As the mist filled the valleys below the endless ridges of Western North Carolina’s majestic Smoky Mountains, John Marsh and his nephew, who was called Little Crow by the white boys, got in the old red pickup truck to find the fox hounds they had hunted with the night before.
They rolled the windows down and shouted out the name of their prize dog, Jasper.
Soon, they would hear his distinctive voice carrying over the ridges.
U s di Go ga, John said turning to his nephew, “I think I hear him down that path.”
Little Crow, ( U s di Go Ga in Cherokee) ran up to Jasper. My uncle, he cried, Jasper has found a human skull!”