"You stay here," she said, "I am going over to the village."
Fearlessly she walked over to where the line of village warriors were drawn up with their swords and spears.
"Hello," said Mary.
The warriors said nothing. Mary looked over the angry faces. Then she laughed.
"Nice bunch," she said. "Is this the way you welcome lady visitors?"
The warriors stirred uneasily. They did not say anything.
"Where is your chief?" asked Mary. "Surely he is not afraid to talk to me."
An old chief stepped out from behind the village warriors. To Mary's surprise he kneeled down in front of her.
"Ma," he said, "we thank you for coming. It is true we shot the young man, the young chief of those who have come to fight us. But it was one man who did it. The whole village was not at fault. Please make peace. Tell us what we must do."
Mary looked into the face of the chief. It was Chief Okurike. Long ago she had made a hard trip through the jungle in pouring rain to help when he was deathly sick. Because of what she had done then, he was now at her feet asking her to make peace. Mary shook hands with Chief Okurike. Then she spoke to his warriors.