danger to herself in this act prevented her.

Not daring to trust herself to speak just then, she resumed her rapid march up and down the room, while a thousand 68projects darted like lightning-flashes through her quick brain. She must employ craft still, but only once more; let her keep him from appealing to the chiefs for a few hours, and she could render him powerless.

When she had gained sufficient command over herself to speak calmly, she paused in her walk before him—cold and white from the effects of her fury, but forcing her voice into a tone that sounded more natural and calm.

“The queen has reflected,” she said; “Gi-en-gwa-tah is right; words such as have passed between them are not for the people to hear.”

He bowed his head to conceal the expression of anguish which passed over it; that stormy dialogue and the revelations it forced upon his mind, made the bitterest hour of his whole life.

“Mahaska has decided well,” he answered; “but even the lodge that holds the chief and his wife should never hear such words.”

She clenched her hands together in her loose sleeves, feeling the necessity of some physical struggle to restrain the insulting epithets which sprung to her lips.

“What is passed is passed,” she said; “let there be no more talk of these things; Mahaska goes to consult her spirits.”

He bowed assent to her wishes, but made no movement to leave the room. She must have him out of the way if she would succeed in her project.

She turned toward him with a change of manner and face so sudden and entire that it was really marvelous, and he stood bewildered before the coming forth of her beauty from its black cloud of anger—bewildered and fascinated, but not with the faith and weakness of the past; through it all pierced the fierce pain which had smitten his heart when she uttered her vows of vengeance against the French Governor.

“Gi-en-gwa-tah promised Mahaska fresh salmon from the lake,” she said, and a sweet, girlish laugh, rung from the lips that had before trembled with bitter denunciations; “let him bring them to-night, that she may know her peace is made with the chief.”

“Gi-en-gwa-tah will go,” he replied, gravely, anxious to be 69alone that he might reason away the cruel thoughts which struggled in his heart.

“And when will the chief return?” she demanded, carelessly playing with the fringe of her girdle, as if she had absolutely forgotten her passion, so changed and smiling that it seemed hardly possible she could be the woman who had raged there like a chained tigress only a few moments before.

“He must go miles up the lake,” replied Gi-en-gwa-tah; “it will be after nightfall when he returns.”

“Mahaska will wait for the evening meal till he returns,” she said; “wait for the chief’s peace-offering,” and she smiled again, with such frank sweetness that eyes more skilled than those of the Indian would have failed to detect the danger in its depths.

She parted from him with the same pleasant manner. As he left the room he looked back—she had taken up her sleeping child and was pressing it to her bosom, as if all her thoughts had centered again in that engrossing maternal love.

Mahaska sat motionless until she heard her husband’s footsteps die away from the outer room; then she laid the child back among the cushions and hurried to the window. She then pushed the draperies aside and looked out. From her stand she could see far up the lake, which was lying placid and bright in the afternoon sun. The whole scene was one of such pleasant summer tranquillity, so out of tune with her wild thoughts, that she gazed upon it as a lost spirit might look into heaven. She saw Gi-en-gwa-tah come out upon the bank accompanied by a couple of his men—stood there and watched the canoe unmoored, and all their preparations made complete. They were off at last, paddling swiftly up the lake; but still she watched them until the barque became a mere speck in the distance. Then she put 70silver whistle to her lips and blew a shrill call—her usual summons to the squaws who attended upon her. When an Indian woman came in she motioned her to take away the child, resumed her eager walk for a few moments’ reflection, but soon hurried from the house. She walked down into into the village, pausing to speak kindly to a group of women sunning themselves on the grass, followed, as she always was, by looks of love and awe when she appeared among her people, and made her way toward the lodge inhabited by the old chief, Upepah.

He was sitting there in characteristic indolence, surrounded by several chiefs nearest his own age and dignity. When they saw Mahaska enter so unexpectedly they arose, with the grave courtesy she had taught them as her due, waiting in silence for her to declare the errand which had led to that unusual visit. Knowing that they were all in favor of her schemes against the French, there was no need for argument and persuasion.

“The queen has come to hold council with her father,” she said to the old chief, “and with the wise chiefs gathered about him.”

“It is well,” Upepah answered; “let the queen speak.”

She motioned them to be seated, and sat down among them, calm and deliberate in every action as was in accordance with their habits.

“The queen has tidings from the English chief,” she said; “his nation are out on the war-path against the French.”

They never asked how her information was acquired; in their strong faith in her supernatural powers they believed it easy for her to attain any knowledge.

“The time has come,” she continued, “to prove to the English that the chiefs were not deceiving them in their protestations of friendship—are they ready?”

They looked at each other with a little doubt. The gifts and promises of the British had made them eager for the new alliance; but the burning eloquence of Gi-en-gwa-tah had made them somewhat ashamed of the treachery they meditated, and they hesitated to take the first decisive step which should complete their double-dealing. Mahaska saw what was in their minds, and hastened to remove the fear that they were going to be called upon to commence open hostility 71against their former allies. She had planned leading them to open war by degrees, entangling them so completely that a positive outbreak would be unavoidable.

“The English chief does not ask them to make ready for the war-path,” she said. “This is what he wishes, and the prophet has bidden Mahaska urge its fulfillment upon the chiefs.”

They listened eagerly, glad to depend upon the will of the spirits, as pronounced by the queen’s lips, and so cast from their minds any personal blame in the matter.

“Let the chiefs send out a band of warriors to watch the movements of the French—nothing more is desired. Mahaska herself will go with them. If, while they are gone, the French are guilty of any bad faith toward the Senecas, the chiefs will not have been the first to break the treaty.”

They looked from one to another, well content to have the matter thus arranged, and Upepah said:

“The queen speaks wisely—let it be as she wishes.”

“No time must be lost,” she urged; “before the sun is in the heavens to-morrow, Mahaska and her warriors must be on their way.”

“Let the queen decide,” they answered.

“Her own band will be enough,” she continued, certain that not a man among them would oppose her will in any way, but rather would second her efforts to bring on an outbreak between the French and the tribe.

She conversed with them for some time; all the plans were completed, and her guard warned to be in readiness at the appointed hour.

“The chiefs have acted wisely,” she said, as she arose to go; “the prophet is pleased with them.”

A satisfied murmur ran through the group. On the instant the thought flashed through her mind to choose this moment to plant in their minds a feeling of suspicion against Gi-en-gwa-tah stronger than she had ever yet ventured to arouse.

“The queen’s dreams are troubled,” she said, in a troubled tone, turning again toward them.

They looked at her in surprise, and then waited.

“The time has not come for her to speak openly; but her spirits have whispered strange words in her ear.”

72“Will she repeat them to the chiefs?”

“She can tell them, because they are old men and very wise; but let them be silent for the present.”

“They will not reveal Mahaska’s words until she wills it.”

She went close up to the old men, and whispered:

“The prophet fears that the chiefs forced a choice upon Mahaska too quickly. The chief they made for her husband is false and ambitious, hating her for her visions and the love the people bear her. The prophet has warned Mahaska against his treachery; she will watch night and day; the spirits will make it known to her; then she will bring the matter before the whole people. Let the chiefs be silent until she returns.”

While they were still full of wonder and anger at her words, she passed quickly from among them, and took her way back to her palace by the lake. She had gained her ends; from that expedition she would not return until by some covert act she had put it out of the power of the tribe to continue at amity with the French; but the fiercest exultation in her breast was at the thought of the suspicion she had aroused against Gi-en-gwa-tah—a suspicion which should be carefully fanned until it burst into a flame that would consume him. It was now sunset; Gi-en-gwa-tah would not return until nightfall, and there was little fear of his even learning any thing about the expedition until morning. Then it would be too late for him in any way to thwart her.

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That had been a long, dreary afternoon to the unhappy chief. When they reached their place of destination he left his companions to their sport and wandered away into the forest, anxious to be alone with the host of strange thoughts which had suddenly forced his mind into such restless activity. He could not have explained the feelings which tortured his heart; but, even in his untutored state, his faculties were singularly sensitive and imaginative. He was suffering the horrible grief and jealousy a civilized man might, when the first doubt in regard to the woman he loved arose in his mind—a doubt that she had never returned his affection—that, back in the life of which he knew so little, lay the only dream of love her heart had ever known.

73There came, too, for the first time, a fear that she employed her supernatural gifts to further her own ends, her ambition and her hatred. He did not doubt the gifts ascribed to her, but he began to understand how all her powers tended toward absolute dominion, and he was stunned to see this woman, whom he had looked upon as a creature of a higher sphere, prove herself capable of using her prophetic wisdom as a means of personal aggrandizement.

But, even with the idea that she had loved the French Governor, there came no thought of accepting the means of revenge in his power against the man. By joining her plans the opportunity would have offered itself; but a reason like that could not tempt him to urge his people to break their pledge and plunge into a causeless war with those he knew to be friends.

So, in the midst of these torturing reflections, the long afternoon passed away, and in the dusk of evening he returned to his companions.

Their canoe sped swiftly down the lake, and once more Gi-en-gwa-tah entered his dwelling, but now dark shadows walked beside him and stood between him and the woman he had so blindly worshiped.

Mahaska received him with her brightest smiles, making not an allusion to what had happened, but conversing only of his day’s sport. She sat opposite him at the supper, spread, according to her habits, after the fashion of the whites, so gay and fascinating that he tried to think the dreadful thoughts of the day had been roused only by his own fancy.

He did not go down into the village, so no warning of the proposed expedition reached him, and Mahaska sat smiling at the success of her maneuvers as she furtively watched him.

The moon came up broad and full, and streamed into the apartment where they sat. Mahaska had an appointment at that hour, and, without deigning any explanation, she arose to go out.

“Mahaska is going away?” he asked.

“The prophet bade her be on the lake to-night in the moonlight; let Gi-en-gwa-tah go to his rest; perhaps Mahaska’s spirits will set the matter which troubles him at rest.”

He allowed her to depart in silence, no idea of opposition entering his mind. Those midnight communings on the lake 74always had been her habit since she came among the Indians, so that there was nothing in her going out to excite his distrust.

Left to himself, all Gi-en-gwa-tah’s painful reflections returned, and he went out into the night to forget them in a hurried walk. With no thought of attempting to watch Mahaska he walked along the shore above his dwelling, lost in the sad thoughts which crowded upon his mind. He plunged into the depths of the forest and rushed away through its shadows, feeling a sense of relief in rapid action. Miles beyond the Indian village he came out upon the shore again, and stood on a little eminence looking across the lake. The moonlight lay soft and clear upon the waters; the shadows of the great trees were reflected in its depths; the summer wind sighed up softly from the wilderness and rippled the bosom of the lake until the broad sheet of silvery water sparkled and shone as if countless gems had been flung up from its depths. The tranquillity of the scene must have soothed the most agitated mind.

Unconsciously the chief’s mood changed, and he stood looking across the waves with a feeling of rest that he had not known during the whole long day. Suddenly his quick eye caught an object far out in the lake. He gazed intently; it drifted nearer until Gi-en-gwa-tah saw distinctly a canoe with Mahaska seated in it, the moonlight playing about her like a halo. He was turning away, believing that light supernatural, and a thrill of awe ran through his frame that he should unwittingly have been a spectator of her secret watch. Just then his eye was attracted by an object which changed the whole current of his thoughts. A canoe moved close by that in which Mahaska sat, and a man was clearly visible in it. Was it only a shadowy barque that he saw? Did her spirits take visible shapes and thus appear to her.

He stood spell-bound, divided between the superstition which made a part of his religious belief, and the jealous pang which wrung his breast. While he watched, trying to believe that it was no human shape or earthly barque, he saw the canoes parted company. Mahaska rowed swiftly away down the lake while the other boat sped off in a contrary direction.

75Gi-en-gwa-tah watched the strange canoe disappear, still divided in his feelings—one moment tempted to rush up the shore and attempt to keep the barque in sight, the next checking the impulse as a wicked thought which, if carried out, might bring destruction not only upon himself but his whole people. Mahaska’s canoe had disappeared and the boat he watched was turning a distant point. At that moment a clear whistle sounded from it. He listened; no supernatural tones were they. Fragments of a melody he had heard among the pale-faces during his visits to Quebec, were given out by the whistler with careless grace.

Before the chief could recover from his stupefaction the canoe had disappeared, and Gi-en-gwa-tah stood alone in the still midnight, with his most terrible fears confirmed, his heart wrung and tortured with pangs undreamed before, and, worse than all, his religious faith—the faith in the spiritual powers of the queen which had made her so holy an object in his eyes—shaken to its very foundation.

After these first moments of agony, he rushed away down the shore, suddenly plunged anew into the forest and buried himself in its depths, not trusting himself to return to his dwelling until a few hours’ reflection had given him back something of his old strength and composure.

The gray dawn was breaking over the lake when Gi-en-gwa-tah emerged from the forest and approached his own dwelling. He saw Mahaska’s body-guard, increased till its number consisted of at least two hundred and fifty warriors, drawn up before the entrance to the palace. Filled with astonishment at the sight, with his mind so racked by the suspicions of the past that he was doubtful what their appearance there at that hour might portend, he rushed through the groups of savages collected about and entered the house. In one of the inner rooms he met Mahaska, face to face. She was attired after her usual fashion when going upon a long journey, and every thing about her betokened the haste of approaching departure.

“What are Mahaska’s warriors stationed by her palace for?” he asked, abruptly, with a sudden conviction that some treachery was intended by this sudden and secret move. “Whither is Mahaska going?”

76She looked at him with undisguised triumph.

“The chiefs have desired Mahaska to go into the forest,” she said, “and watch the movements of the pale-faces; they are at war.”

“This hides some treachery toward our friends” he exclaimed; “Mahaska means evil.”

“Gi-en-gwa-tah mutters still like an old squaw,” she said, scornfully; “but his words are weak as the wind; Mahaska is going forth.”

“Let her wait!” he exclaimed, passionately; “Gi-en-gwa-tah will see the chiefs; there have been false whispers in their ears.”

“The squaws of burthen may obey Gi-en-gwa-tah; the warriors who serve under him may heed,” she cried, “but Mahaska is queen of the Senecas and a prophet in the whole Six Nations; let the young brave choose other words when he speaks to her.”

Astounded at her air of defiance, and yet not to be put aside, Gi-en-gwa-tah plead earnestly with her for a few moments, but his words were idle. It was too late now to seek the chiefs; there was nothing for it but submission—the wily woman had outwitted him. She turned away without even a show of parting, and passed out of the house where her horse awaited. Gi-en-gwa-tah gave some order to one of the savages and followed. Mahaska was in her saddle, exchanging last words with a few of the elder chiefs who had come up to witness her departure, when Gi-en-gwa-tah rode up to her side mounted on his war-horse.

She stared at him in haughty anger and surprise.

“Whither goes Gi-en-gwa-tah?” she demanded.

“With Mahaska and her warriors,” he replied, with quiet firmness which she well understood.

For an instant it seemed as if she would give way to the storm of passion which this determination aroused; but it was checked by a sudden thought of the danger of such a course to her schemes at that moment of their initiation.

Let him go—she would not oppose it. During this journey the long-sought opportunity to ruin him should be found; in his blind obstinacy he had rushed toward the fate she held in store for him. Her brow cleared; she gathered up her reins with a smile.

77“Mahaska is glad that the chief accompanies her; he shall be one of her warriors now.”

He did not return the smile, for he understood perfectly the meaning she intended to convey—that the expedition was entirely under her control, and that, in accompanying it, he went without any authority. Still, he did not falter in his resolve; he must learn the truth of his doubts concerning her. Besides that, his presence might be the means of preventing any trouble between her party and the French; but, in that, he counted upon an influence which he no longer possessed. Mahaska’s guard were bound to her by blind devotion, and her slightest wish would be their law. With them the chief was powerless.

The long-threatened war between the French and English betokened its nearer approach by numerous aggressions upon both sides, and skirmishes became frequent.

At this time Gaston de Laguy had been appointed Governor of Canada. He was a young man to hold an office of such importance, but there had been a variety of peculiar circumstances which led to his appointment, and among those which most induced him to accept the position had been the health of his wife, Adèle. She had been the adopted daughter of Count de Frontenac, the former Governor, and was the playmate of Mahaska in her childhood, as well as the hated rival of her girlish years, for she had won the love of de Laguy whom Mahaska had worshiped with a passion bordering on frenzy in its intensity and reckless disregard of conventional proprieties.

Madame de Laguy’s health had declined after the birth of her first-born, and the physicians decided that a return to Canada and the enjoyment of the free air of the wilderness, in which so much of her early life had been spent, would conduce more than all their skill to restore her to health. So 78they had returned to Canada, and, though Adèle retained few pleasant memories of the country, she was content to remain there for a time, since she could have the enjoyment of her husband’s society and that of her child, with the prospect of recovering her wasted strength.

The love between de Laguy and his beautiful wife was something truly impressive to witness. They seemed to have grown so closely into each other’s souls that not even death could disturb the ties which bound them.

The birth of their boy drew them still more closely together, and, content with the world of happiness which they could center in their home, they came unrepiningly out to the New World. During the summer, business of importance took the Governor to Montreal, whither his wife and child accompanied him. While there, they received intelligence of the arrival of an old friend and relative of de Laguy at Quebec, and, as the Governor could not leave for some time, Adèle determined to return at once in order to welcome him at the gubernatorial castle.

The parting between the young husband and his wife was very painful, but it would be only of brief duration, and the Governor saw his treasures depart under the charge of a numerous escort without fear for her safety or anxiety beyond the pain of separation. The Governor’s wife made the journey in boats, and, as the weather was delightful, the trip was exceedingly pleasant.

Adèle did her best to shake off the oppression which parting from her husband had caused, with the unselfishness which made one of the most beautiful traits of her character, and endeavored to make every return for the efforts which the officers, who commanded her escort, employed to render her journey pleasant. So she drifted on toward her own sumptuous home, counting the days in her loving heart as blanks in her life till they brought back her husband.

While this journey was taking place, Mahaska and her band of warriors were threading the forest till they reached the vicinity of the St. Lawrence. It had been a dreary journey to Gi-en-gwa-tah; Mahaska had paid very little attention to his presence, but she never missed an opportunity to make his slight impatience apparent to the band, and to irritate, him by 79a thousand feminine efforts of malice. Still, he would not speak harshly to her; in spite of all, he loved her with the fervor of a noble heart that has set all its hopes on one object. He suffered cruelly and he changed greatly during those long days, but he bore up bravely under the heart-martyrdom which she inflicted on him. But he watched her; doubt and jealousy grew every day stronger in his mind. If once fully convinced that she was deceiving his people, all his love would not prevent his exposing her plots; his keen sense of honor and right would not have allowed him to remain silent.

So they journeyed on, but nothing arose to throw light upon the trouble in his mind or to make the reason of this hasty journey more apparent. He could neither eat nor sleep; all his faculties seemed absorbed in that eager suspense as if some great crisis were at hand and he was waiting for its approach.

Besides her other reasons for this expedition, Mahaska had one which was unknown to any human being—a project which she might not be able to carry out at that time, but which was swayed by the passion in her nature next in magnitude to her thirst for powder and revenge—her love of wealth.

It was a plan which would be very difficult to carry out, and in which she could not trust even the most faithful of her band, resulting from a secret confided to her by her grandmother, Ahmo, just before her death, a few months previously. It was Ahmo to whose baleful influence the child of Count Frontenac owed much of the unnatural ferocity of her nature. It was Ahmo who had instilled into Mahaska’s mind the idea that Frontenac had poisoned her mother—she it was who had inspired the girl with the idea of a queenly supremacy over the tribes of the Six Nations, by whom her mother’s father, the great chief and prophet Nemono, had been held in the greatest reverence. After Mahaska’s rejection by the gay young cavalier—de Laguy—to whom she made a remarkable proposition of marriage, but who rejected her strange suit and soon wed Adèle, Mahaska’s foster-sister and companion—the half-breed’s passions were in a fit mood to bend to the will of Ahmo’s cunning and treacherous nature, and the girl passed off among the Indians to become their queen and prophet. Old Ahmo’s implacable soul only stayed long enough in its 80worn out body to see her grandchild the wife of one of the Seneca braves and the acknowledged princess of the tribe.

It was just after Mahaska’s arrival among the Senecas, that she was one day sitting in her lodge, reflecting upon the savage life which now she had chosen, when the draperies were flung back and Ahmo entered the apartment. Her form was bent; her steps tottering and feeble, and it was evident that she was rapidly passing away beyond the restlessness of this life.

She had been for several days confined to her bed; Mahaska, hence, looked in astonishment at her entrance.

“Ahmo could not rest; she longed to see her grandchild once again.”

“Mahaska would have come to you,” she said, kindly; “Ahmo is feeble; she should not be out in the chill air.”

The old woman sunk down on a pile of furs near Mahaska and began muttering to herself.

“Ahmo is tired, very tired,” said Mahaska, compassionately.

“Ahmo is dying,” replied the old woman, calmly.

Mahaska started; the idea of death was terrible to her then; she could have met it once with fortitude, but now blankness and desolation were abhorrent to her proud nature.

“All night she heard the voices of Nemono and her daughter Chileli,” continued the old woman; “they are waiting for Ahmo; they have made ready her lodge in the happy hunting-grounds.”

“Ahmo will stay yet with Mahaska, and watch her greatness increase till it is beyond that of all the chiefs,” said the white girl.

The old woman shook her head.

“Three generations have blossomed before Ahmo’s eyes; she is very old and wants rest.”

“Can she not rest in Mahaska’s lodge?”

“But she wants the rest without dreams that they sleep down yonder by the water; Ahmo is old, and Chileli calls. She must go.”

She was silent again for some moments, then added:

“Ahmo has a secret for her grandchild.”

“Has Ahmo kept secrets from Mahaska?” she asked, 81reproachfully, her heart softening strangely at the woman’s changed face and feeble manner.

“Ahmo will tell it now,” she returned. “There was no need till she was ready to go forth in search of Nemono.”

“Ahmo could have trusted her child.”

“She knows it. But Ahmo was old; she loved power; she had grown miserly—Mahaska will not be angry.”

“Mahaska is never angry with Ahmo; let her hear this secret.”

“Mahaska remembers the island lodge where she used to come and stay when a child?”

The girl’s features contracted as they always did at the mention of any thing connected with that portion of her life; but she bowed her head in token of assent and motioned the old woman to proceed, not trusting her voice lest it should startle the sick woman by the passion it betrayed.

“Below the lodge,” pursued Ahmo, “there stand two willow trees. Mahaska has not forgotten them.”

It was not likely; as a child she had played under their shadow; as a girl she had sat there weaving her wild visions; often in her sleep had she heard the rustle of the long branches as they swayed to and fro, to awaken, suddenly, almost believing for an instant that the events of the past had been a dream, and that she was still a girl in the old lodge on Orleans Island.

“Mahaska will find a little knot at the foot of the lower tree; let her dig it away and push back the bark—she will see a box that was Chileli’s, Mahaska’s mother—it is full of gold.”

Mahaska was not greatly surprised; she knew that in her mother’s lifetime Frontenac had paid a large sum to old Ahmo, but she always averred that it had been squandered among the tribe.

“How much gold has Ahmo there?” she asked.

The woman named the sum—it was much larger than Mahaska expected, and the avaricious greed in her soul woke at once.

“But why did Ahmo leave it there?” she demanded.

The woman returned some vague answer.

“Mahaska can get it,” she said.

82“But how? It will not be easy for Mahaska now to go so near Quebec. It would have been better to have brought the money when Ahmo came on to join the tribe.”

The old woman shook her head. The possession of that secret hoard had been one of the chief delights of her old age; nothing but the approach of death could have induced her to reveal her mystery even to her grandchild. She had bitterly lamented leaving it behind when she was forced to leave her home on the island, but she feared that it might be discovered by some watchful eye, and so concluded to leave it in its hiding-place.

“It may have been stolen,” Mahaska said.

“No, no,” returned Ahmo, with more energy than she had before betrayed; “Ahmo did her work well—even with the knowledge she has given her, Mahaska will find it hard to discover her gold.”

Mahaska was reflecting upon some means of placing the gold in her own possession. She had no one whom she chose to trust on an errand like that, while to go herself was an undertaking not at all agreeable to contemplate. The thought of increasing her wealth was delightful enough in itself, though there was a much broader passion than mere avarice reigning in her mind—the greater her wealth the more extended her influence. Gold and power—her soul centered its hopes on the two.

She looked at Ahmo and her heart softened again—she could not conceal from herself that the old woman was dying—a little time and she would be alone of all her race.

“Mahaska is not angry with Ahmo?” the woman demanded, rousing herself quickly.

“Angry? no! Mahaska loves Ahmo; her heart is knit fast to that of her grandmother.”

The old squaw’s face lighted up with a gleam of pleasure. She crept nearer to her grandchild and sheltered her head in the folds of her dress.

“Ahmo only kept her treasure secret to please her old age; it will be all Mahaska’s now.”

“Ahmo did well; Mahaska cares nothing for the gold, she would rather see her grandmother strong and vigorous than to possess all the gold the world could offer.”

83The old woman smiled; she was touched and gratified by these words of affection.

“Mahaska shall be happy,” she said, “because she is kind to the aged woman; she loves her grandame.”

“When the spring comes, Ahmo will grow strong again,” urged the granddaughter.

The woman lifted her head warningly.

“Ahmo will never see the snow fall again; let not Mahaska deceive herself.”

She supported herself against the furs and motioned Mahaska to sit by her side. She sat for a long time silently regarding her, then she said:

“Mahaska will be a great queen; Ahmo only wishes to live long enough to witness her marriage with the chosen brave of her tribe.”

“Ahmo will surely live,” Mahaska replied, more touched than she had thought to be by the scene.

“She believes so,” said the woman; “Ahmo will watch over her from the spirit-land; let Mahaska be content.”

At last she rose as well as her feeble strength would permit and tottered away—she pressed a last kiss upon her grandchild’s forehead and made a sign of farewell as she turned to move away.

“Mahaska will go with you,” she said

“No, no; Ahmo can still walk; she must keep her strength; she must live to see her grandchild go home to Gi-en-gwa-tah’s lodge.”

There never had been any further conversation between them on the subject, for the old woman died suddenly during the midst of the festivities which had followed the wedding of Mahaska. For a long time after that event Mahaska had been too much occupied with her own fortunes to devise any means for obtaining the coveted gold; but she had by no means forgotten the affair, and, during this expedition, she trusted to find an opportunity of approaching sufficiently near Quebec to go to the island of which her grandmother had spoken, in the hope of obtaining possession of the gold she had buried there, although she knew well that such an expedition would be very perilous and it might be impossible at the time.

84

91

Mahaska and her band of warriors rode into the Indian village with their chief a captive in their midst.

The people came out to meet them, and when the shouts of joy that greeted the queen’s return had died away, Gi-en-gwa-tah lifted his pinioned hands, and cried out:

“Behold the way in which your chief is treated! He comes among you, bound like a dog!”

“He suffers the disgrace of a traitor!” exclaimed Mahaska, “and the lips of the tribe shall pronounce upon him a traitor’s doom.”

The savages pressed about him in great confusion at the strange sight, and the words which the two had spoken.

“Gi-en-gwa-tah demands instant judgment!” cried the chief.

“The chiefs gave Mahaska command of the expedition,” said the woman, turning to the old men. “She has fulfilled 105their wishes. She is weary and will commune with her spirits; she asks that they may not meet in council till nightfall.”

The wily creature, it was apparent to her husband, desired to employ the interval in winning the principal warriors entirely to her cause.

“Let the council sit now!” exclaimed Gi-en-gwa-tah; “the chief is not to be kept bound at the bidding of a squaw.”

His violent words excited the interest and astonishment of the greater portion of those present. Their favorite chief and husband of their queen a prisoner and a traitor!

Old Upepah advanced, after a moment’s hesitation.

“I demand the council shall convene at once, for by delay to consult her dreams, this bad woman means to pour poison into your ears. I demand the council-fire to be lit now.”

“It shall be as the chief demands,” Upepah added.

“It shall not be!” shouted Mahaska, fairly beside herself, and fearful of the power which her husband’s eloquence would bring to bear against her.

“Mahaska is queen, not chief,” said Upepah. “She will not command now.”

“She will command. She will consult the prophet before she goes to the council. It shall be as she says; nor will she release this dog until he goes to the council.” She spoke with frenzied energy, and looked like a Nemesis of fury.

“She dares not go where Gi-en-gwa-tah will expose her wicked craft and tell the story of her past crimes. Let my people only hear me and her power is gone forever. She then becomes my squaw, and the Senecas shall be saved from the destruction which she is plotting. To the council-chamber!” The chief rose upon his horse, extending his pinioned hands to the sight of his braves and the chiefs. Upepah stepped forward, and, with his knife, severed the thongs which bound his wrists.

Unable longer to control herself, the infuriated woman hurled her tomahawk full at Gi-en-gwa-tah’s head, but it passed harmlessly by him and buried itself in the brain of old Upepah, who sunk to the earth a corpse!

“Seize her—seize her!” cried a dozen voices at once, maddened as they were at the atrocious deed. But she drew 106herself up proudly on the horse, her eyes flashing and scintillating like a serpent’s.

“Let him who wants to die,” she hissed, “but touch a hair of my horse’s mane. Guards!” she added, in a tone of imperious command, “see to it that that dog does not escape. I will be at the council-chamber at nightfall.” With that, she turned to ride away for the castle. It was the mistake of her life, to leave her husband there with the people whom he might harangue, and, over the dead body of the aged chief, might recall the Senecas to a sense of their baseness and humiliation in submitting to the tyranny of a woman. But, she could not do otherwise; for the dead Upepah was a power she dare not face, and she resolved to rely upon her own resources for any emergency that might arise.

Gi-en-gwa-tah, at the fall of the old man, had leaped from his horse, and was leaning over him when the queen rode away. The bloody tomahawk he placed in his own girdle. Then he gave orders for the removal of the body to the council-house. The guards still hovered around as if to execute the queen’s orders for his secure keeping, but he did not notice them, and no attempt was made for his seizure. Arrived at the council-lodge, the crowd paused while the body was borne within. None but chiefs entered, at first, but Gi-en-gwa-tah ordered the old warriors to enter and the young braves to surround the building, that they might hear all that was said—a very unusual proceeding, for the young men had never been permitted even to hear the discussions in the lodge.

All was still and solemn as the death-scene within demanded. Soon, however, the voice of Gi-en-gwa-tah broke the stillness. At first it was low and monotonous, as if but the expression of commonplace phrases; but soon it grew in volume, and the attentive crowd without caught his words. They were the words of one who spoke with great pain, of one whose own wrongs were past expression. The speaker suddenly paused, and all outside thought his speech ended. It was but a moment’s lull, for, like a thunder-burst, his cry of mingled scorn, anguish, and offended honor rose wild and high, penetrating even to the forest beyond the lodges. The savages were riveted to the soil by the tremendous fury of the speaker’s eloquence—were silent and motionless as the great oaks 107around. Higher and fuller rolled forth the volume of words. In the strong imagery of the Senecas’ figurative tongue, he painted not his own but his people’s abasement in permitting the will of a woman, proven to be artful as a serpent and as cruel as a wolf, to rule them. His language was, at times, that of resolution and defiance; then he uttered a reproof calculated to sting the Indians’ sense of honor; all at once, the picture of a nation humiliated by English insolence, bleeding from its feuds, sorrowing for its braves lost in an unholy contest against their old friends the French, sprung to vivid reality before their startled gaze, and the dread silence without was broken. A long, low howl, resembling a wail, broke over the masses; it was the wail of men roused to their danger and eager to retrieve it. Ere it had died away, the chief bent over, raised the body of the dead Upepah in his arms, held it aloft, crying in his loudest tones:

“As this body of our wise chief is a mark of the queen’s regard for our old men, it is but a type of the fate in store for the Seneca nation if she is permitted to exercise dominion over it. If it is your will to retain her as your ruler, then Gi-en-gwa-tah is a dog—a woman’s whelp—made to die by her hand as Upepah has died, and as others who oppose her will shall die. Let him die rather than live and see his people a lost, ruined, and disgraced race.”

He ceased, and stepping forth from the council-lodge, placed his hands together and shouted:

“Guards! do the duty of your queen, and make your chief a dog!”

Not one of the hundred chosen braves stirred; they stood abashed and awed before the noble man. Soon a murmur ran through the crowd of young men surrounding the lodge; some clutched their tomahawks and looked fiercely at the silent guards; others talked excitedly together; a powerful body gathered around Gi-en-gwa-tah, until he was encompassed by a human wall which it were dangerous for any person to attempt to penetrate. Within the council-chamber now arose the sound of voices engaged in dispute. Gi-en-gwa-tah listened. The chiefs were disagreed as to the course to be pursued. Some were for banishing the woman from their midst; some would have her slain; others would retain her, but 108deprive her of power. It was a moment of extreme pain to the chief; for soon surged up in his bosom his old love of the dazzling woman; she was the mother of his child, too; could he see his wife disgraced, driven away, or consent to her death? The struggle for a minute was fearful, for the cup was indeed bitter; but, there came back to him the last few days’ experiences—the remembrance of her scorn and galling insults—the knowledge of her duplicity and craft; and he was decided. She was no longer his wife—she was not the mother of his child, for she was a beautiful monster, as loathsome as a serpent and as treacherous.

“Guards!” he shouted, “bring hither Mahaska, the squaw of Gi-en-gwa-tah!”

The hundred men did not, for a moment, seem to comprehend the nature of the order.

“Dogs! I say, bring hither your woman master!”

The men moved slowly away to their task, for the fire in Gi-en-gwa-tah’s eyes, and the fierce temper sitting like a thunder-cloud on the features of the young braves surrounding him, proved to the guards that to disobey would be their own death-warrant.

They had not to proceed far, for Mahaska appeared on her way to the council. She was pale, and evidently intensely excited, though outwardly composed. Her dress was elaborate and gorgeous in the extreme, all the resources of her magnificent wardrobe having been taxed to add to her display. Evidently she knew what had transpired—some one of her body-guard probably having informed her of the proceedings—and she came forth realizing that the great and final crisis in her fortunes was to be faced. She was not unprepared; but, little did she know of the terrible strength of the elements against her.

Walking with a step of haughty independence, she passed on, the crowd giving way before her, and approached the lodge through an avenue of men. As she neared the entrance she confronted her husband, who stood with folded aims in her path.

“Away with you, dog—traitor—coward!” was her greeting.

She had determined, it was apparent, to carry her point by 109force—too proud, too defiant to yield, at that crisis evoked by her own fury.

The chief stepped not out of her way, but more completely before her.

“Gi-en-gwa-tah will no longer permit a squaw decked in gewgaws presented by the English hogs as the price of her baseness, to address him. Thus he disposes of these emblems of disgrace and treachery.”

He deliberately seized her coronet of feathers and dashed it to the earth; then her splendid cloak and trail of crimson velvet he stripped from her shoulders. She was speechless and powerless before this unexpected display of audacious assumption, but, recovering in a moment, she caught the jeweled dagger from her belt, and, quick as thought, aimed a blow full at his breast. His hand was too rapid in its movement, for he caught her wrist in his vice-like clutch, drew the poniard from her grasp, and threw it away. He unclasped from her arm its serpent wristlet of gold and blood-stone, wrenched from her neck the splendid necklace of pearls and crown diamond. This done, he led her unresistingly into the lodge. Proceeding to its center, he said:

“Here is the murderer of Upepah—the attempted betrayer of my tribe—the deceiver and impostor. Do with her as you will. Gi-en-gwa-tah repudiates her as his wife; she is no longer the mother of his child, and he casts her forth as the enemy of his race—the destroyer of his peace. Henceforth she is not even to him a slave. Gi-en-gwa-tah bids her away—away forever, for the door of his lodge is closed against her.”

With that he left her, disrobed and disowned, standing alone in the center of the circle, while he took his seat on the ground in the first rank allotted to the leading chiefs.

“It is well!” said the eldest of the chiefs.

“It is well!” was slowly and solemnly repeated in turn by every one of the circle save Gi-en-gwa-tah, who sat as one conscious of his triumph, but too dignified, too much afflicted by the events of the hour to betray his feelings further. He was as impassive in his grief and pain as a statue of bronze—as insensible as a rock.

Mahaska stood as one in a dream. So sudden, so unexpected, had been the act of Gi-en-gwa-tah, as to confound her, 110while the conscious justice of his act seemed to strike her nerves powerless. Then that line of faces, as hard and as dark as flint, all acting with one common impulse of sympathy and duty, convinced the queen that she had, indeed, passed from power and was a queen no longer. This consciousness was overwhelming; the long pent-up, warped and perverted woman’s nature asserted itself; tears, so strange, so almost unknown to her wild, fierce breast, welled up in her eyes and dropped upon her bosom; a low moan, something like a wail and a sigh, broke from her white lips; and, clasping her hands over her heart, she turned and walked slowly out of the lodge toward the castle. All eyes followed her, but not a soul approached, for all respect for and fear of her had not passed away in that act of dethronement and widowhood. She was alone in her sorrow, and was so absorbed by it as to be unconscious of all things else. Once or twice she paused, and, for a second, the old baleful light of uncontrolled passion would gleam in her eyes and redden her cheeks; but only for a second, for the deadly whiteness would quickly return, and, with a gasp, a smothered sob, a suppressed cry of anguish painful even to the dullest sense, she would hurry on, evidently eager to reach the shelter of her lake retreat. How hateful, how reproachful all looked to her now! Everywhere were tokens of her deception and treachery; every article of English gift was a silent witness of her duplicity; but amid them were the gifts of costly furs from her noble husband’s hands, and oh, how they rebuked her! Strange that never before this woman, so shrewd, so sagacious, so intellectual, had looked upon herself in her true light!

But, she saw it all now; and not more desolate was the lonely pine on the mountain, with the wind sobbing and shrieking through its branches, than the soul of that proud, crushed woman at that moment.

Proceeding at once to her chamber, where she had left her boy asleep, she found his little couch of furs vacant—he was gone—was not there to receive her parting kiss! Thus was the cup of her agony made full, but, in her self-abasement, she felt that it was just the outraged father should have removed him. Mahaska sunk upon a seat and gave way to her great grief. Ah, it was terrible to witness. Such grief could only 111come from the conscience-stricken, from the wretch conscious of his own debasement past all redemption. For an hour she remained in her fearful agony—not over her wrecked fortunes, over her lost empire, over the detection of her true character and her humiliating exposure, for all these things her fierce nature could bear; but that she was an outcast, scorned by the savage who had loved her like a Spartan, despised by the race among whom she had come as prophet and queen, and, more than all, that she, a mother, was childless as well as a banished, disgraced wife—all these made her hour of agony one passing all words to depict. That hour had one redeeming virtue—it proved that she was a woman, and taught us to know that beneath the fury of the most violent natures is a deep of humanity and purity which will assert itself at the propitious moment.

At length Mahaska arose, gathered up some of the child’s little garments and some of her own clothing, which she made up into a light bundle. Then she took from the drawer of her dressing-case a purse of gold, and her jewels, which she placed in her bosom. A tomahawk and jeweled dagger she cast upon the floor, but, thinking a moment, she picked up the dagger and placed it in her belt. This completed her preparations for the exile; like Hagar, she was banished, but, unlike the Jewess, she had no child to comfort her and to suffer with her. Bestowing one long, agonizing look upon the child’s bed, murmuring his name in tones of endearment, she passed out of the castle, by the door looking out upon the lake. Her canoe she pushed off the sands, and, entering it, swept off over the waters just as darkness began to make somber shadows in the forests. Away she sped—out into the gloom until suddenly she vanished from sight, whether swallowed up in the deep waters or caught up into the clouds the Senecas could not divine. They had watched her departure in awe and in fear, for their superstitious souls still were filled with images of her divinity; and when the canoe suddenly vanished it was only to confirm their impression of her league with spirits—whether with the good or the bad spirits, they did not care to say.

The next morning Mahaska’s canoe was seen floating on the bosom of the water in the center of the lake, but she was 112gone. It was brought to the shore and given to Gi-en-gwa-tah. The chief received it as a token of her final departure and placed it in the castle. Then he closed the building and it was left in all its loneliness, sitting upon the shore of the lake like a watcher daily and nightly awaiting for its mistress to come again, but she came not.

Mahaska, the Indian Queen, was no more.

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Crofton Boys. By ditto.

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British Wolf Hunters. By Thomas Miller.

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Emilie the Peacemaker. By Mrs. Geldart.

Truth is Everything. By Mrs. Geldart.

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Max Frere; or, Return Good for Evil.

Rainbows in Springtide.

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Florence the Orphan.

The Castle and Cottage. By Perring.

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Boy Life on the Water.

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—— —— —— —— 2nd series.

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Annie Price.

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Child’s Illustrated Poetry Book.

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Blanche and Agnes.

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The Gates Ajar.

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—— —— 2nd series.

Our Poor Neighbours.

Tales in Short Words.

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Language and Poetry of Flowers.

Stuyvesant.

Susan Gray.

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—— —— 2nd series.

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