quickly, mother quickly!
look, mama!
is this where we're going?
he's uncomfortably aware of the shy looks and giggles of a little girl about his own age, standing in line with her parents at the next counter. he edges away from his mother.
as he reacts.
as he stares out the narrow crack. a beat, then he closes the stall door.
he doesn't raise his eyes.  just looks at the legs. and, slowly, the legs begin to bend at the knees. we see book's belt buckle, then his big pistol in its holster, then his face. he stares at samuel for a moment, then.
i saw him.
no.  i saw the man who killed him.
he was.  like him.
not zwartich, like him –
momma.  are they angry with us.
i don't want to stay here.
i wish dawdie was with us.
momma – look.
where he's leading a team of horses to the barn. in the b.g. three buggies are parked in the barnyard, traces empty. visitors.
no pistol. ever.
okay, mr. book.
i would only kill a bad man.
i can see what they do.
i have seen it.
where he's pitching hay into the cow's feed-troughs.
that's luke. he doesn't like strangers.
i want to say a thing.
it looks like hochstetler's mare.
is it them?
are they going to kill you?
what are you going to do?
don't let them hurt you.
mr. book?
are you really ever coming back?
have you got your gun on now?