Chapter 8 No.8

From each Moya thronged the dwellers:

"Hath the chief the arrows sent?"

"I am Chief; behold me; trust me.

Lead me to your ruler's tent."

"He hath not the shafts enchanted;

Thus unarmed came never chief!"

Bent a thousand bows around him:

"Back or die, impostor, thief!"

Angry, yet afraid to anger,

Lest he lose those "Laughing-Eyes,"

He, obeying, vowed to conquer;

Scorning to make vain replies,

Went; and weary seemed the journey!

All along the yellow plain

Red as rose-leaves in the grasses

Flushed his dusky cheeks with pain.