Lori closed the barn doors after Jangles and the dogs darted inside. With night coming on, it was time to light the lanterns. After she had the barn sufficiently lit, she poured her father a cup of coffee and set about putting things away from the pack saddle.

  First, she found the post and newspapers for her dad. She set a pile of letters and another pile of newspapers on the table and turned the lamp brighter so her dad could read. He sat down and opened a letter, sipping coffee as she worked.

  Jangles had curled up on one side of the saddle in the breezeway and gone straight to sleep. Lori took several trips unloading crates and bags of beans, sugar, hard tack, dried fruit, jerky, flour, cornmeal, wheels of cheese and small barrels of salted pork and fish to the far side of the bank safe where a space between the wall and the side of the safe had become a sort of pantry.

  She carefully unpacked bottles of medicine, crates of liquor, boxes brimming with ammunition, and three cans of kerosene, placing each item in its usual spot. Then, she found the pristine journal she had bought for her father, knowing he loved recording his thoughts and daily events. She placed it tenderly on the table beside him, adding an ink bottle, a pen, and a few pencils. He glanced at them and gave a gruff thank you before returning to his letters.

  She laid fresh candles and matches near his cot and behind the bar. She placed a fresh cake of soap on a tiny shelf by the washbasin, and stacked new magazines on the stand beside his bed. She noticed the lamp on his nightstand was low on kerosene and refilled it from the large can so he could read when he went to bed.

  Lori unpacked a pair of moccasin slippers. They were soft and sturdy, perfect for keeping his remaining foot warm during the colder nights, and easy to put on. She placed the left one near his cot, hoping he would appreciate the thoughtful gift. She turned the right one over in her hands. She never knew what to do with the right ones of any footwear she brought her dad. She wished she knew a one-legged man to give the right one to.

  Lori repacked the top pack, now looking a little more compact. She secured the remaining items, covering them with canvas and securing them with the cargo net. She then checked her tools, essential supplies, and flight equipment, making sure every piece was in its rightful place, ready for the next trip.

  A sudden thunderous snore from Jangles jolted Lori, her father, and the dogs. Their startled expressions quickly turned to laughter. Lori, still chuckling, poured herself a cup of coffee and set it down at the table. She fished out her comb and brush from her saddlebags and sat down beside her father.

  She combed her hair, watching Jangles' chest rise and fall with each rumbling snore. His wings shook, and a single hind leg stuck straight into the air like a flagpole. She smiled, admiring his shimmering green scales and endearing innocence. Her gaze shifted to her father, deeply absorbed in a letter, brow furrowed. Her heart twisted at the thought of leaving him alone again, knowing how he struggled in solitude.

  When she finished brushing her hair, she found her worn deck of cards in the saddle bags. She shuffled the deck masterfully, the cards whispering and cascading flawlessly between her fingers. She spread them across the table and started a game of solitaire. She would rather play poker, but her father never liked the game.

  She played solitaire most of her life, but it wasn't just a game to her. It was her cover, her way to sit within earshot amongst the men and the few women who would come through their little bar and talk. Outside of what her father taught her, and that was a motherlode, most of what she learned about hunting came from eavesdropping. Men loved to talk about their craft and experiences as they drank and ate and played poker. Their stories and discussions about slaying monsters and battling the supernatural were her secret lessons. When the other children played outside or were roped into chores, Lori would sit and learn.

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  Yet, things were not as they once were. Tonight was a perfect example. The once bustling hub of hunters and tales now felt abandoned, as the world outside moved on, leaving them behind in an empty barn.

  “Do you ever think of leaving, Dad?” Lori's question cut through the quiet room.

  “Hmm?” He barely lifted his eyes from the letter.

  “Getting out of here? We could move to Craterton Forge. There are better jobs there and we could get a decent home…” Her words hung in the air.

  “Maybe.” He returned to the letter, uninterested.

  Lori bit her lip, gazing at him with a mixture of frustration and hope. Bringing this up was never easy. “I’ll go there next, after Fort Dane, and find us a place to live.”

  “Hmm.” He nodded, not really hearing her.

  “It would only take a couple of trips, maybe three or four, to move everything from the barn to there when we find a place.”

  “Maybe. Where did you get this letter?” He handed her the envelope.

  She took it, scanning it quickly. “Bing Blackwebb gave me that to give you the last time I was in the Forge.”

  “When was that?”

  Lori had to think for a moment. “A couple of weeks ago, I think? I’d have to look at my logbook to be sure.”

  He frowned at the letter. “He should have told you to bring it directly to me.” He set the letter down in disgust, his eyes burning with annoyed curiosity as he drank his coffee.

  “What’s the letter say?”

  Her father picked it up and read it again. “He says there’s a problem at the Hakitaw salt mine. He thinks it’s some kind of curse on the land.”

  Then let Bing look into it, she thought. “It probably is. That was Wayahee and Hakitaw land. The salt mine was holy to them.”

  He nodded grimly. “We should go look into it.”

  Lori clenched her jaw and fidgeted with her fingers. “I’ll go, Dad.”

  “No, I’ll come with you.” He opened another letter.

  Lori felt a flutter of anxiety in her chest and drummed her fingers on her legs. “It couldn’t be too urgent. I don’t think you should go. Have to go. If it was urgent, he would have sent a telegram, wouldn’t he?”

  Her father looked up from the letter and considered that. “Yeah, you might be right. Bing didn’t say anything to you when he handed you the letter?”

  Laurie shook her head. In truth, Bing had asked her to deliver the letter as soon as possible. Which she did. Bing probably thought she was headed straight home. He hadn’t bothered to ask.

  “I’ll swing by there, after I drop the mail off at Fort Dane.”

  Her father nodded absently, already engrossed in another letter. Lori breathed a sigh of relief and sank into her chair. Not only was she relieved, but she was also completely exhausted. She had been up since before dawn and her eyes were getting heavy. She yawned and stretched.

  “Go to bed, kid.”

  Lori yawned again and nodded, deciding not to argue. “Goodnight, Dad.”

  Her dad did not answer until she put her foot on the first rung of the ladder to the loft.

  “Kid?”

  “Yeah, Dad?”

  He looked up at her, still hunched over his writing. “You’re right. We should move to Craterton Forge.”

  Lori’s heart leaped with a blend of hope and uncertainty. “Okay, Dad. I’ll look for a place as soon as I can.”

  He shook his head. “I didn’t mean I will.” He cast a lingering glance around the room, at the tables, the makeshift bar, then finally to the library and the safe. “I can’t. I’m sorry. I’m needed here.” He resumed his writing, his pen scratching on the paper that he held still with the hook of his right hand.

  Lori watched him for a moment, her heart weighed down by his decision. She ascended the ladder and stepped onto the loft that served as her sanctuary. The cot in the corner beckoned to her like an old friend. She settled onto it, shedding her boots and fluffing her pillow before laying her head down. An upturned crate at her bedside doubled as a nightstand, holding a lantern and a few well-thumbed magazines. Reading was out of the question. Exhaustion crept over her, pulling her into a deep slumber.

  The warmth of the loft enveloped her like a soft, comforting blanket. Moonlight carved a silver path through the hayloft door, casting a silver beam that spotlighted the post at the foot of her bed. Hanging there, her father’s Beacon Medal shimmered proudly next to a beautifully beaded eagle feather, a precious gift bestowed for acts of bravery long ago from a Ruquanaw chief named Redhand. Sadness wrapped her in a cocoon as she stared at those tokens of her father’s past. Too exhausted to cry, she squeezed her eyes shut and let sleep claim her.

  ***