party threw the ball towards the space marked off, the others threw it
back again far over their heads, and then all ran back, each party
endeavoring to reach it first, that they might succeed in placing the
ball in the position which was to decide the game.

But the ball is not thrown by the hand, each woman has a long stick with
a circular frame at the end of it; this they call a bat stick, and,
simple as it looks, it requires great skill to manage it.

Wenona was the swiftest runner of one party, and Harpstenah, old and
ugly as she was, the best of the other. How excited they are! the
snow-covered hills, majestic and silent, look coldly enough upon their
sport; but what care they? the prize will soon be won.

The old medicine man cheered them on. "Run fast, Wenona! take care that
Harpstenah does not win the game. Ho, Harpstenah! if you and your
leggins are old, you may have the cloth yet."

Now Wenona's party is getting on bravely, but the ball has been caught
and thrown back by the other party. But at last it is decided. In the
struggle for the ball, Harpstenah received a blow from an old squaw as
dismal looking as herself, and Wenona catches the ball and throws it
into the appointed place. The game is ended, and the medicine man comes
forward to distribute the prizes.

The warriors have looked on, admiring those who were beautiful and
graceful, and laughing at the ugly and awkward.

But Wenona cared little for the prizes. She was a chief's sister, and
she was young and beautiful. The handsomest presents were given her, and