'Sequoyah invented an alphabet for the Cherokee language. Hang around long enough and someone wil buy you an ashtray decorated with the symbols,' she said.

'What was Sequoyah's family name?'

'You want my final answer?'

'I'm serious.'

'Guess.'

'This is important,' I hissed.

'His name was Guess. Or Gist, depending on the transliteration. Why?'

'Jeremiah Mitchel's maternal grandmother was Martha Rose Gist.'

'The potter?'

'Yes.'

'I'l be damned.'

'You know what that means?'

I didn't wait for her answer.

'Mitchel was part Cherokee.'

'This is a library!'

Iris's words scorched the side of my face.

I held up a finger.

'Hang up instantly!' She spoke as loud as a human can without using the vocal cords.

'Is there a newspaper printed on the reservation?'

'The Cherokee One Feather. And I think there's a tribal photo archive at the museum.'

'Gotta go.' I disconnected and shut off the power.

'I'm going to have to ask you to leave.' Iris stood with hands on hips, the gestapo protectress of the printed word.

'Shal I return the boxes?'

'That wil not be necessary.'

===OO=OOO=OO===

It took three stops to find what I needed. A trip to the offices of the Cherokee One Feather, located in the Tribal Council Center, revealed that the paper had only been in print since 1966. While there had been a predecessor publication years before, The Cherokee Phoenix, the current staff had no photos or back issues in their possession.

The Cherokee Historical Association had pictures, but most had been taken as promotional shots for the outdoor theatrical production Unto These Hills.

I hit pay dirt at the Museum of the Cherokee Indian, directly across the street. When I repeated my request, I was taken to a second-floor office, issued cotton gloves, and alowed to graze through their photo and newspaper archives.

Within an hour I had confirmation.

Martha Rose Standingdeer was born in 1889 on the Quala Boundary. She wed John Patrick Gist in 1908 and gave birth to a daughter, Wilow Lynette, the folowing year.

At the age of seventeen, Wilow married Jonas Mitchel at the AME Zion Church in Greenvile, South Carolina. Their wedding portrait shows a delicate girl in a cloche veil and Empire gown, a bouquet of daisies in her hands. At her side stands a man with skin much darker than that of his bride.

I studied the picture. Though rawboned and homely, Jonas Mitchel was appealing in a strange sort of way. Today, he might have modeled for Benetton ads.

Wilow Mitchel gave birth to Jeremiah in 1929, died of tuberculosis the folowing winter. I found no mention of Jonas or his son after that date.

I sat back, processing what I'd learned.

Jeremiah Mitchel was at least one half Native American. He was seventy-two years old when he disappeared. The foot must surely be his.