Chapter EighteenThey gathered where three white oak trees cast a long shadow over a hollow in the ground. The warriors came in single file, threading through the trees or trotting across the grasslands of the prairie. They came in tens and dozens and scores; the tribes had sent their young men to war.
With painted faces and bodies, with feathers and beads, with loin-cloths flapping above muscular thighs, and carrying spears, war-clubs or bow and arrows, the fighting men collected around the three white oaks.
Sometimes the young men snarled at each other as the rival tribes squabbled over ancient grievances, but always they looked to the three people who waited under the three white oaks, and they were quietened without bloodshed. On the left was Chumani, serene of face whatever she felt
