o。 Harry was on the desk。 I was technically on days； but had stuck around to spend an extra hour with The Chief； whose time was getting close by then。 Bitterbuck was stoical on the outside； in the tradition of his tribe； but I could see his fear of the end growing inside him like a poison flower。 So we talked。 You could talk to them in the daytime but it wasn't so good； with the shouts and conversation （not to mention the occasional fist…fight） ing from the exercise yard； the chonk…chonk…chonk of the stamping machines in the plate…shop； the occasional yell of a guard for someone to put down that pick or grab up that hoe or just to get your ass over here； Harvey。 After four it got a little better； and after six it got better still。 Six to eight was the optimum time。 After that you could see the long thoughts starting to steal over their minds again … in their eyes you could see it； like afternoon shadows and it was best to stop。 They still heard what you were saying； but it no longer made sense to them。 Past eight they were getting ready for the watches of the night and imagining how the cap would feel when it was clamped to the tops of their heads； and how the air would smell inside the black bag which had been rolled down over their sweaty faces。
But I got The Chief at a good time。 He told me about his first wife； and how they had built a lodge together up in Montana。 Those had been the happiest days of his life； he said。 The water was so pure and so cold that it felt