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insisted.
    “It’s false to pretend you are an Indian. You are neither Indian nor white. You are both. There is nothing wrong with being different.” When the boy still wouldn’t look at him, J. B. picked him up and set him on the top rail of the corral, so he could see his son’s face while he talked. “Be proud of it. You can never be only one or the other. All your life the Indians will expect you to be more Indian than an Indian, and the whites will expect you to be more white than they are.”
    Blue eyes frowned into his face, skeptical and wary. “How do I be both?”
    “Learn everything you can about The People and learn everything you can about the whites. Take what is best and wisest from each of them and make it yours. Do you understand?”
    There was a hesitant nod before he asked, “How will I know what to choose?”
    “That’s something you have to decide.” J. B.’s smile was grimly sad. “I can’t help you and your mother can’t help you. You are alone in this. And it will get harder as you grow older.” J. B. was just beginning to realize how hard it would be when the child became a man. Hisgaze turned skyward to see a solitary hawk soaring on the air currents. “You have to become like that hawk—alone—dependent on no one but yourself, and flying above it all.”
    Tipping his head back, the boy stared at the hawk, its wings spread in effortless flight. There was not a cloud in the sky, the hawk slicing alone across the great expanse of blue.
    “This day I am new,” the boy announced in an oddly mature voice. “From now on, I will be called Jim Blue Hawk.” He turned to his father. “Do you like it?”
    Pride shimmered liquid-soft in the lighter blue eyes. “Yes, I like it,” J. B. Faulkner replied.

Chapter II
    That summer a life began to grow in his mother’s belly. Hawk, as he had come to think of himself, found many things to think about and began looking around himself with new eyes: keen eyes like those of his namesake. When the time came to return to the Reservation school in the fall, he listened to the white teacher, no longer resisting the things that were said which conflicted with what The People believed. Others still mentioned his blue eyes and the waves in his black hair, waves that were more predominant because Hawk had stopped wearing a headband in an effort to straighten the unruly mop. Hawk knew he was different, and because he was different, he was going to be better.
    Before spring arrived, he had a sister. Hawk noticed, with interest, that she was different, but not in the same way he was. Her eyes were large and brown like his mother’s, but her hair was brown like the trunk of a cedar tree—not the glistening black of the crow. She was given the name Cedar Girl.
    Hawk began to call his sister The-One-Who-Cries-at-Everything. She cried when she was hungry, when she was sleepy, when she heard a loud noise, when his mother picked her up, or when she laid her down.Nothing and no one pleased her except Laughing Eyes. Initially, he suffered the pangs of rejection at the fuss his parents made over his new sister. His needs were of secondary importance to the demands of the baby. He was truly alone like the hawk, pushed out of the nest to fend for himself. But he could. Was he not nearly grown? Hadn’t he begun to wear a breech-cloth? Hadn’t he been initiated into the tribe? Hawk began to pity his sister because she was dependent on others.
    Because his baby sister demanded so much of his mother’s time, Hawk had to assume more responsibility. His father still came two or three times a week, bringing presents and food, staying a few hours or for part of the night, but always leaving before dawn. So it fell on Hawk’s shoulders to take over the duties that would have belonged to his father if he lived with them all the time.
    Thus, when his mother’s uncle became ill and it was divined that a Mountain Top Way had to be held to cure him, all relatives were