Spirit of the Buffalo

By Stan Mirel

When I started writing my first western I began without a story, a title but with two unwashed characters that hated each other at first in the dark, filthy, cluttered log cabin so remotely embedded in the Canadian snow covered woods that escape on foot was impossible. After two murders occurred our heroine Marie is alone, raised without affection or a smile with only a fur trapper father escaped from prison. She finds herself alone until Peter Mark with a broken leg is fished out of the river with his horse and wagon. After months of fighting and distrust in the filthy hovel, they find love and Peter begins the trek to his home in Nevada in a wagon with Marie. They come to a Nez Perce village where Peter trades with Chief Joseph for three white women and continues south through Flathead land and into Shoshoni Territory where Chief Running Deer learns the buffalo follow Peter and thinks he controls them and calls him the Spirit of The Buffalo. With two scouts from the Nez Perce, two from the Flathead and two from Chief Running Deer they continue south and the scouts leave them at Fort Bryant.
Peter thinks hell take Marie to his house but Running Deer decides to burn the fort and sends word to the Spirit of The Buffalo. Take everyone out of the fort and all that ride with you are safe. Col. Williams decides to stay and defend but Peter takes the women and children to Fort Halleck as Running Deer attacks Fort Bryant. Peter and Marie adopt Linda, the youngest of the three captive females they traded for with Chief Joseph of the Nez Perce.
Thats not half of the story but youll dry your eyes before turning the last page of the Spirit of The Buffalo and when the sequel, War Chief comes out, youll cry again and better understand our Native American brothers.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Dec 3, 2010
• ISBN: 9781453575932

Book preview

Copyright © 2010 by Stan Mirel.

ISBN:          Softcover                                 978-1-4535-7592-5

                   Ebook                                      978-1-4535-7593-2

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

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Contents

CHAPTER ONE

Papa And Marie

CHAPTER TWO

A Pissy Girl

CHAPTER THREE

Snow Birds

CHAPTER FOUR

Chief Joseph

CHAPTER FIVE

Spirit Of The Buffalo

CHAPTER SIX

Blood Brothers

CHAPTER SEVEN

Man With Claws

CHAPTER EIGHT

Home

CHAPTER NINE

Sweetie Pie

CHAPTER TEN

Feeding Gillimucky

CHAPTER ELEVEN

U. S. Mail

CHAPTER TWELVE

Four Sisters

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Last Bread

Let us know peace, for as long as the moon shall rise,

for as long as the rivers shall flow, for as long as the sun shall shine,

for as long as the grass shall grow, let us know peace.

A CHEYENNE PRAYER

CHAPTER ONE

Papa And Marie

The Chin Coulee River, Canada, December, 1863

He walked between the trees staying away from the clearing to avoid being seen and stopped dead in his tracks when the horse and wagon came into view. It was a beautiful horse that stood still, and barely moved its tail. The breath of the animal came slowly out of its nostrils causing a small cloud of vapor, Pierre looked around . . . no one would just walk away from a live horse.

He stared at the animal fearful of being shot but no one was in sight and slowly approached the horse head on, not wanting to frighten it and have it bolt and start running. He hummed softly as he came closer then stopped and greeted the horse. He talked quietly keeping his hands at his side and slowly rubbed its jaw and neck, then went back to look in the wagon. The first thing that struck Pierre was the terrible odor that came from the flat bed. A man about thirty-five years old, lay there with his hands on his right leg barely conscious, and in a great deal of pain, he looked up at Pierre, and fell unconscious.

Pierre threw his skins into the wagon alongside the man, took the reins and drove the horse and wagon to his log cabin and when they reached the cabin, he called out in French to his daughter, Marie, Marie, come out here, see what I have.

She rushed out gawking at the horse and wagon, Papa, how did you . . . where did you get this beautiful horse? He’s beautiful.

She held the horse’s head and embraced his neck, Jacque, from now on, you are Jacque.

She rubbed his head and neck briskly, and it was obvious that Jacque approved of Marie.

Marie, forget the horse, look in the wagon.

She stepped up on the wheel hub and was immediately greeted by the man’s stench, Papa, he smells like he died last year.

Marie, I think he’s got a broken leg. C’mon, take his feet and we’ll carry him inside.

When they finally put him down on a couple of deerskins over the dirt floor, the confinement of the cabin only served to contain and pronounce the smell, Papa, this guy stinks . . . let’s put him back in the wagon, how are we gonna sleep with this smell?

Marie, take his boot off and fix his leg the way you fixed mine last year. He’s not bad looking no? Maybe you’ll like him.

Papa he stinks, if you make him sleep in the house, I’ll sleep in the wagon.

She pulled off his boot and the smell of his foot was terrible and threw the boot at her father, Here, use the boot for your pillow.

He threw it back to her, Maybe they’ll fit you, try them on.

She took the boot and threw it into the fireplace without a word. Her father raced to salvage the boot, You stupid girl, you think boots are easy to find? In a few days you won’t smell a thing.

She collected a dozen sticks and cut some rawhide strings, pulled his leg into place, then formed a splint out of the sticks and tied them around the leg. Pierre watched and admired how well she fixed his leg, then laughed as she smelled her hands after she went outside and kept washing them in the snow wondering. How could anyone get to smell that bad.

She stepped up on the wheel hub again, and looked at what was lying around and saw a canvas drawstring bag and opened it. It gave her the shivers, scalps, eight scalps. She pulled the string to close the bag and threw it to the corner of the wagon then pulled back a canvas sheet and saw many sacks of little canvas bags, tied at the top with string. What in the world is this? She wondered, opened one and looked inside and dipped her wet finger in, thinking it was sand but when she pulled her finger out, it glistened with yellow dust that sparkled in the sun. She heard of gold, but never saw it. Could this be what gold looks like?

She came down off the wagon and walked inside, Papa, is this gold?

His eyes grew big as saucers and grabbed the sack from her hands wiping the shiny pieces from her finger, My God, its gold, Marie . . . are there any more of these sacks?

Yes Papa, there’s lots of them.

He raced out to the wagon and marveled at how many there were, Marie, we’re rich, very rich.

Papa, this is his gold.

Yeah well . . . we’ll let him keep some, but this is too much for one stinky man. C’mon, we’ll dig a hole in the stable, and bury it under the horse shit.

Papa, let’s make this guy sleep in the stable, I can’t stand his smell.

We’ll talk about that later, let’s dig in the stable.

Papa, he has a bag of scalps.

Who cares? They’re not our scalps.

Pierre and Marie dug a large hole, and used the man’s canvas to line the hole and then cover the bags. They spread the dirt over the canvas, and led the horse around the stable to push the dirt down firmly, then spread the rest of the soil and spread the little hay and straw they originally had, and the stable looked very much as it did before.

Marie spread a big moose skin over the spot where the sacks were buried, and she and Pierre dragged him into the stable and placed him on the moose skin. It made Pierre laugh to think the man was hiding his own gold.

Pierre sat in front of the fireplace thinking, contemplating what to do, how to keep the gold and remain undetected. He suddenly came to his feet and silently beckoned to Marie to follow him. They went outside and he whispered to Marie, Push, push, we’ll get rid of the wagon, and the gold is ours.

She didn’t understand his reasoning, but she pushed. As they got closer to the river it became easier as the land sloped toward the River and the wagon rolled easily and quickly floating out of sight in the rushing water.

Pierre grabbed Marie’s jacket, Remember Marie, you never saw the wagon, I brought him here on the horse, never mention the wagon.

All right Papa.

Later that night they heard the man moan, and knew he was waking, but she merely turned over and continued to sleep. However in the morning, the smelly man kept calling, Hello, anyone there? Hello, where am I?

He saw his horse and wondered how he got there. Pierre finally went through the door to the stable, and began speaking French, but the man was English, and Pierre spoke English with his French accent.

So, you be awake, huh?

Hello, my name’s Jake . . . Jake Edwards, how did I get here?

I bring you, I put you on you horse, and I bring you.

My horse? Where’s my wagon?

You wagon on plain someplace. You wheel is broke, and I save you. You be lucky guy I find you.

How far away is my wagon?

I done know . . . maybe fifteen miles I betcha. You take you horse and look, maybe tomorrow when you feel better.

Who fixed my leg?

My little girl Marie . . . she fix my leg last year, she do good job for you.

I . . . I’ve got to get my wagon, all my things are in the wagon.

Pierre went to the outside stable door and opened it, Maybe you done go tomorrow, is big snow now. You done find you wagon if you be ten feet away. Maybe you find in spring.

But my goods and all my things are in the wagon.

Maybe we find in spring.

*      *      *

Jake expected Marie to bring him some food by midday, and called, Marie, Marie.

She came to the stable looking down at him scornfully, You done call me Marie, you call me Miss Marie. If you be French, you call me Mademoiselle Marie. What you want?

I’m . . . I’m hungry.

Food in cabin.

I can’t walk.

Den you stay hungry, I betcha.

He ached all over, his leg was agonizing and couldn’t manage to get up. He almost stood on his one good foot, but the leg trembled and he fell back down. The broken leg was badly swollen and the pressure of the sticks tied to his leg was extremely painful. Occasionally he moved and called out in pain.

Pierre came in and asked, Why you done get up?

My leg is killing me.

Pierre grabbed him by the jacket and pulled him to his feet, You act like pissy girl, you die.

Jake said, Thanks, I couldn’t get up.

He hopped into the cabin and Marie threw a piece of jerky at Jake, which he caught and quickly consumed then hopped to a chair, sat and broke into a cold sweat, Miss Marie, is there any water?

She looked at him scornfully, Water in barrel over dere. She pointed at him and asked, Why you smell like dead polecat?

Pierre admonished her in French, Marie, that’s not the way to speak to a guest.

Papa he stinks, take him to the town and leave him there. The smell is making me sick.

I’ll tell you only once more . . . be quiet.

Jake finally made it to the water and drank two cups and splashed a little on his face but was repelled by the incredible filth of the cabin.

Pierre asked, Hey Jake, what kind of business you be in? You look like school teacher.

No Pierre, I was a farmer, but thought I’d try something else, so I came to Canada.

What you do in Canada, you trap for skins?

Well, I was looking for silver at first.

You find any silver?

Just a little, I was heading home when I fell off my wagon and broke my leg. You left the wagon in the open?

Yeah . . . wagon wheel is broke, so I put you on horse and bring you back here. Marie call you horse Jacque. You be damn lucky I find you, or you die. Maybe foot and a half snow since I find you, even you horse be finished. If you horse be dead, I leave you in wagon.

Pierre, do you think you could find my wagon again?

Maybe in spring we go look, but if somebody find wagon and fix wheel, dey take wagon.

But all my things are in the wagon.

I done tell you to break you leg. If you get on horse and go now, you and horse are finished, you done come back. More better you wait for spring.

Pierre, if you take me now, I’ll pay you. Just tell me how much you want, I’ll pay you.

Pierre went to the door and opened it, You see snow? I done go out in snow so high. You go out, you done pay me cause you die.

He slammed the door and bolted it, Tonight comes more snow, and maybe tomorrow again. You go out, you go alone . . . Pierre done go out.

Jake sat on one of the two chairs, was exhausted, his head pounded, and the chill he felt while in the stable, was slowly leaving as the fireplace warmed him.

Jake asked, Pierre, could I bring the skin I was sleeping on, in here near the fire? It’s pretty cold in the stable.

No, I be single girl, you done sleep in same room near me, you sleep in stable.

She whipped the knife out of its scabbard hanging on her belt around her filthy dress, You come in here at night, I cut you open and trow you in river. You done worry about wagon no more.

In French, Pierre asked Marie. What’s wrong with you? He’s nice looking he’s gonna be a rich man, and knows where to dig for gold. You won’t mind the smell in a week or two.

Papa, he smells like a dead rat. I’ll never get used to the smell, I don’t even want him in the stable.

Well, I can’t just throw him in the river, he’s gonna be here till spring, so make the best of it.

You better keep him away from me.

She reached up and pulled a piece of jerky off one of the overhead ropes, bit a chunk, scowled at her father, and went to her bed.

Jake read the anger on Marie properly knowing she was repelled by his body odor, as several other women had been in the past. He asked Pierre if he could have the use of the chair, and was told to take it and thought. My gold, a king’s ransom in gold, and this French fool left it on the plain for anyone to take. Eight months work just laying there covered with snow. If he had seen the gold, I’d still be there in the wagon, and the gold would be in front of the fireplace. Maybe it’ll still be there in the spring. He didn’t even take my rifle, what a fool.

He tried to turn over but the soil beneath him was lumpy and uneven and it hurt to lie on. In the morning he awoke aching and it took three tries to get up with the aid of the chair hobbled into the cabin and saw her sitting up in bed and smiled, ‘good morning’, but she merely nodded her head, and turned away. He made his way to the water barrel and drank a cupful. Pierre put his pants over his long red underwear and stretched, went to the water barrel to take a drink and noticed that the handle of the ladle, smelled from Jake’s hand. He wondered what caused a man to smell so strong and bad. After he hung the ladle back on the nail, he smelled his hand and could detect Jake’s odor on his fingers.

Maybe in a few weeks Marie will like him a little, he’s not so bad. I don’t see a lot of men coming around our cabin. She better not be too fussy, with all that damn gold he’s sleeping on, we could build a big fancy house right here in our little paradise.

*     *     *

On the fourth morning, Jake still had a great deal of pain and worried that the swelling in his leg didn’t go down at all and knew if an infection developed, he was a dead man. He hated that Marie made him sleep in the stable, and coldly thought he might kill her before leaving and would wait till after Pierre took him back to the wagon. That fool, he could cover his filthy daughter in diamonds with the money from the gold.

He watched Marie come into the stable and rub Jacque down with an old wire curry brush. I wonder if she’d scream if I pulled her down to me. Yeah, it could be, she might even want to get laid. I’ll bet Pierre would kick the shit outta her if she made a fuss, and if I told him I’d share the gold, he’d probably hold her down for me.

Marie finished brushing the horse and as she walked by Jake, he reached up to take her hand and she pulled her knife and swiped it across the sleeve of his shirt. He thought at first that she missed him completely as she scowled at him threateningly, You done touch me . . . next time I make you bed red wit you blood, not just open you sleeve . . . I open you all over.

He wondered what she was talking about, till he saw the eight-inch slice in the sleeve of his shirt. He struggled to his feet and went into the cabin for a drink of water as it became a little easier every day to get around with the use of the chair. He kept a close eye on her and she kept a wide berth between them. He began to hobble over toward her and she drew her knife menacingly and asked, You like to taste my blade? I give you taste you done forget, I betcha.

Pierre walked in the front door and saw her putting her knife away, and asked in French, Why did you have your knife out, what happened?

That stinking bastard thinks he can handle me. Papa, if he touches me, you’ll throw him in the river piece by piece.

Now Marie . . . he likes you, and he’s not a bad looking man. Why not give him a chance? You’ll probably fall in love with him.

No, I don’t want him near me . . . if he just touches me I’ll open him up in six places . . . you better tell him.

Marie, maybe you better give me your knife.

She stared at her father in disbelief as he held his hand out, Papa, she asked, you want me to be at his mercy? You think you can just give me away? Anybody tries to take my knife better dig a hole first, and if someone gets my knife, then I’ll start swinging Gran-Papa’s saber, and I’ll finish everyone in this fucken cabin.

Pierre put his hand down and pointed his finger at her, You’re only a lousy girl, a stupid female, and you threaten your father? I brought you up to have respect, is this your respect, to threaten your Papa? I should tie you up and give you to him, you stupid female bitch.

She said, So now I can’t even trust you anymore, you want to give me away like a street girl? I’m not your dog or your horse, and now I’m not even your daughter. Nobody gives me away . . . I don’t belong to you or that stinking bastard out there. Anyone ties me up better kill me . . . cause when the ropes come off . . . look at my face Papa . . . I’ll kill the man who ties me up, no matter who it is, I’ll kill him.

He tried to kick her but she avoided him, and Pierre walked into the stable and eyed Jake, Hey Jake, you like my Marie?

Yeah, she’s okay.

Well maybe you leave her alone till she knows you more better. You give her time, maybe she likes you, I betcha.

Y’know Pierre, for two blankets and a couple of skins, I coulda had a real nice smiling squaw instead of listening to how fussy your daughter is. That squaw woulda been happy as a lark to be my woman, and Marie is acting like the by god, Queen of England. I got a lot of money Pierre, you better make her smart, or she won’t get any of it.

Marie heard them and opened a window cover, and stood helplessly watching the snow piling up. For the first time in her life, she was frightened.

I can’t trust Papa anymore . . . he might even sell me to that bastard. Maybe I better kill Jake and settle the whole thing. If he’s dead, then it’s over . . . Papa will just kick me and slap me a few times, but it’s over.

In an hour Jake came out of the stable, and Marie kept her back to the wall and watched her father and Jake. Her father stretched out in his bed and closed his eyes. She didn’t want him to sleep in the day and be awake at night and called, Papa, you got some meat in the dugout?

He opened his eyes, If I bring you meat, you cook?

Oui Papa.

He groaned as he got up, making the old springs of his bed squeak and screech. He put on high boots and a heavy jacket, and trudged out into the swirling snow, slamming the door behind him.

Jake glared at Marie, It’s about time you did something.

You done tell me what to do, you stink so bad you make polecat trow up.

In ten minutes Pierre returned with a thick slab of discolored moose meat, and tossed it on Marie’s bed. She began putting some leaves and herbs into the boiling pot of water then cut the meat into chunks on a metal plate, and slid them into the pot then lay down in bed.

Jake watched her intently, thinking Pierre was on his side, and eventually he’d have her. In less than an hour she swung the pot off the heat and let it cool. After awhile, she dug a ladle out from under a pile of skins, wiped it, and made a heaping dish for each of the two men, then sat back in bed and ate some jerky.

Jake asked, You don’t eat your own cooking?

I done like moose meat, Papa know when he give me moose meat, he eats alone.

Jake said, This is very good, not bad at all.

Not a day passed by, that Marie didn’t pull her knife to enlighten Jake on the dangers of getting to close to her. On two occasions Papa saw her, and on the second occasion, motioned for her to go out of the cabin.

The snow was two feet high, but he wanted her away from Jake, and didn’t want Jake to see them arguing again, they spoke in French, Marie, you treat him like a dog . . . he’s not a bad guy.

Papa, what’s wrong with you? First chance he gets, he’ll leave us both dead. If he knew the gold was under his stinking ass, we’d be dead already.

You’re a stupid girl, he’s no killer. You just don’t like him because he smells a little.

She shouted, A little? We’re outside now, just smell your clothes, smell your sleeve. Go near him, his breath makes me want to vomit. Papa, he’s a killer, his eyes are killer’s eyes, did you forget the scalps?

You’re a dumb child, a stupid girl . . . you don’t know anything about people. He could be a fine husband, the smell is nothing. Someday when you both have children, you’ll thank me when you see how foolish you were.

Papa, I’ll be dead before I have his baby.

He wanted to slap her but she no longer trusted Papa, and stood almost ten feet away from him. She stormed back into the cabin watching Jake who sat on his chair near the fire, but away from her bed.

Marie remained constantly on her guard when both men were in the cabin. There was no way she’d turn her back on the two of them. In her mind, they were both a threat. She put her chair close to her bed, and brought out a flat piece of stone she used to sharpen her knife, gave Jake a dirty look, which she made sure he saw, then proceeded to spit on the stone, and put a razor sharp edge on her knife.

It was her final warning to both men that she was prepared to bleed anyone that touched her. When the stone was put away, she selected an old piece of deerskin, tossed the pelt in the air with the fur side away, suddenly swiped her knife at the pelt and when it fell on the floor it was in two pieces. She kicked them both into the fireplace, the message was clear and obvious . . . the men were in danger of losing their lives if they touched her.

She took the wooden bucket and tossed it towards Jake, You get water from river.

He said, What’s wrong with you? I can’t walk in the snow.

She hissed, You done get water, you done eat, and you done drink no more.

He wanted to club her with a piece of firewood, his face was red, he was furious and thought. Imagine, this trashy piece of shit girl, talking to me like that.

She sat back in her bed watching him wrap his bare leg with a piece of deerskin, then put on a jacket and brought the chair with him to help get around in the snow and as soon as he closed the door, Marie went down on both knees, searching under the bed till she found a very long knife. The blade was sixteen inches long, the wooden handle was white with mold and the blade showed signs of rust, but the edge was pretty sharp, and with Marie’s determination, it soon became as sharp as the knife she carried at her hip.

However, the long knife was meant to be used like a sword or a saber, or more accurately, a machete.

Papa watched her prepare herself for battle, he’d seen her determined before, but never with this anger, and she never armed herself before. He knew she could cut a fly’s wings off as it flew by. Jake came back and just missed seeing her conceal the big knife in a slot at the head of her bed.

Pierre’s thoughts went back for a moment to the time almost fifteen year ago when he escaped from jail in Montana, raced back to Quebec and took four year old Marie and brought her to the cabin and thought. She was quiet and timid then . . . now she’s a warrior . . . a fierce warrior.

Pierre was now resolved to stay out of the fight between Marie and Jake. In fact he now felt it was safer to be on Marie’s side. Jake took his jacket off, and lifted the bucket to bring it to Marie.

She had her hand on the knife handle at the hip, No, she shouted. You leave it on floor, you done come to me.

It seemed that every day brought a heightened tension between Jake and Marie. At night after her father fell asleep, she quietly went to the door between the cabin and the stable and bolted it and Jake had no way into the cabin. Pierre’s bed squeaked loudly if he tried to get up causing her to sleep lightly with her hand on the handle of the knife.

She slept but was instantly awake when she heard the loud squeaking of her fathers bed as he hung his legs over the side, scratched his filthy bushy head and yawned. She kept her eyes on him but kept them half closed, so he wouldn’t know she was awake.

He walked to the woodpile, and brought two logs to the glowing embers in the fireplace, and as the dry wood quickly ignited, and the initial flickering glow illuminated the cabin. She saw the door to the stable move against the bolt. Papa was about to go to the door and remove the bolt, but thought it over and waved his hand against it, and silently went back to bed. Then she saw the door move again, Jake was trying to gradually undermine and break the fasteners that held the bolt.

She watched and every twenty or thirty seconds, she saw the bolt strain against the weight of Jake’s pressure. He was becoming more aggressive and it scared her. She lay in bed trying to think of a way to make the door more secure . . . he had to be kept out. It worried Marie . . . she had to kill him before he killed her.

The sun was up and Papa was out checking his traps. Marie didn’t lift the bolt that secured the stable door yet, but opened the front door and one window cover to let as much light in as possible and examine the ceiling and wall to see if there was a place to put an oak limb between the stable door, and another part of the cabin. She had to be able to jam the door shut, so even the horse couldn’t get in.

She took a rope and measured the exact length she needed. Then closed the window cover and the door then lifted the bolt to the stable, and walked back to her bed.

Seconds later Jake pushed the door open and scornfully stared silently at Marie who stared back with disdain. He hobbled with the chair to the water barrel, took a drink, then brought the chair back to Pierre’s bed, and sat in the chair with his back to Marie. Their contempt for each other was out in the open. They no longer spoke to each other.

By midday Pierre returned with the skins of a beaver and a fox, a beautiful white fox, and tossed two rabbits on Marie’s bed. It would normally be a treat for her, she loved to eat rabbit but the terrible feeling toward Jake overshadowed everything she did. She tore the pelts off the rabbits, but a lot of the fur stuck to the flesh, and then ran a long stick through the length of both rabbits, resting the stick on the tall andirons in the fireplace after she cleaned them.

Some of the fur attached to the flesh burned off and some remained attached, cooking into the flesh. The fragrance of the roasting rabbits was a treat, without even eating them. Papa was in the stable caring for his new skins, realizing that bringing the skins to the trading post with the horse, would be a lot easier than dragging them and thought. With the gold, and the horse, and Marie, I really don’t need Jake. Maybe Marie is right, maybe the best thing is to get rid of him. I’m getting a little sick of his smell myself.

He came into the cabin savoring the aroma of the rabbits admiring the pink flesh that faced him while the other side roasted. He saw the tufts of rabbit hair that clung to the flesh but thought nothing of it.

Marie handed him the rope she used to measure for the pole she wanted to jam the stable door shut. In French, she told her father she wanted a straight pole, and indicated with her hands that she wanted it about three or four inches in diameter, and wanted it the length of the rope up to the knot. He asked what she needed it for, she said so she could sleep better.

Marie was about to turn the rabbits but looked hard at Jake to make sure he was still seated. She brought her chair and set it between them as an obstacle before she’d turn her back to him and take care of the rabbits. He sat motionless and silent, aware of her every move and only occasionally