Tara’s Reviews > The Buffalo Hunter Hunter > Status Update
Tara
is on page 20 of 448
… and for a moment I didn’t want, my back straightened, because the floor had creaked behind me, exactly as if Arthur Beaucarne had heard me just thank him for what he left me —his journal— and had decided to step out of the ether, start mumbling a prayer in some dead tongue.
I didn’t look around, though. You can’t look around, every time you think you’re not alone.
Once you start, you never stop.
— Sep 26, 2026 07:10AM
I didn’t look around, though. You can’t look around, every time you think you’re not alone.
Once you start, you never stop.
Like flag
Tara’s Previous Updates
Tara
is on page 424 of 448
He turned his back on me and he fell in with his people, riding west for the Backbone, and within a few paces, the storm had folded the nachzehrer into itself.
No, not the vampire.
The Blackfeet.
— 16 hours, 40 min ago
No, not the vampire.
The Blackfeet.
Tara
is on page 410 of 448
Everyone in the column was drinking just to stay warm, Major Baker the most, I believe, as leaders of course lead by example.
— 16 hours, 58 min ago
Tara
is on page 406 of 448
The bolt-cutters I bought at Murdoch’s will get me through the gate—— the site of the massacre is on private land, some ranch, and it requires special permission to visit.
Fine.
I give myself permission, thanks. It’s what we white folk do.
2/2
— 17 hours, 12 min ago
Fine.
I give myself permission, thanks. It’s what we white folk do.
2/2
Tara
is on page 406 of 448
And now, hours later, which I should measure either in gallons of coffee or complete lack of sleep, it’s dawn of the 23rd, everything frozen and blowing and white, and we’re here: the Marias River, as Lewis and Clark named it once upon an expedition. Just east of the Blackfeet Reservation.
1/2
— 17 hours, 13 min ago
1/2
Tara
is on page 383 of 448
That parsonage is going to be a battered women’s shelter now, I read.
Good for it. Good for those women. Good for Miles City—for all of Montana, and it’s hard-handed men with their oh-so-fragile egos.
I hope every egg that breaks on the kitchen floor of that shelter is bright yellow.
— 17 hours, 42 min ago
Good for it. Good for those women. Good for Miles City—for all of Montana, and it’s hard-handed men with their oh-so-fragile egos.
I hope every egg that breaks on the kitchen floor of that shelter is bright yellow.
Tara
is on page 367 of 448
But, too, it will be dark out in the prairie, I know.
As it is in my heart.
My pipe is empty, now.
I believe it has been since January 23rd, 1870.
— 18 hours, 29 min ago
As it is in my heart.
My pipe is empty, now.
I believe it has been since January 23rd, 1870.
Tara
is on page 363 of 448
… or is there no effort that could wring the sin from my past?
— 18 hours, 37 min ago
Tara
is on page 359 of 448
… meaning I wake each morning affrighted with certainty, knowing that it will be this day, and then the next, and the next, and suchwise do all my remaining days become polluted with a mix of certainty and narrow escape, which, in accumulation, serves to grind my frailty into dust, which I cough up continually, and wipe on the lower portions of my robes.
2/2
— 18 hours, 45 min ago
2/2
Tara
is on page 359 of 448
While it would have been simple for one so young and vital as he to dispatch this pastor, it’s, to him, more fitting torture to instead leave me endlessly mulling over my misdecisions. Either that or, having strongly suggested my coming execution, he denies me the day it’s actually to occur, …
1/2
— 18 hours, 46 min ago
1/2
Tara
is on page 359 of 448
Would but that I could equally take my memory down to the grain as such. But so says this whole nation, I know.
— 18 hours, 53 min ago