"Julian," Elizabeth said in a low voice.

"I'm just going to look for Richard," he mumbled as he stalked off.

"Don't be long," Katherine called after him, stepping in closer to Elizabeth.

"Remember your promise!" Elizabeth added, to which Julian waved a hand over his head without turning back. She realized that Julian's vow was long broken, and prayed that he wouldn't write scrips when his cash ran out. More uneasy than ever, she let her gaze wander once again through the crowds. There was no sign of Nathaniel anywhere; she could only hope that he would see her here on the knoll. She felt slightly dizzy with the tension of it all, and wished that they hadn't stopped.

"Do you know any of them?" Katherine asked with a sideways glance.

Glad of this distraction, Elizabeth turned her attention to the game. "There—that player, the very tall one who just passed the ball, that's Runs-from-Bears, from the Turtle clan."

The players had thrown themselves into a ferocious huddle in pursuit of a ground ball. With a grunt of satisfaction, one—a smaller man, but sleek and flexible—managed to get the ball into his net and lope off with the others close on his heels.

Elizabeth tried not to stare at the players, at their naked chests or the hard—muscled thighs which flashed from under the breech clouts as they ran. Mr. Witherspoon certainly would not approve; she imagined the long and tedious sermon he might preach, and hoped that Kitty would keep this outing to herself at home. But it was a very strange situation for two single women to be in; the specter of Aunt Merriweather's outraged face rose and was quickly put away.

There was a tugging at her arm, and she looked down.

"Hannah!"

Elizabeth was so pleased to see the little girl that she leaned down and hugged her, pressing a kiss on one cold cheek. Hannah smiled broadly at this greeting, and touched her fingers shyly to Elizabeth's face.

"Come," Hannah said, taking Elizabeth's gloved hand, and nodding at Kitty. "Come." She led them through a small group of old men who stood watching the game wrapped in blankets and fur robes, talking in low tones among themselves while they nursed long clay pipes. Their attention was fixed on the far end of the playing field, where the players were headed.

"Julian said to wait," Katherine protested, even as she followed along.

"Julian is paying us no mind at all," Elizabeth pointed out.

The village itself was a little collection of log cabins set in a frozen circle of fallow cornfields. At the center of all this stood a long house It was about the length of four cabins, constructed entirely of bark lashed together with rope of braided roots. Tendrils of smoke rose from vents in the roof, but there were no windows. A door faced the east and the playing field, hung with a tremendous bearskin worn hairless and almost transparent at the edges. Above it a turtle had been drawn in red paint on the bark.

On a prominent spot between the lodge and the playing field, just before the remains of a great fire, an old man sat on a blanket. In front of him was a great pile of goods: bundles of pelts, a very old flintlock musket, a collection of knives, an axe head without a handle, a bullet mold, a waistcoat of brocade, pieces of calico in various colors, a brace of rabbit, striped blankets, a lace shawl, glass and metal beads laid out carefully, a tied bundle of tobacco, a statue of the Virgin Mary, and a copper kettle. In a semicircle around the old man and his treasures, a group of women stood watching the game. Elizabeth was relieved to see Falling—Day and Many-Doves coming toward them.

"Please," Falling—Day said, her dark eyes bright with welcome. "You honor us by coming to watch baggataway on the last day of Midwinter. Please sit." She was gesturing to another blanket.

"We can only stay another few minutes," Katherine said to her, distantly. "We have to be going very soon."

Elizabeth took Katherine's arm, squeezed it hard.

"Thank you so much for your thoughtfulness," she said. "But we would really like to watch."

They joined the women, who nodded at them impassively with hooded eyes before they turned back to watch their sons and brothers and husbands.

The old man was certainly the most ancient human being Elizabeth had ever seen, older even than Chingachgook. One of his eyes was covered with a milky gray substance, and his long hair had thinned to a baby—fine white. But he watched the game with a keen interest and awareness that made it clear that he was not feeble.

"That is my great—grandfather," Hannah whispered to Elizabeth. "He is the clan elder here, he looks after the wagers."

"What is your great—grandfather's name?"

"Gau'yata'se," Many-Doves answered for Hannah, coming up beside Elizabeth. "Sky—Wound—Round." And that is my uncle." She indicated another older man, who paced the edge of the river. "He is the keeper of the faith, called Bitter—Words."

Elizabeth watched as Bitter—Words raised a turtle's—shell rattle above his head to the rising cadence of his song. His whole body moved with the rhythm, and each step was accompanied by the music of shell necklaces and strings of animal teeth hanging from his neck and wound around his waist and knees. On his head was a complex headdress in the likeness of a fox.

There was a gasp from the crowd and Elizabeth turned to see the small, lean player darting from one end of the field to the other, leaving his pursuers behind to send the ball flying; it made contact with a large boulder with a satisfying smack. There was a rustling among the observers and a great deal of more animated discussion.