At the steady gait of a forest runner, it took him less than two hours to reach the broad chestnut above the pool he had visited after he had fled Edentown-the only mark he had recognized on the map made in the library that morning. The old Indian was praying beside the huge tree, his hand on a root, but surprise froze his tongue a moment as Duncan silently knelt beside him. A wise and kind grin rose on his wrinkled face. As Conawago resumed his prayer, Duncan produced several leaves of tobacco and began gathering wood for a fire, watching the sky as he worked, wondering how long it would be to first snow. It would take them at least a month if they were to visit all of the ancient trees Conawago had marked on his map.