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there. When word got out that Bill Smith was at the point of selling the resort, I guess somebody got concerned that the new buyers would do something like that."
    "But Mr. Smith wouldn't have?"
    "Oh, no. Bill has always been good to the tribe and the tribe's been good to him. He's an old-timer, you know."
    "I haven't met him. Is he elderly?"
    "He is, but I didn't mean that. I meant in the sense of being an old-fashioned Colorado type. Live and let live. Mind your own business. Don't antagonize your neighbors. Help without asking for thanks. Don't try to reform anybody. It's a very distinct mind-set. Anyway, he has it. And if he'd wanted to build a ski lift and the tribe said there were graves there, he'd have just respected it without question. But nobody knows about some unknown buyer. The tribe's unhappy that Bill's retiring, but nobody would butt into his business."
    "But HawkHunter is doing exactly that, isn't he? Butting in, I mean."
    "Well, yes, I guess he is."
    "Look, Linda, I'll be honest with you. The reason I'm interested is because my friend's husband is one of the investors who are considering buying the resort."
    "Oh, I knew that already. But thanks for being up front about it."
    "So what does HawkHunter want? What's the point of the demonstration down at the lodge? To scare the investors off?"
    "Oh, no, I don't think so. All he wants is something attached to the deed—that's not the term, but you know what I mean—a rider or something that makes any subsequent buyers have to respect the holy significance of the land and not put up buildings or roads there."
    "Is that legal?" Jane asked, not mentioning that this simple-sounding request wasn't what Tenny had said HawkHunter wanted.
    "Well, I guess it must be. HawkHunter's a lawyer."
    "Then why doesn't Mr. Smith add it to the deed? You just said he had a good relationship with the tribe and would respect their feelings."
    Linda scratched Willard's ears and made him mumble with pleasure. "You ask good questions and I'm sorry I don't really have the answers. All I know about this is what I've overheard my mom and dad say. I think—but don't quote me on this—I think Bill doesn't believe there are graves up there. And my own guess is that he doesn't think it's fair to bind future owners to anything that the law doesn't already require. That's just based on what I know of him."
    "The live-and-let-live, the-less-government-the-better view?" Jane asked.
    "Exactly."
    "What do you think of HawkHunter? What's he like?" Jane succumbed to the lure of gossiping about celebrities.
    "Have you met him?" Linda asked with a grin.
    "No."
    "Then wait until you do, and ask me again if you need to."
    "What in the world do you mean by that?"
    "You'll see," Linda said, getting up and taking their empty coffee cups to the kitchen. "Now I really do have to get back to work."

    Wearing a good deal less bulky clothing, Jane set out again on her walk. She had a short, pleasant visit with the green-eyed white cat, who prissily picked its way over some crusted snow, arched its back for a quick pet, and meowed dismissal before moving on. Jane couldn't imagine her slothful cats at home getting along in all this snow. She had to shovel a path for them to the back of the yard when it snowed or they wouldn't go out at all.
    Jane discovered why the "mountain" was called Flattop as soon as she got a little farther up the road. It looked like a little mountain ridge that some gigantic hand had leveled off. The resort's only ski slope was on the near side. It was a learner slope with a mild, smooth incline. A mob of people, mainly children, were all over it like brightly clad, but very awkward, ants. A rope looped on a line of stakes enabled them to claw their way back up the slope to keep making practice runs. Among the learners, a trio of obvious experts busily gave advice, helped them to their feet, reattached skis, and generally taught the basics of skiing.
    Jane, who had once tried to teach a