"... I glanced the other way and saw an Indian standing in the kitchen doorway, looking surprised.
We eyed each other warily, but as I appeared indisposed to screaming and running, he relaxed slightly. As he appeared unarmed and lacking paint or any other evidence of malevolent intent, I relaxed slightly.
'Osiyo,' I said cautiously, having observed that he was a Cherokee, and dressed for visiting." —Diana Gabaldon, The Fiery Cross (NY: Bantam Dell, 2001), 1021