The shaman circled Sam, inspecting. He grunted his approval and started off, leaving Sam to fall in behind him. They walked upslope from the lake, past the sweat lodge, and onto a path that led into the trees. Just after the ground began to slope downward again they emerged from the trees, and entered a natural amphitheater ringed by fir and pine trees that reached more than thirty meters toward the darkening sky. Dusk had already settled in the clearing, and the people assembled there were little more than dark, lumpy shapes in the twilight. Their low talk stopped when Sam and Howling Coyote appeared. The old shaman stopped and raised his arms. At his gesture, fire kindled in stacks of wood set at the cardinal points; the flickering light grew to fill the clearing Sam was surprised and amazed by the number of people present. Howling Coyote had told him that he was sending a call, saying that the Dance was not something for only a few. But Sam had not expected so many. He was no expert, but from the variety of ritual costumes he was sure there were shamans from each of the nations of North America. The assembled shamans and their attendants wore a wide variety of garb, some fancy, some plain. All wore ghost shirts decorated with sun and moon symbols as well as circles, crosses, and stars. Though most: of the shirts were buckskin, a few were muslin like Sam’s. The cloth shirts seemed to belong exclusively to the Anglos, Asians, and Blacks present.