Amazed, Elizabeth listened as Robbie translated at a whisper beside her. She had not imagined Otter to be capable of such a speech, or thought of herself in such terms. Her impulse was to drop her head in embarrassment, but there was a stronger urge, too, one of self—preservation, and she kept her gaze firmly on the sachem, who gave Otter his whole attention.

"My grandmother," Otter continued. "My grandfather, my family. May I speak for this woman, who is my sister? I ask for this privilege because her husband, my brother, cannot speak for her."

"I can speak for myself," Elizabeth muttered, but Robbie's hand tightened on her shoulder, and she bit her lip.

Otter glanced at Elizabeth. "Grandmother is right, Bone—in—Her—Back has been beaten. But not by our brother. She tells the truth: she was on her way to find help for her husband when she was attacked."

With the realization that Otter was about to tell the story that Elizabeth knew no words for, she felt her skin rise up in fear. "Please," she said softly, but Otter ignored her.

"To keep her from her errand, he beat her until she bled," Otter said, his voice certain and strong. "And she killed him, with her own hands she killed him, in order to return to her husband."

"Did you see this?" asked the sachem. "Did you see her kill this man?"

"No," said Otter. "But I saw the man, and I saw what he did to her."

"Please," said Elizabeth, no longer able to hold back. "Please, may I see him?" Robbie pulled her closer to him, hushed her softly. "Courage, lass," he whispered. "Let the boy talk, for he does ye naucht but good."

"Onhka?" asked the old woman, her face creased with doubt. Who?

"Lingo," said Otter and with that single word, his agitation left him, flowed out and transferred itself to the entire crowd. The men pressed closer. One of them, wearing a headdress fashioned from the entire pelt and skull of a wolf, pushed to the front. His face was painted in great vertical stripes of red and white and in his eyes Elizabeth read doubt.

"The man called Lingo is no man," he said. "He is a ghost. He walks with the Windigo," he concluded, and there was a sigh that rose up from the assembly like the sparks of the fire, disappearing into the night.

"Sachem," said Otter to Stone—Splitter. "He walks no longer. I have seen his blood on the ground."

The old woman raised her voice. "If our warriors have never been able to kill the ghost called Lingo," she said, "then this white woman cannot have done such a thing. Unless she is Wataenneras."

Elizabeth did not know this word, but Robbie's indrawn breath told her it was not good to be called such a thing.

"She is no Wataenneras," Otter said. "Her medicine is good."

Elizabeth said, "Otter. Tell this woman, your grandmother, something that she knows already. Tell her that a woman's righteous anger has its own magic."

Otter hesitated, and then did as she asked.

In the old woman's eyes there was a flickering.

"Do you have proof of this?" Stone—Splitter asked.

Without turning toward her, Otter said, "Show them."

Elizabeth stepped back, shaking her head. With one hand she clutched the front of her shirt.

Robbie leaned toward her. "Ye mun show them proof o' wha' ye claim, lass, 'gin ye wish tae see Nathaniel. Ye've no' convinced the woman, and wit hoot her word ye'll get nae further."

But still, she hesitated. Somewhere in the shadowy long houses Nathaniel lay, waiting for her. Within touching distance. Within calling distance. Could he hear this, what they said of her, what Otter had told? It did not matter, for by tomorrow he would hear it, if not from her, then from others. To claim her husband she must first claim Jack Lingo. For all eternity, he would belong to her as surely as Nathaniel did. They wanted to see evidence not only of Lingo's death, but of her pride in this deed; they wanted Lingo's scalp. She felt the point of his knife at her eye, and for a moment she truly wished she had it to show them.

Elizabeth pulled the chain from her shirt and held up the coin between two fingers so that it flashed in the firelight. When she could take her eyes away from that sight, she saw something on the old woman's face which surprised her. A new and grudging respect, and something else, something in the way she drew back, and held herself. Perhaps it was envy, or perhaps fear.

"She killed Lingo with his own rifle," said Otter, holding this up, too, now that Elizabeth had made her claim. The barrel gleamed red—brown in the firelight. This is why Otter had insisted on taking it, as proof. Vous et nul autre. She could look at it, now, without her gorge rising.

Otter said: "Bone—in—Her—Back has walked many days to find her husband. Will you take her to him now?"

The old woman turned away from the fire. At a nod from the sachem, Elizabeth followed her, alone.

* * *

There were three long houses set at angles to each other. The great expanse of their curved and ribbed sides reminded Elizabeth of the skeleton of a whale she had seen on the shore off the New—York harbor, blazing white against a blue—green sea. Almost a year ago, that had been. She wondered at this, that it could be true.

The old woman was hesitating before a bearskin door, watching Elizabeth.

"I am Ohstyen'tohskon," she said. "This is the long house of the Wolf, and I am Kanistenha here." Clan Mother.