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with high cheekbones, slanted eyes that looked faintly Oriental, and a nose that was merely strong now and would become dignified and possibly even imperious when she was older.
    "Thanks! I was beginning to think it was going to take the Jaws of Life to get me out of that jacket."
    "You're wearing a whole lot more clothing than you need to, Mrs. Jeffry."
    "I discovered that too late. And I'm Jane, by the way."
    "I'm Linda Moosefoot."
    "You're an Indian."
    "Yes, I know."
    Jane smiled. "I'm sorry. I should have known that you'd noticed."
    "You're trying very hard to figure out if I'm serious about my name, aren't you? It strikes people that way. But within the tribe, it's a common name. My brother always says we should just be happy it wasn't Elkballs or Badgerpiss."
    "Have I offended you by calling you an Indian? Do you prefer Native American?"
    "Oh, God! No! That's just trendy twaddle in my opinion. Anybody who's born in this country is a native American as far as I'm concerned. Your people might have originally come from Ireland or Germany or wherever and found my people already here, but only because we'd come over the land bridge from Siberia before that. Human beings are all immigrants on this half of the globe."
    "Why, that's a fascinating concept," Jane said.
    "Not original, I'm afraid. A college professor of mine said it and I recognized the truth of it."
    "Are you in college now?"
    Linda had gone to the closet and was unwinding the vacuum-cleaner cord. "Yes. I'm just helping out over the semester break. The Smiths are always looking for extra help over the holidays."
    "Do you go to college locally?"
    "No. Yale, actually."
    "That's a long way from home," Jane said.
    "In more ways than just geography," Linda replied. "You know what's best about being back? Nobody from around here thinks Moosefoot is a weird name. Everybody's gone to school with a Moosefoot or had one of the Moosefoot girls as a bridesmaid or employed a Moosefoot to put on their last roof. I'm not a token anything here. There are people at school who are forever trying to make me represent an entire race. Like I'm not entitled to individual habits and opinions and traits. You know, a professor—a grown man who should have known better—once said to me, "I didn't realize Indians were left-handed." "
    Jane laughed. "Boy, do I ever know what you mean! My dad traveled all over the world and took us along. I grew up being told that I was representing my whole country and that if I chewed my braids or didn't clean my fingernails, people would think all American girls were slobs. To my parents' credit, they didn't claim this was fair or right, just a fact of life."
    "Lots of facts of life aren't fair, I guess."
    "Am I keeping you from your work? I'm sorry. Tell you what. I need an excuse to sit down and get my breath before I trudge off again. Use the time you would have taken doing the girls' room and have a cup of coffee with me, would you? Doing their room would be a waste of time anyhow. They'll trash it again the minute they come back."
    "Sounds good to me," Linda said.
    When they were settled, Jane on the sofa, Linda back on the floor with Willard, Jane said, "Do you know there's some kind of demonstration going on at the main lodge?"
    "Oh, right. Is that today? You mean HawkHunter, don't you?"
    "What's it all about?"
    "Hmmm, I'm sorry to say I haven't followed it all closely enough to talk with any kind of authority. I've been working here since I started my break. Something about the Flattop."
    "The Flattop?"
    "The mountain—well, hill really—behind the resort. It's called that. Some of the elders seem to believe it was once a burial ground, I guess. I'd never heard that before, but I don't always pay as much attention to the old stories as I should. Anyway, HawkHunter's a lawyer, you know, and it's part of his contract with the tribe to represent their interests. They're afraid that somebody's going to build a ski lift and disturb the graves up