Free The Angel and the Outlaw by Madeline Baker Page B

opened his mouth and let her feed him.
    Sensing his discomfort at being hand-fed, Brandy remained silent. When the bowl was empty, she took her leave, knowing, somehow, that he needed to be alone.
    A short time later, three burly warriors enter the lodge. J.T. knew a quick sense of foreboding as the Indians converged on him, and then they were untying him, pulling him to his feet, dragging him outside.
    Men, women, and children turned to stare as the warriors dragged him across the camp toward a tall wooden post set in the dirt.
    Rough hands jerked his arms behind his back and looped a horse hair rope around his wrists. The loose end was secured to a notch near the top of the picket. With a nod of satisfaction, the warriors left him.
    J.T. watched the Indians walk away, then he dropped down on the ground, his back resting against the rough wooden post. He had a terrible feeling that his courage was about to be tested in ways he couldn’t begin to imagine.
    * * * * *
    Brandy sat on a pile of furs outside her lodge, putting the finishing touches on a pair of moccasins as she absorbed the sights and sounds of the village. It still seemed unbelievable, totally impossible. And yet, unless she was having the longest, most vivid, most fantastic dream of her entire life, she was actually in a Crow village, observing a way of life that had been gone for over a hundred years.
    Sitting outside the lodge next to her was an old man with long gray braids. A half-dozen children sat in a semicircle around him, their faces rapt, as he related the story of how the Crow came to be. It was a familiar tale, one her mother had told her long ago, and she listened, smiling.
    “When all the world was young,” the old man was saying, “there was a great flood. All of Mother Earth was covered with water. Only one man was saved. He was wiser than all the others. He was called Old Man. Old Man made a new earth, and then he made a man and a woman. They were blind, this man and woman, but they had many children, who were also blind.
    “One day, one of the men pulled one of his eyes open. He saw the earth and the mountains and the hills. He pulled his other eye open, and he saw the sky and the animals.
    “He ran to his wife and pulled her eyes open. They told their children what they saw, and all their children opened their eyes…”
    Only half listening now, Brandy watched a women instruct her two young daughters in the proper way to tan a hide, and how to fashion the finished leather into moccasins and tipi covers and clothing.
    Since the Crow followed the maternal clan system, women were the central figures in family and clan relationships. All the children in the family took their mother’s clan name. With the Crow rule of descent, a child could belong to the father’s clan only if its mother married a man of her own clan, a practice which was customarily forbidden.
    Women owned the lodge and its belongings, reared the children, and guarded their husbands’ shields.
    Young boys were taught to track and hunt; at an early age they were encouraged to hunt birds and rabbits. Often, they brought the rabbit skins to the girls to tan. The boys played at war, learning stealth, patience, and endurance.
    As in most societies, there were those who did not conform. There were women who rode with the warriors, and men who shunned war, electing to stay in camp with the women and perform household tasks.
    There were a few men, called bate , who preferred to dress and live as women. They were revered by the Crow, who believed that the bate had a special tie to Akbaatatdia , the Creator.
    Her ready acceptance by the Crow filled her with a warm sense of belonging. The women went out of their way to speak to her, the unmarried men treated her with respect.
    With a sigh, she gazed into the distance, hoping someone was feeding her stock, wondering who was teaching her class. And yet, in spite of how much she wanted to go back home, she couldn’t deny a certain