Walking Tall.” The barely audible voice wavered, and the eyes that peered up at the man were full of apprehension. Buster, his expression stoic, said, “Hello, wicasa tankala, little big man.” Then he asked the question no one else had taken the time to ask. “What is your name?” “My, my name?” the boy stammered, looking everywhere but at the imposing man questioning him. “Uh.” Then he defiantly spurted out the word. “Toby. Yeah.” His bony, little chest stuck out as if defying anyone to question him. “That’s it, my name is Toby.” “Hmmm.” Buster glanced up at Whip. “Son.” Whip placed a gentle hand on the boy’s head. “Toby’s a real fine name, but it isn’t your real name now, is it?” And without waiting for an answer, he asked, “What is your real name?” His voice was compassionate, but firm, leaving no question he was to receive an honest answer. The boy hung his head.
