Read Online A Certain Kind of Hero by Kathleen Eagle - Free Book Online Page A

as they approached the chow wagon. “Corn dogs or Indian tacos?”
    Peter checked the list of choices on the sign next to the sliding window. “What’s frybread?”
    Gideon’s glance told Raina that she’d neglected her son’s culinary education.
    â€œI don’t know how to make it,” she explained.
    â€œYou take a bunch of bread dough, smash it down, cut a piece off—” his quick hands made air frybread as he explained “—make a slit, drop it in hot lard….” He peered through the window. “You got any fresh frybread in there, Ron? I mean fresh. ” Shoving his hand into his pocket for money, Gideon turned to relay the cook’s nod to the outside world. Then, in competition with the fan inside, he shouted into the window again. “We’ve got a guy out here who’s never had frybread.”
    A round, sweaty, bespectacled face appeared in the window, followed by a paper plate with the sought-after sample. Ron adjusted his glasses and gave Peter the once-over. “ This guy’s never had frybread? ”
    â€œBoarding-school kid,” Gideon said as he pushed some bills across the counter. With a conspiratorial wink, he handed Peter the plate. “Spends all his summers at Disney World.”
    â€œGeez, poor little guy. What did he cut his teeth on?”
    â€œMouse tail.”
    Peter nearly choked on his first mouthful of frybread.Gideon laughed and slapped him on the back. “If you like this part, we’ll have the works. Indian tacos. How about it?” Peter nodded, and Gideon ordered three.
    â€œTwo for me,” said a voice at Gideon’s back.
    â€œMarvin, hey.” Gideon wasn’t sure Marvin Strikes Many would accept his handshake. But it was powwow time, time to socialize, so Marvin relented.
    Gideon breathed a sigh of relief. He wanted everything to go smoothly today. No politics, no taking any stands. He shoved his hands in his back pockets and grinned. “Is your oldest boy around? I’ve got someone I want him to meet. My brother Jared’s boy, Peter.”
    Peter was a little slow on the uptake with the older man’s proffered handshake, but he had a mouthful of frybread to contend with.
    â€œAnd this is Raina, Peter’s mother.”
    Marvin nodded, then gave a gesture toward the bowery, where the afternoon elimination rounds were taking place in the dance contests. “Tom’s over dancing right now. Competing in men’s traditional. It’s his first year in twelve-to-eighteen.”
    â€œIs that Arlen Skinner judging?” Gideon frowned slightly, craning his neck to get a look past the lineup of younger boys dressed in colorful double bustles, waiting outside the circle for their turn to dance. “Haven’t seen him around in a while.”
    â€œSome of us parents got together and asked him to come out and judge the dance contests,” Marvin reported with a clear sense of satisfaction. “Arlen’s one of the real traditionals. He knows how it’s supposed to be done.”
    Gideon watched the old man take one of the boys aside and demonstrate a dance step, shuffling his moccasins in the grass.
    â€œHe sure does. It’s good when the old ones do the teaching.” He glanced Peter’s way and gave an instructional nod. “It’s good when the young ones pay attention to them.”
    â€œArlen can still bring a buck down with an arrow.”
    â€œHe uses a compound bow,” Gideon pointed out as he indicated, again with a nod, that Marvin should help himself to the first two plates of Indian tacos Ron had served up.
    â€œNothing wrong with taking advantage of an improvement.” Marvin handed his money through the window and claimed the plates. “But Arlen still knows his culture. Knows his rights, too.” Hands full, he nodded his goodbyes and headed for the bowery.
    â€œGood seeing you, Marvin,” Gideon