She looked down at Max disapprovingly. "At any rate, we can't have him in school in those clothes.
He’ll have to wear proper clothes like the other children."
"Yes, ma'am," Sam said. He turned to Max. "Come on," he said. "We're goin' to the store to get you regular clothes."
"While you're at it," she said, "get him a haircut.
That way, he won't seem any different from the others."
Sam nodded.
He knew what she meant.
"I will, ma'am," he said.
"Thank you, ma'am."
Max trotted along beside him as they strode down toward the general store.
He looked up at his father. It was the first time he had thought about it.
"Am I different than the others, Pa?"
Sam looked down at him. It was the first time he'd thought about it, too.
A sudden sadness came into him.
He knelt down in the dust of the street beside his son.
He spoke with the sudden knowledge that came from living off the earth.
"Of course you're different," he said, looking into Max's eyes. "Everybody in this world is different, like there are no two buffalo alike or no two mules. Everybody is alike an' yet everybody is different."
By the end of Max's first year in school, the teacher was very proud of him.
Much to her surprise, he had turned out to be her best pupil.
His mind was quick and bright and he learned easily.
When the term ended, she made sure to get Sam's promise that his son would return in the fall.
When the school closed down for the summer, Max brought his clothing back from Olsens' and settled down.
During that first week, he was kept busy repairing all the damage done to the cabin by the winter.
One evening, after Max had gone to bed, Kaneha turned to her husband. "Sam," she said in English.
Sam almost dropped the leather harness on which he had been working.
It was the first time in all their years together that she had called him by name.
Kaneha felt the blood rush into her face. She wondered at her temerity.
Squaws never spoke to their husband except in reply.
She looked down at the floor in front of her.
"It is true that our son has done well in the school of the White Eyes?" She could feel his gaze boring into her.
"It's true," she heard his voice reply.
"I am proud of our son," she said, lapsing into Kiowa.
"And I am grateful to his father, who is a mighty hunter and great provider."
"Yes?" Sam asked, still watching.
"While it is true that our son learns many things in the school of the White Eyes that make mighty medicine, there are things also that he learns that disturb him greatly." "Such as?" Sam asked gently. She looked up into his face proudly. "There are some among the White Eyes who say to our son that he is less than they, that his blood does not run red like theirs."
Sam's lips tightened.
He wondered how she would know this.
She never came into town, she never left the place.
He felt a vague guilt stir inside him. "They are stupid children," he said.
"I know," she said simply.
He reached out his hand and touched her cheek gratefully.
She caught his hand and held it to her cheek.
"I think it is time we send our son to the tents of the mighty chief, his grandfather, so that he may learn the true strength of his blood."
Sam looked into her face.
In many ways, it was a wise suggestion.
In one summer with the Kiowa, Max would learn all the things he needed to survive in this land.
He would also learn that he came from a family that could trace its blood further back than any of the jackals who tormented him.
He nodded.
"I will take our son to the tents of my brothers, the Kiowa," he said.
He looked at her again.