“Where’s he going?”

“He’s standin’ guard.”

“Where?”

I gestured broadly. “Everywhere.”

“Well, where will he sleep?”

“Shrug don’t sleep.”

“Well, of course he sleeps! Everyone sleeps.”

I stared at her face, tryin’ to figure her out. Most people, when you answer their questions, don’t contradict you afterward. Phoebe seemed not to need me participatin’ in our conversations.

“He talks, too,” she added.

“Uh huh.”

She frowned. “You act as though you don’t believe me.”

I sighed, and pushed our rabbit around in the pan ’til the pieces were cool enough to handle. I tasted some.

“That’s damn good rabbit!” I said, with great enthusiasm.

She launched her hand toward my face to give me a hard slap. But my reflexes are even sharper than her tongue, and I caught her wrist long before her hand made contact.

“Let go of me!” she cried.

I wasn’t sure I should. But there was a mess of rabbit in the pan with my name on it.

“Fine,” I said. “But don’t try to hit me again.”

“I can’t abide cursing,” she said.

“Well, you better learn to, ’less you’re headin’ back east.”

She sat and pouted awhile, but then the smell of dinner got to her and she tried some.

“This is outstanding!” she said brightly, despite her mood.

In my experience, fried rabbit will bring folks together, even enemies.

“You’re coffee’s good, too,” I said.

We chewed our rabbit.

“How long have you and Wayne been traveling together?” Phoebe asked.

“Maybe two years.”

“And in all that time you’ve never heard him speak?”

“Nope.”

“That seems inconceivable.” She said. Then softened her tone. “I can’t imagine what you must think of me, coming in here, barking at you like an angry dog. I seem to have lost my manners.”

“You been through a lot.”

“Yes.”

We ate in silence ’til we finished. Then we shared the rest of her coffee. By and by she said, “What’s wrong with him?”

“Shrug? What do you mean?”

“He looks like a haystack made out of bones.”

“He’s more sideways than upright,” I agreed.

“His body is all scrunched up like an elderly man with a severe hunchback,” she said. “He seems unable to walk upright, though he moves faster and quieter than any human I’ve ever witnessed.”

I nodded.

“But he moves more like a sand crab than a man,” Phoebe said.

“That’s a good way to describe it,” I said. “And it’s true that when scamperin’, Shrug covers a lot of ground.”

“Do other people call him Shrug?”

“Some. But he’s got lots of names.”

“Such as?”

“Well, to me he’s Shrug, and you call him Wayne. And Indians around here call him Weeshack.”

“Weeshack?”

“Means Grasshopper.”

“Well, that seems disrespectful.”

“Oh no, ma’am. Shrug is highly respected by the Indians. They tend to keep a wide berth when he’s in the area.”

She nodded, thoughtfully.

“What happened to him?” she said. “Do you know?”

 I sat quiet a minute. Then said, “A cowboy told me Shrug got flattened in a stampede as a child, and kept growin’ sideways afterward.”

“Did you ask him about it?”

“Nope.”

“Why not?”

“If Shrug wanted me to know, he’d a’said somethin’, or signed it out. But I believe it. If there’s one thing that rattles Shrug to this day, it’s a stampede.”

“You’ve been in one?”

“About four months ago, along the Arkansas River.”

“Buffalo?”

“Nope.”

“Wild horses?”

“Nope.”

“Well, what type of stampede was it?” she said.

“Snappin’ turtles.”

“What? There’s no such thing as a turtle stampede!”

“Tell that to Wayne.”

She shook her head. “Speaking of Wayne…”

“Yes?”

“How can you sit there and tell me you didn’t know he could speak?”

“It never come up.”

She showed a look of disbelief. “How is that possible?”

“Shrug keeps to himself.