---

"Come on," Randy called near the end of lunch period. "We've got to move it if we're going to get to class on time."

Brant dropped from the rings, falling when his foot twisted under him. Randy lifted him, seeing the expression of pain. "What is it?"

"I think I sprained my ankle."

"Scheisse!"

He picked up Brant and carried him to the showers, supporting him as they showered, then helped him dress. Dependent on his injured foot to carry most of his weight, Brant almost fell when he tried to walk.

"I think I'd better take you home."

"No way. I can't miss English with the exam coming up next week and you can't either. Get me to class and maybe Mr. Nowell will let us skip practice."

Ignoring the looks and whispers, Randy carried Brant through the halls to the classroom and placed him in his seat, taking his own next to him. When the bell rang ending the period, Randy sought Mr. Nowell's permission for them to leave and returned for Brant.

A member of the basketball team loitered outside the door to the parking lot. Unhappy with the string of losses the team had suffered, his anger surged at the sight of Randy who openly scorned the sport, despite his skill.

"Big chief got'um sweet papoose now?" His lips puckered in a kissing sound.

Randy flushed with anger, but Brant slipped from his arms and gut-punched the taller boy so unexpectedly that he was able to land a clip to his chin before the boy could react. They fell together, Brant on top. When Randy pulled him up, Brant kicked the prone figure.

Randy snatched Brant up, carried him quickly to the Mercedes and lifted him in. "Jesus! I thought you were going to kill him. What got into you?"

"If I'd got him where I wanted, he'd be singing soprano," Brant flared. "I'm no sweet papoose and you're no big chief. Nobody's going to put you down like that."

Randy grinned uncertainly. "In spite of what my old man says, I think I got myself a tiger. I just hope nobody saw you."

He drove to the university and parked in a reserved space next to his father's Bentley. Telling Brant to wait, he ran into the nearest building and immediately returned with his father, who drove them to the infirmary in his car.

The physician examined the injured ankle and taped it, advising Brant to stay off it a day or two. When Brant objected, he turned to von den Acker. "Bill, can you make sure he stays in bed?"

Brant broke in. "If I try to keep most of my weight on my prosthesis and use crutches, can I go to classes? It's almost time for our English exam and I can't afford to miss a class."

"It's no problem. I can carry him up and down the stairs," Randy added.

"Very well, then," the doctor agreed, "but be sure to watch your stump for pressure injury. That prosthesis badly needs refitting."

Randy carried Brant to the car. Once Randy's father had taken his seat, Brant leaned forward. "I'm sorry I bothered you, sir. I know you were busy."

"Nonsense. I'm never too busy for you or Sequoyah."

After they changed back to Randy's car, Randy drove straight home and put Brant in bed. He wrapped an icepack around the swelling ankle, then lay propped up on a pillow beside him. "You destroyed my illusion."

"What illusion?"

"Warrior protecting his little brother. You turned it around and defended me."

"Don't Indians have any little warriors?"

"Well ..." Randy shrugged.

"Well, hell! I love you, you silly redskin. I may be a lot smaller than you, but I'm not going to hang on you for everything."

"Wish I could remember the Cherokee word for a weasel."

"Why?"

"'Cause that's what I'd call you. You're little, quick, and vicious like one."

"I had a good teacher."

The phone stopped Randy's intended retort. His face grew hard as he listened. Finally he replied sharply, "He's here, but he can't come in this afternoon because the doctor put him to bed. If he's able tomorrow, we'll see." He slammed the receiver down.

"What?"

"Dumb-assed headmaster. Somebody reported the fight so he tried to get your folks. When they didn't answer, he called to see if I knew where you were. You'll probably get a week's suspension." Brant could tell from his expression that he'd begun to scheme. "Hey, when we go in tomorrow, you've got to be the most pitiful thing he ever saw. I mean I want to see tears. Leave off your leg and I'll carry you."

"You'll have to carry me anyway, but I don't like it."

"You want to get suspended? No way!" Seeing the doubt on Brant's face, Randy hugged him. "Come on, I'm kidding."

That evening Brant lay propped against the pillows reading while Randy sat in his recliner scribbling notes on a legal pad. Randy's father knocked on the door and entered. After checking on Brant, he took the desk chair, looking at them mischievously. "Now that I have both the redskin and the paleface captive for a while, I want to know what thought they've given to their further education."

They exchanged glances and answered together that they intended to apply to the university.

"Excellent. What about your majors?"

"You know that, dad. Cultural anthropology majoring in Cherokee culture with you, and I want to keep studying organ with Rex until Doctor Steiner can take me."

"And you, Brant?"

The boy looked at him thoughtfully. "I thought about biology or math, but I've decided to go for the same as Randy so we can work together. I want to keep up my music with Doctor Hilton, too."

Delight spread across von den Acker's face. "With the interest you've shown in Sequoyah's heritage, you can't know how I've wanted to hear you say that, Brant. But are you absolutely certain about cultural anthropology?"

"Randy said something about your working with somebody who studies skeletons. I've had chemistry, two years of biology, and I'm taking anatomy and physiology this year, so I thought it would work in."

"Sequoyah was speaking of my colleague Mark Ahrens who is a physical anthropologist."

"Hey, that would be great. You can major in physical while I'm majoring in cultural, that way we'll compliment each other in our work." Randy exclaimed.

"I thought anthropology was just one subject."

"No, physical and cultural are the two main areas, but there are a number of subspecialties. I don't suppose Sequoyah has mentioned them."

"No, sir."

"There are historical, evolutionary, theoretical, and, of course, osteology of which forensic which is a sub-specialty."

"What's that?"

"Osteology is the study of bones to determine if they are human. A physical anthropologist can determine the sex, age, height, ethnic group, and more from examining bones. Forensic indicates that he can often determine when and how someone died by studying the skeletal remains. The police sometimes request the help of forensic anthropologists when they find human remains which have deteriorated beyond the point where a pathologist can make a determination."

"That sounds like fun. I like mysteries."

"Then I'll lend you some of the nice little mysteries by Aaron Elkins in which a forensic anthropologist solves the murders. You might find them entertaining."

"Gee, thanks."

Randy shuddered. "No way poking around dead people is fun.'

Von den Acker smiled at Randy. "You still have the Indian attitude towards the dead, I see."

"Not likely to change either. Tell him the two other subspecialties, dad."

"Odontology which concentrates on the study of teeth and caprolite."

"Yuck!" Randy pretended to retch.

Brant looked at him. "What's that one?"

Randy's nose turned up. "Fossilized shit."

"You're kidding?"

After giving his son a censorious look, von den Acker explained. "It's the study of dried or fossilized faeces, Brant, useful in determining what people of long ago ate, which tells us even more about how they lived."

Brant gulped." No thanks. I think I'd rather go with physical anthropology and maybe add forensic studies. It sounds more interesting. Are there a lot of people in that area, sir?"

"No. As opposed to forensic medicine, it's a very specialized group. As I remember, there are only about fifty in this country who are certified by the American Board of Forensic Anthropologists. Should you decide to pursue that option, you would be in demand as a teacher as well as on occasion by law enforcement agencies. In addition to your biology, you will also have to learn as much physiology and anatomy as a medical doctor, perhaps more. You will absolutely have to get as much study in DNA as possible."

"Why DNA? I thought that was fairly new stuff."

"It really isn't that new, but before DNA testing and what it allows us to determine, anthropologists kept human remains catalogued and stored for eventual study. It was a lengthy time consuming process. Now, tiny samples are taken and compared with information already available in computer databases. The remains are returned to the peoples for proper burial. In recent years, anthropologists have had to develop an appreciation of ethnic sensibilities. But from what you've said, I think you would do well in it. Are you absolutely certain in making such a choice?"

"Yes, sir. What you've already taught me and your collection of artifacts helped me make up my mind."

"You know that you'll have to continue through a PhD, because you must have connection with a university in order to gain creditability, though some anthropologists now work with major museums. Even so, teaching will be only a small part of it. You will face periods of working in some isolated places without amenities. Occasionally you might supervise an excavation, which requires good public relations with and sensitivity toward people of cultural backgrounds quite different from yours."

"I thought digging up things was archeology."

"Archeology is basically concerned with buildings, however, for a cultural anthropologist it is one more facet of the way people lived. Thus archeology and linguistics are the other major areas which can fall under the heading of anthropology. As you can see, it's a very broad subject. Within the narrow areas of specialization, anthropologists frequently cross lines, which is why I sometimes get involved with excavation sites. You probably think of fossils when you think of a dig, but the digs I sometimes work on are of a much later period. But, as I've said, the lines between the various specialties often blur, something I frequently have a difficult time making some of my students understand. I'm always eager when I know the area under excavation was inhabited by the Cherokee people. I'm most often referred to as an Indianist because I limit my study to one enthic group, which includes all facets of their culture and language."

"Is that what you want to be, Randy?"

"Yeah."

"I know Randy knows a lot more about Native Americans than I ever will, but the stories he tells are really interesting. Maybe I'd better find out how many of 'em are lies."

"Knowing my son, I suspect quite a few."

"Aw, come on, dad. Everything I've told Brant has been true, except for the legends."

"I'm glad you haven't tried to mislead him, because I'd hate to think he's chosen anthropology and, perhaps, become an Indianist because of some of your wild stories. But as I was about to say, Brant, the more you get into the study the more interesting I think you'll find it, just as I did. I'm delighted that you want to continue your music also. It's a marvelous avocation and Hank has been quite insistent that I encourage you both to take a double major. Since it's time to make your applications, we should get started. I can do Sequoyah's with no trouble and I'll be happy to help you, unless your father ..."

"Thanks, sir. Dad would say I'm old enough to do it myself. I guess I am, but at least I won't make any stupid mistakes with your help."

"Then I'll need quite a bit of information from you."

He pulled the forms from his briefcase and uncapped his pen. It went well until he reached the question regarding discipline.

"I may get suspended tomorrow," Brant admitted shamefacedly and related the event.

von den Acker fixed his son with steely eyes. "And what little scheme have you worked up to try to get Brant out of this?"

"Me?" Randy asked in feigned innocence.

"In spite of my neglect of you in the past, I'm not totally ignorant of your activities."

"Great White Father have heap big magic. Know what Indian think before Indian do."

"Cut the act, Randall," his father snapped. "You know damned well this is serious and it's Brant instead of yourself. Brant, shall I take you home and talk with your parents?"

Brant shook his head. "They aren't home. Dad has a meeting in Charlotte tonight and tomorrow, and mom went with him. They wouldn't talk about it anyway. I'd just catch hell later."

As Randy's father began to question him and fill out the form, the enormity of a disciplinary action noted on his college application hit Brant.

"Will this affect my acceptance?" He asked, anxiety filling his voice.

von den Acker looked up. "The admissions committee will certainly note it if it's included, but after I talk with the headmaster I doubt that will be necessary. If I have to include it on your application, I will indicate that it resulted from a racial situation which, as you know, is illegal. The university will certainly dismiss it as not worthy of consideration, just as I expect they will treat most of the infractions Sequoyah has committed for the same reason. I know several members of the admissions committee and I can certainly explain the situation to their satisfaction. Don't worry about it."

He frowned in thought then picked up the phone and punched in the number of his secretary.

"Marge, von den Acker here. Sorry to bother you at home, but I want you to cancel my nine o'clock lecture tomorrow. I should be in about about nine-thirty." He replaced the receiver and looked at them. "I'll go to school with you and talk to the headmaster myself. Sequoyah, make sure Brant gets some rest."

After Randy's father left the room, Brant sighed in relief. "He's wonderful."

"Until he calls me Randall, then I know it's going to hit the fan." He looked sheepish. "I'm glad he's going. I've probably pulled a few too many for Watson to believe anything I say."

In preparation for the meeting, the secretary laid three cumulative folders on the headmaster's desk. He swallowed the last of his coffee with a grimace and sat down. He was well acquainted with Randy's folder from past sessions. Without opening it he knew that written across the top of the personal record was 'severe identity crisis' with a later notation 'misanthropic tendencies.' Knew also that though the conditions demanded professional help, neither he nor the school's overworked counselor had pursued the matter, not from lack of caring, but from their lack of knowledge of Native Americans.

The registration form used when Randy's parents entered him in school indicated Native American as race and his registry in the Eastern Band of the Cherokee. Subsequent notes from teachers for his first five years of school were all complaints about his use of a mix of languages, none of which, other than his oddly accented English and an occasional word of Spanish, they could identify. Their one attempt at a parent conference when Randy was in the second grade had been frustrated by his parents' frequent comments to each other in the language Randy seemed to use most. The counselor's follow-up report noted that she found Randy's father imperious, his mother completely submissive to her husband. After that, it had been deemed easier to leave things as they were, though Randy was often in the office for various minor offences, most often resulting from his physical reaction to racial comments from other students.

The headmaster stifled a groan as he looked up to see Dr. von den Acker following Brant and Randy into his office. He had found the man difficult in the past, as with most parents usually protesting their child's innocence despite the truth.

The boy Brant had attacked had entered a few moments earlier and taken a straight chair in which he sat rigidly, his chin discolored. He and Brant exchanged hostile looks as Randy sat Brant down.

Without waiting for the headmaster to speak, Randy's father immediately took charge. "I am Doctor Willem von den Acker, Randall's father and acting in loco parentis for Brantford. It's evident that as a result of his fall in the gymnasium yesterday Brantford cannot walk except with the aid of crutches and that after medical attention. Now I wish to know about this nonsense of suspension."

His words, icy as his expression, intimidated the headmaster who turned to the other boy. "Mike, are you sure it was Brant who attacked you?"

Mike flared with anger. "Yeah, that's the little bastard. That Indian was carrying him around."

"I suggest that you moderate your language, young man and that Indian, as you put it, happens to be my son."

"Doctor von den Acker, please," the headmaster interjected, "he had to obtain treatment also."

Considering the size of the boy, von den Acker asked in surprise, "For what?"

"It seems that Brant kicked him and bruised a couple of his ribs. The doctor has him taped so tightly he can hardly breathe."

"Then may I be privileged to hear his version of what happened?"

"There isn't any. Mike said he was coming in the building when Brant jumped him for no reason. Besides, I want to know where they were going. They know they require permission to leave the school grounds during class hours."

"One thing at a time," von den Acker snapped. "Considering that Brantford cannot walk, I doubt the use of the word jumped. In any event, Randall had permission from Mr. Nowell to take Brantford to the university's infirmary for examination. Now, I suggest that you determine precisely what Michael said when he saw Randall carrying Brantford to his car."

The headmaster stifled another groan as he shifted his gaze to the boy. "Well?"

Mike squirmed before another twinge of pain arrested his motion. This wasn't going as he expected. "Didn't say nothin'."

"Liar!" Brant shouted.

von den Acker squeezed his shoulder. "Hush."

"I'm waiting, Mike," the headmaster said, praying he wouldn't have to suspend one of the school's best athletes.

"I ... I was just joking."

"What-did-you-say?" von den Acker thundered.

The humiliation of being bested by a boy half his size and crippled as well brought his anger surging forth. "I said, 'Big Chief got'um papoose.' So what? Everybody knows they're queer the way that Indian carries him around like a baby when he's got two legs of his own."

Randy turned crimson and screamed a curse in Cherokee at Mike. His father whipped around with a shocked expression. "I can't believe you said that." Then, turning back to face Mike, he continued, "As you are totally ignorant of Native American culture, and disregarding your intent of a racial epithet, permit me to enlighten you, if that's possible. A papoose is an infant of Native American heritage, but Brantford is neither and to imply that he is, especially in the presence of a Native American, is deliberately insulting to both.

"The title 'Chief' to the Cherokee carries precisely the same connotation as 'Mr. President' does to the chief executive of the United States. In fact, the chief of the Cherokee is elected in a democratic vote in which all members of the clans participate. A process used in the clans before the establishment of the democratic system in this country. However, unlike the United States, the Cherokee allowed women equal rights from the beginning. The way you have used the term is demeaning.

"Brantford and my son have a close friendship. I am neither surprised nor disturbed that one would stand up for the other. I am surprised, however, that it was Brantford rather than my son who responded to your insults so quickly.

"The term queer has no literal meaning in the way you used it, but you have apparently drawn the conclusion that they must be homosexual simply because Brantford's arm was around Randall's neck which is normal when one is being carried, but you have no factual basis for such an opinion." He turned to the headmaster. "As Michael received medical attention, I'll see that he is reimbursed."

"There's no need. The students are insured."

"That's just as well, then. I will not accept a suspension of Brantford, and should you be so foolish as to pursue the matter, I believe we have adequate grounds for legal action based on racial slurs; lack of adequate supervision in the use of athletic equipment; and, if I think a bit, I'm certain I can add to the list."

The headmaster blanched at the thought of what the school's trustees would have to say if there were a law suit. "Of course not. I mean now that I know what happened, the boys should go to class at once. My secretary will write them passes."

"There are two things more. Brantford will be able to walk only with great difficulty for a few more days and, as there is no lift in the building, a wheelchair would be impractical. Randall will carry him to each class. If he is late to his own classes as a result, this will be excused. As seventh hour is a practice period for both of them, unless they have music lessons, I shall expect him to carry Brantford home at that time so that he may return to bed until the physician permits him to return to normal activity."

"Of course," the headmaster said, agreeable to anything which would speed the departure of Randy's father.

"Damn, the old man was pissed." Randy said on their way to class.

"How do you know?"

"He was on his soap-box about Indians. He never talks that way outside of his lectures unless he's really mad."

"I guess he was. What did you say to that guy that upset your dad?"

"I just gave him the worst Cherokee insult I could think of."

"So why did your dad look so shocked?"

"It's involved and doesn't work out in translation, but the old man knew what I meant."

"Oh."