On certain terrain he can move faster than a horse. On the plains, he’s still plenty swift.”

“Well, how does he protect himself?”

“He’s an uncommon rock thrower.”

“A rock thrower,” she repeated.

“Yes, ma’am. He’s got some sharp ones he throws vertical.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“I’ve seen Shrug slice a man’s ears clean off with nothin’ more than two sharp rocks flung from a short distance.”

“That’s preposterous!”

I removed my hat and gestured at the pot. “Is that sissy coffee any good?”

“I’m known for my coffee.”

“You pourin’?”

She smiled. It was a small smile, but a pleasant one, just the same.

“You haven’t asked how I came to be here or where I’m headed,” she said.

“I tend not to ask people much, nor ask much of ’em.”

I fetched my cup from my kit and let her pour some coffee into it. Up close I could see that her face, though smudged with grime, was smooth, and her features delicate and fine. Like all women, she had on twice the clothes she needed, and the parts of ’em I could see were covered in dirt and mud.

“How long were you in the cave?” I said.

She appraised me with what appeared to be a new respect. “Who said anything about being in a cave?”

I pointed. “Your clothes.”

She looked down at her dress and frowned, as though this were the first she’d thought to look at it.

“I thought you didn’t ask people much.”

“I generally don’t. But you seemed to leave the door open on it. I marvel you’re alive.”

“Why? Because I’m a woman?”

“Well, there’s that.”

“And what, you think all women are helpless?”

“Don’t matter what I think, it’s what them bear and wolves think. A woman’s scent is one they’re not apt to associate with danger. It’s a scent they’ll pick up on and follow.”

She considered my words. “You put that very delicately, for a Western man.”

I waited.

“I was in the cave for one night.” she said. “And a terrible night it was. I heard wolves howling. And they were getting closer. Had Wayne not come to my rescue, I fear I would have perished.”

I nodded. Then said, “Who’s Wayne?”

Phoebe looked at me as though I were feeble-minded. About that time Shrug slipped into camp with three rabbits hangin’ from his belt.

Phoebe’s face lit up. She said, “Wayne! Thank the dear Lord you’ve come back, and with food, no less.”

She looked at me and my rifle. “He killed three rabbits without a gun!”

Implyin’ I hadn’t killed any with one.

I said, “Your screamin’ probably scared them his way.”

Shrug smiled.

I looked at him. “Wayne?” I said.

Shrug shrugged.

 


 

 

 

3.

 

Phoebe chattered at us while me and Shrug skinned the rabbits. More than once we exchanged glances about it, but I let her ramble on, hopin’ she’d be talked out by dinner. While Shrug cut the meat, I got the fryin’ pan on the fire and put some sowbelly in it ’til a fine layer of fat coated the bottom. Then Shrug placed the rabbit pieces in the pan, and I fussed with ’em some, enjoyin’ the sizzlin’ sounds and heavenly scent that only pan fried rabbit can produce. By the time I got the rabbit crisp on both sides, we’d forgotten all about the perch I originally planned to cook.

When the rabbit was right, we divvied it up and Shrug put his part in his pocket and scampered outta camp like he always did. I kept the rest in the fryin’ pan, removed it from the fire, and placed it on the ground between Phoebe and me.

Phoebe seemed upset that Shrug had left without speakin’.

She looked at me.