《Jangles & Drake: The Mummies of Hakitaw》


 Back to Oblivion

    The plains, covered in yellow and brown sage brush and low, rolling hills spread to the horizon, and the town of Oblivion sprang up as a rude interruption to the wind and the loneliness of the wide-open landscape.


    The air shimmered with the late summer heat. Oblivion sat quietly, keeping politely to itself, knowing that it wasn¡¯t wanted. The scorching sun beat down mercilessly, baking the earth, while occasional gusts packed dust and tumbleweeds into niches and corners of abandoned buildings.


    The town had roughly the same amount of buildings as most people had fingers and toes, all weathered, grey and ashen, much like its remaining citizenry, and nearly abandoned. The railroad station, quickly constructed during the westward boom, stood empty, flakes of paint shedding like leaves in autumn. Sometimes a train came by, which happened once a week if things got busy. No one stopped here anymore. There was no reason to.


    Close to the station stood a water tower, leaning slightly but still holding water, courtesy of a squeaking windmill that pumped away with each gust. Like the town, the windmill persisted, unsure of why but too settled in habit to stop. Black crows rested in the rafters and crossbeams of the tower, the only shaded area they could find to rest in.


    The church stood solemnly with its graveyard beside it, the headstones, worn and leaning amid a few wooden markers not yet old enough to have weathered, all beneath the shade of a single, leafless tree. The church remained active, with its bell ringing faithfully each Sunday morning, though there were not enough townspeople left to fill its pews.


    The only remaining general store struggled to keep its shelves stocked, a stark contrast to the lively establishments that once lined the main street. Now it remained open so old men could spin yarns around the cracker barrel. The sun-bleached shingle out front simply stated that this was ¡®Mayfield¡¯s General Store¡¯, although Mayfield died thirty years ago in a bizarre accident involving a keg of beer and a loose tap.


    The stockyard, with its large, dilapidated warehouse barn, came from a time not many years past when cattle drives brought life, commerce, and wild Saturday nights to the town. The empty corral, once packed every season with vast herds of cattle, held only hard-packed and cracked ground with patches of grass sprouting here and there, as if nature decided to use it if no one else would.


    The enormous barn stood weathered from neglect, yet with a faint wisp of smoke from one of the makeshift chimneys poking through the warped boards of the roof, a neatly stacked pile of firewood near the entrance let passersby, if there were any, know that the barn had not been completely abandoned. Branding irons, a worn dinner triangle and an old clanging chain hung from the eaves and clinked faintly in the wind. Lanterns, cracked and dusty, still swung gently from their hooks on the wall.


    Scattered against the barn stood old barrels and a few wooden crates holding various odds and ends, from coiled ropes to horse tack, evidence of the barn''s ongoing, albeit diminished, role. In front of the barn, an old, weathered sign creaked on its rusty hinges. The symbol of a raven, still visible and unmistakable, remained etched into the wood.


    Behind the barn, a small pen of old, gray wood held a few goats, their bleats occasionally piercing the still air. The goats milled about, nibbling on the sparse tufts of pale-yellow grass and clambering over an old, overturned trough that had seen better days. The modest pen held a makeshift lean-to, under which the goats hid in the shade.


    A shadow circled over the forgotten town, unnoticed by the few residents who had hidden indoors from the oppressive heat. Not even the crows hiding in the water tower paid any attention. The shadow belonged to a dragon, who swooped down onto the corral with the elegance of a tipsy vulture. He staggered to a halt, nearly tipping over to one side before righting himself. He panted heavily, his great chest swelling rapidly. His emerald scales glimmered in the sunlight, while his golden underbelly shone even in shadow. The bright yellow horns and ridge along his back appeared lackluster in the daylight. The deep brown saddle that covered the length of his back from shoulder to rump held a pilot and lots of cargo.


    The dragon stood panting while his pilot unfastened her straps and slid down from the saddle. From inside the barn echoed the enthusiastic baying and barking of dogs, their excited howls reverberating off the wooden barn walls as she stretched, flexing each leg to ensure her joints were still in good shape. She took off her hat and let her long, auburn-brown hair fall. She raised the yellow tinted goggles she wore over her forehead, then patted the dragon on the shoulder and jogged toward the barn. She pulled open the large doors and a herd of dogs burst through, tails wagging, barking and howling at the pilot and the dragon. One blue hound stopped long enough for the pilot to pat his head before joining the others. They barked at the dragon who stood still trying to catch his breath. They wagged their tails and leapt at his legs. The pilot called to him, and he slowly turned and made his way into the barn followed by the herd of happy dogs. He stopped and reached up with a claw and shook one of the chains that hung from the eaves. It gave a pleasant tinkling sound.


    Stepping from the bright summer sunshine into the dimly lit barn brought a momentary loss of sight. The familiar aromas of hay and earth blended with the rich smells of corn mash whiskey and tobacco smoke. Most of the stalls had been removed years ago, all except for one in the rear, and three on the left just inside the door. A hefty wooden plank set atop barrels functioned as a makeshift bar with sparse shelves holding a few bottles of hard liquor on the wall. In front of the bar stood three rickety round tables, each paired with an assortment of mismatched chairs and stools, awaiting company.


    Against the other wall leaned an impressive collection of books, primarily reference works with some fiction, placed on rough cut wooden shelves supported by brick stacks. The tilted shelves seemed ready to topple but never quite got around to it.


    There was no need for lamp light on a day like this. Enough daylight poured in through the open door and poked through the slats of the wall that, once the eye adjusted, one could see well enough.


    The dragon stopped in the breezeway beneath the high beamed ceiling, still catching his breath. The young pilot peered into the dim barn.


    ¡°Dad?¡± She paused, but the only thing she could hear was the ear-splitting bay of the dogs who still barked and leaped at the dragon¡¯s legs demanding attention and welcoming them home in their own way. ¡°Shut it!¡± the pilot yelled. ¡°We¡¯re happy to see you too!¡± She turned to the dragon, ¡°Is he here?¡±


    He nodded towards the back of the warehouse barn, too winded to speak. After a brief silence from the pilot''s reprimand, the dogs resumed their excited barking. The pilot watched them, and soon they darted back to the stall in the rear of the barn, tails wagging, eager to inform their master about the pilot and the dragon''s return. She trailed behind them, taking of her goggles and setting them on a table as she passed.


    In the old stall by the rear wall and out of sight from any visitors, a cot sat beside a compact wood stove, upon which rested a coffee pot. The young pilot poked her head around the corner. ¡°Dad?¡±


    Her father sat on the cot in his long johns. His wooden arm, ending in a hook, secured to the remnant of his right arm with a harness that stretched across to his left shoulder. He always wore it outside his long johns to prevent chafing. His artificial leg, a long wooden peg-leg, had not been strapped properly, and he fumbled with the straps using his good hand and the hook of his right arm. The pair of hound dogs burrowed their faces under his good arm and onto his lap. He petted one absently.


    ¡°Hey, kid,¡± was all he said. He did not look up as she entered his stall. He just stared at his leg and the undone straps.


    ¡°Dad,¡± she sighed with a mix of frustration and fondness. She bent to help tighten his straps. ¡°Why aren¡¯t you using the good leg? It¡¯s got knee and ankle joints!¡±


    He waved away the question. ¡°Haven¡¯t gotten used to it yet. Keep tipping over.¡± When she tightened the last strap, he took her hand, and she helped to pull him up. ¡°Let me get my pants on and I¡¯ll help you unload Jangles.¡± He waved her away.


    ¡°Let me help.¡±


    ¡°Lori, go get Jangles unloaded. He¡¯s tired. I¡¯ll be along.¡±


    Lori frowned in frustration and watched him hobble to the stall¡¯s wall where his pants hung on a hook. His hair was unkempt, and he hadn¡¯t shaved in days. Hadn¡¯t bathed in days, either. She left without saying anything.


    Jangles¡¯ breathing had slowed. He managed to ask, ¡°Is he okay?¡± His voice was a deep rumble. The brown shepherd had rolled onto his back and Jangles gently rubbed his belly with his clawed front foot.


    Unloading the saddle


    "Yeah, I think so." She glanced at the stall briefly, then stared thoughtfully at the ground for a moment. She wanted to help her father, but he was so stubborn. She untied a thick rope from a horn cleat on the support post next to Jangles and lowered a makeshift dual hook and pulley system from the barn''s central beam overhead. Climbing into the saddle, she hooked the lifting hook into the saddle¡¯s rigging ring. With careful steps, she walked along the saddle¡¯s spine towards the back, where a canvas-covered top pack secured with a cargo net sat piled high with supplies. Holding onto the cargo netting, she climbed around to reach the rear rigging ring at the base of the saddle. There, she attached the second lifting hook and cautiously climbed down from the packsaddle to the ground.This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    A happy border collie wagged his tail, and Lori petted him as she looked back at the stall. Her father was still inside. He needed help, but knowing his pride and independence, she let him be. She had to unsaddle Jangles swiftly. He was exhausted, hungry, and thirsty. She quickly unfastened the breast collar, the three girth straps under his torso, and the breeching strap which looped under Jangles tail and across his backside, and let the buckles and straps fall to the ground. She pulled on the hoisting line and the saddle rose inch by inch with every tug.


    Jangles became impatient. The weight of the saddle had pressed heavily on his back for long enough, and the promise of relief outside beckoned him. With a determined grunt, he crouched low to the ground, his muscular legs flexing under the strain. His breath came in short, eager huffs as he inched backward, the saddle shifting slightly with his movement. Lori watched, amused, as Jangles maneuvered his way backward beneath the hoisted saddle and right out the barn doors. The dogs barked excitedly.


    Once outside, Jangles crouched and stretched, his tail lifting into the air like a massive housecat. With a sudden burst of energy, he galloped towards the water tower by the railroad station. The dogs barked happily and followed him the whole way, their paws kicking up little clouds of dust.


    As Jangles neared the water tower, the crows resting on its shaded scaffolding took flight, cawing irritably at the interruption of their respite. Jangles ignored them and sat back on his hind legs and curved his long neck so he could dip his head into the tank and drink his fill of the cool water.


    The landscape sloped slightly from the barn and Lori could see him over the sparse buildings of the town. The sight of Jangles galloping with such determination between the buildings and the disgruntled crows and happy, barking dogs made her laugh. It was a moment of levity amid her worries, a small slice of joy in a demanding day.


    Lori''s smile fell as she glanced back toward the rear of the barn; her father still hadn''t come out. She surveyed the makeshift bar and library, the unlit lanterns hanging from the rafters above, and the large bank safe in a dark corner that someone had brought in when the last bank closed. Her father stored guns, dynamite, and magic artifacts in there. She tucked a few strands of her auburn-brown hair behind her ear. Sometimes the place would host a handful of people, drinking, seeking her father''s advice, or browsing his library. Up the ladder in the loft, visitors could sleep on cots and hammocks. Rangers often sought her father''s expertise on weapons or spells. Lori resented them for exploiting her father''s knowledge and hospitality and leaving him a pauper.


    She approached her father¡¯s stall. ¡°Dad? Are you okay?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, Hon, I¡¯ll be out in a minute.¡±


    Lori pursed her lips in frustration and turned away. She headed behind the bar to a cold and dusty pot belly stove. Lori crumpled up some old newspapers, tossed them into the stove, added a few sticks from the wood carrier, and struck a match from the box always kept there. After lighting the fire, she dusted off her hands, shook the coffee pot, and found it empty. She dumped the used, dry grounds into the trash barrel and was about to make more but noticed nobody had ground any coffee beans recently. Grabbing a few handfuls out of a canvas bag kept next to a bottle of whisky, she put them into the grinder, closed the lid, and started turning the crank.


    As she ground the beans, tears welled her eyes. There weren¡¯t any ground beans because Dad couldn¡¯t do it with one hand. He likely hadn''t had coffee since she left and if there had been any visitors, none of them had helped. She turned the crank angrily, frustrated by her need to work with Jangles delivering post and supplies. Her dad had so little money coming in. She ached to stay and care for him but had to earn a living. When she dumped the ground coffee into the pot and found the water bucket empty and dry, she cursed. No one had fetched water for him either.


    She lowered the saddle with the hoist rope until she could reach the canteens she kept in various places when she flew. She poured water into the pot and set it on the stove. She stared at the coffee grinder. The next time she was in a large city, she would buy him a coffee grinder that she could bolt or clamp to the shelf. Then he could grind his own coffee.


    Her father hobbled out of the stall, dressed in threadbare jeans and a buttonless long-sleeved shirt. The hook of his right arm was partially visible through the sleeve, and a peg-leg protruded from the pant leg that he had pulled over it.


    Lori walked over to her father and handed him her canteen. ¡°Here, drink this.¡±


    He took it with his left hand and drank deeply, the water refreshing him. Lori then guided him to one of the tables and helped him sit down.


    ¡°How¡¯s Jangles doing?¡± he asked.


    ¡°He¡¯s exhausted,¡± Lori replied. ¡°He needs a good night¡¯s sleep.¡±


    Her father glanced over at the large saddle that hung by the hoist rope. ¡°That sure is a lot of cargo.¡±


    Lori nodded, her expression softening. ¡°It was a long trip, but we made it. We brought back plenty of supplies and a few letters we have to deliver yet.¡±


    Her father sighed, leaning back in his chair. ¡°Where are you headed next?¡±


    ¡°To Fort Dane. Lots of post for such a small place.¡±


    He rubbed the stubble on his chin. ¡°How many miles are you making in a day?¡±


    Lori smiled. Her father loved facts and collected them like a miser collected gold. ¡°We left Cedarbrook yesterday morning.¡±


    He tapped his fingers on the table as he thought. ¡°And you followed the river?¡±


    ¡°Oh, yeah. Jangles must have water.¡±


    He chuckled as he glanced out the barn doors. They could see Jangles, still drinking from the water tower, but now taking the time to snap at crows as they flew around him. ¡°So you traveled about 550 miles then. In a day and a half. Not too bad.¡±


    Lori looked out of the barn doors and saw Jangles running through the streets, his wings flaring playfully as the pack of dogs barked and chased him. She laughed softly, her eyes sparkling with affection.


    The coffee was ready, and Lori poured two steaming cups, handing one to him. She lowered the saddle and fetched a jar of pickled sardines and an oil cloth bundle of hard tack from the saddlebags. With a laugh, Lori split the hard cracker with her knife, sending pieces flying everywhere, which drew more laughter from them both. They enjoyed their modest meal together, continuing their lively chat.


    Lori decided it was time to get dinner started. She pried open a barrel of salted pork, selected two hefty chunks, and gave them a good rinse in a pot of water she had ready. She diced the pork and tossed the pieces into the pot to boil.


    Jangles and the dogs had returned to the barn and had found refuge in the cool shade of the lean-to. Panting heavily, the dogs sprawled beside him, digging into the refreshing soil beneath them. Lori went to the back of the barn, where they kept goats in a small, wood-fenced pen. She took down the rope from its nail on the barn wall and entered the pen, lassoed a goat, and guided him toward the gate. The remaining goats let out uneasy bleats, scurrying to the far side of the ashen pen. Tugging the stubborn creature through the gate, she pulled it behind her around to the front of the barn. Jangles perked up with sudden interest, his size causing him to crouch until he exited the lean-to. The dogs snapped to attention and trailed after the dragon, who followed closely on Lori¡¯s heels.


    ¡°Ready to eat?¡± Lori said and loosed the rope from the goat. It bolted, and Jangles pounced on it, his jaws clamping on the animal¡¯s neck. It fell limp, and Jangles sat on the ground to eat, much the way a dog does as it settles down to work on a juicy bone. The dogs gathered round and watched in hopes of getting a carelessly dropped scrap.


    Lori watched him eat for a while, her mind on all the tasks she needed to complete before she and Jangles left again. With a sigh, she decided it was time to start. She headed to the goat pen. The trough was dry, as was the small pipe above it. Lori made her way up the gradual slope toward the small cistern, wishing it were nearer to the barn. The cistern received water from a windmill situated further up the hill, which fortunately appeared to her to be functioning properly.


    At the cistern, Lori turned the crank on the gate valve that controlled the water flow to the goat pen. She opened it just enough to let a small stream of water through, then walked back to the pen. Water began to drip from the trough pipe, and she hung a metal bucket on it to catch the water. She watched the trickle and hoped it would be enough to keep the goats watered and easier for her dad to fill buckets with. The goats gathered around and watched with equal curiosity. She sighed and removed the bucket. She would have to wait. The goats needed water.


    Jangles walked around the corner, his green scales shimmering in the bright afternoon sun. The goats bleated in fright and scampered to the far side of the pen. Lori stood motionless, her hand gripping the handle of the bucket, Her gaze fixed and lost in thought.


    Jangles watched her intently, his eyes reflecting a deep concern. He knew the turmoil within her, the heavy burden of worry that clouded her mind. The gentle breeze blew, and Lori remained oblivious to the world around her.


    Jangles, feeling the need to comfort her, took a step closer, his presence a silent assurance. The goats quieted down, their initial panic giving way to a cautious curiosity as they watched the scene unfold. Lori''s grip on the bucket tightened momentarily before she let out a deep, resigned sigh.


    ¡°Everything okay?¡±


    Lori looked up in surprise. She hadn¡¯t noticed his arrival. ¡°Oh. Yeah. Just thinking.¡±


    Jangles noticed the empty trough. ¡°No one¡¯s been out here to help him, have they?¡±


    Lori shook her head, staring at the trough. Tears were coming again, and she didn¡¯t want to cry. But when she looked up at Jangles, she burst into tears anyway.


    ¡°Jangles, what am I going to do?¡± Her voice squeaked as she wept. ¡°He can¡¯t take care of himself out here! And we can¡¯t stay to help him!¡± She buried her face in her hands.


    Jangles walked closer and nuzzled her with his long neck. He did not know what to say.


    Lori dropped the bucket and did her best to wrap her arms around his neck. They stayed that way for a long time. Soon the dogs caught her mood and milled around her feet, a couple of them stood on their hind legs with their forepaws on her. Lori looked down at them and their looks of concern at her crying made her laugh between sobs. ¡°Goofy dogs,¡± she said and petted them.


    Jangles pressed his muzzle against Lori¡¯s chest, and she hugged him again. ¡°I just don¡¯t know what to do.¡±


    ¡°I know. We should get him out of here, but where? And he won¡¯t leave.¡±


    ¡°I wish we could get enough money together and hire him some help.¡±


    Jangles gave a sardonic laugh. ¡°Who¡¯s out here to hire?¡±


    Lori laughed. ¡°Maybe we could send for someone¡­¡±


    Jangles shook his head. ¡°Who would want to come out here for what we could afford to pay them?¡±


    They both chuckled bitterly. They had tread this ground many times in conversation and never seemed to find a solution. It always ended the same. They had no ideas, and they settled into doing what they could with what they had.


    ***

 Chores

    <h2>Chores</h2>


    Dusty sunlight streamed through the barn doors as Lori lowered the saddle from the rafters. The saddle settled on the blanket laid below it with a soft thud. Lori removed the cargo net and hung it on the wall cleats. She then pulled back the canvas cover from the top pack.


    The top pack saddle held barrels, crates, and burlap bags tightly secured with rope and twine. Lori unfastened each rope from the rigging rings one by one and placed items either on the table or in a hand cart parked nearby. The parcels on the table were meant to stay in the barn, while those in the hand cart she would take to the general store.


    ¡°Dad, come see what I brought,¡± she called.


    Her father hobbled over from behind the bar, careful not to spill his fresh cup of coffee. He sipped as he watched her over the rim of his cup. ¡°Good Lord, kid. What did you bring this time?¡± He sorted through the sacks and crates on the table with his wooden arm. He set the cup down and picked up a can of condensed milk and looked at it with contempt.


    Lori grinned. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, Dad. I¡¯ve got just the thing!¡± She rummaged through a saddle bag hanging near the pommel and pulled out an unusual tool resembling a small sickle with a wooden handle. ¡°Watch!¡±


    She set the condensed milk down on the tabletop and with her left hand, put the tool on the lid and pried it up, piercing a hole in the tin lid with a satisfying pop. ¡°See?¡± She beamed, holding up the can.


    He chuckled as he turned the can in his hand. ¡°That¡¯s neat, kid. Where did you find this?¡±


    ¡°I found a place in Remington City that sells those. Some blacksmith is making them. Isn¡¯t that handy? It¡¯s no good for opening cans, but it¡¯ll punch a hole in one!¡±


    Her father examined the tool and chuckled. ¡°Well, what do you know? A hole punch for tin cans.¡± He punched another hole in the can, poured the cream into his coffee, and sighed in satisfaction. ¡°I haven¡¯t had cream in my coffee in years.¡± He sat down, his peg leg outstretched, and enjoyed his coffee as Lori continued to unpack.


    Lori, pleased with her gift''s usefulness to her father, continued loading the hand cart. She carefully added sacks of flour, crates of canned goods, and various supplies until she decided it was enough for a single trip.


    She saw her father struggling to roll a cigarette. ¡°Here, Dad, let me do that for you,¡± she said, taking the paper and tobacco. She rolled and lit it for him.


    ¡°There you go,¡± she said, handing it back to him. He took a long draw, the smoke curling around his head, and let out a contented sigh.


    ¡°Thanks, kid,¡± he murmured.


    Lori smiled. ¡°I¡¯m taking this to the store. Hopefully we¡¯ll get some decent money for it.¡± She shook the cart to ensure everything was secure before gripping the handles and heading out.


    He watched her go through the smoke drifting up from his cigarette. He tapped his fingers on the table as he reflected on his concerns about her future.


    ***


    Lori guided the rickety cart down the gentle slope of the vast corral and through an imposing wooden gate. Beyond it lay the deserted town. She passed buildings with shuttered windows, tumbleweeds tangled in forlorn corners, walls split by cracks, signs bleached by time, and streets strewn with prairie grass reclaiming its hold, creeping along building sides and wrapping around any stationary objects.


    The dry grass rustled in the wind, whispering through the ghostly remains of the town. Once lively with the clanging of metal, the blacksmith shop now stood as a cold, silent relic. Cobwebs blanketed the brick walls and nestled into every corner. The bank, with its front wall demolished to remove the vault that sat in her father¡¯s barn, now housed layers of dust and perhaps some varmints.


    Two saloons flanked the main street, their interiors dark and musty. Stores that once bustled with commerce now stood silent and decayed. Shelves were bare, and counters thick with dust and webs. Every corner of the town whispered the same faint message: everyone had left, and they weren¡¯t coming back.


    Lori felt no sadness about the dying town. She hated it and wished for her father to leave, to go to a city where he could receive the proper care he deserved. The town could rot and vanish into its namesake for all she cared. She continued down the empty street toward the general store.


    She pushed the cart onto the creaky boardwalk, its weathered and warped planks groaning under the weight as she rolled along. She parked in front of Mayfield''s general store, and swung open the door, which protested with a loud squeak, revealing the quaint interior with sparsely stocked shelves. Inside, three old men sat in a circle around a wood stove, their familiar faces welcoming her. It was always the same trio¡ªfixtures as constant as the store itself. Lori couldn''t help but wonder if they ever moved from those rocking chairs.


    One puffed leisurely on a pipe, while the others chewed tobacco, each with a coffee cup in hand. Cracker barrels sat beside them, one overflowing with peanut shells, the others with used plates. A tarnished cuspidor lay on the floor, and they took turns spitting toward it with disregard for proper aim. They greeted her warmly with raised cups, inviting her into their cozy enclave. Accepting their offer, she helped herself to some coffee. She chatted with them, all the while trying not to wince at the thick, bitter brew that tasted like it had boiled on the stovetop for decades.


    They each commented on how long she had been gone, how soon she was leaving, and submitted various ideas on her next destination or what products and goods they¡¯d each like her to bring on next visit. Lori politely took their suggestions and promised she would think them over. She kept glancing at the back door, hoping the store owner would rescue her from the conversation. She bore no ill will toward the townsfolk but had little patience for them. The empty water bucket and lack of coffee still burned in the back of her mind, and she resented them for not checking on her father.The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    At last, the store owner emerged from the storeroom carrying a crate of jars. He caught Lori¡¯s eye and gave her a nod, signaling the start of their usual bartering session. Lori excused herself from the old men¡¯s company and followed the owner outside. The bright sunlight contrasted with the dim interior of the store, and Lori squinted as the owner adjusted his glasses and pulled a worn pencil and small notebook from the pocket of his apron. He examined each item with a practiced eye, scribbling notes in his book and muttering prices under his breath. He tapped the pencil against his lips as he tallied up the total. He told her, and she shook her head. They haggled until Lori got the price she thought was fair. She would not budge on her idea of a fair price. She could always put them back on Jangles¡¯ saddle and sell them at the next town she came to, and the store owner knew it.


    He tucked the notebook back into his apron pocket and together they gathered armloads of the goods and made a few trips from the cart to set them down on the counter inside. The owner paid cash, and she folded it into her pocket and said her goodbyes to him and the old men, then pushed the much lighter hand cart back up the hill toward the barn.


    ***


    The rest of Lori''s day was a whirlwind of chores. She fed the goats a few flakes of hay as Jangles snoozed blissfully beneath the lean-to, one hind leg jutting skyward, surrounded by a circle of dozing dogs.


    Lori lit a crackling fire in the pit a few yards from their shelter and slowly heated a large bucket of water hanging from the spit. As she carried and heated the water, she also prepared their meal inside, mixing and shaping dumplings with care before placing them in the pot.


    She coaxed her dad into changing into new clothes she had purchased, a task that required considerable patience and endurance as he grumbled about her wasting money. The process of removing and reattaching his artificial limbs was an ordeal, but she eventually succeeded in dressing him in a clean pair of long johns, pants, and a shirt.


    Then she shed her own garments and slipped into a clean pair of bright red long johns. She grabbed the washboard and a chair, setting up at the wash bin filled with steaming water. She scrubbed the worn garments vigorously, the cake of soap creating frothy suds that clung to her hands. Once clean, she wrung out the clothes, twisting them tightly to remove excess water, and draped them over the wooden fence to dry in the sun.


    She imagined she looked silly, and she was glad there was no one around to witness her in just her underclothes, boots, and cowboy hat.


    By the time she finished the laundry, dinner was ready. The aroma of the pork stew made her mouth water. Both she and her father, still clad in their long johns, sat down to enjoy the meal. Her father remarked on how tasty it was, even though Lori thought it was a bit too salty. She took his compliment with a smile. For dessert, she opened a jar of preserved peaches and a bag of candied fruit.


    After dinner, Lori cut her father¡¯s hair in the breezeway, where the sunlight streamed in through the open door. Clippings of hair stirred in clumps with every pleasant gust of wind. Then she fetched the shaving kit from the shelf, setting out a small bowl, a shaving brush, and a block of shaving soap. She poured hot water into the bowl, steam rising as she prepared the essentials.


    Jangles had risen from his nap and decided to help. He set the large wash-bin near the open barn and filled it with multiple trips to the goat pen¡¯s trough using his teeth to carry the bucket. The dogs trailed him back and forth.


    Lori dipped the brush into the hot water, allowing the bristles to soak, then swirled the brush over the shaving soap, creating a rich, creamy leather.


    ¡°Hold still, Dad,¡± she said softly as she applied the lather to his face with smooth, circular motions. Then Lori took the straight razor from its case and carefully shaved off a week¡¯s worth of whiskers, rinsing the blade in the bowl of water with every stroke.


    lowered his head to the ground and blasted the side of the wash bin with fire, heating the water almost to boiling point. avoided blasting


    Jangles bent his neck low, allowing her father to grip his back ridges


    retrieved Jangles, with his wings extended like curtains, stood guard to shield her father from anyone


    Lori collected the dishes from the table and put them away to wash later. She moved the stew to the brick hearth to keep for the following day. She prepared a new pot of coffee and set it on the stove to boil.


    Next, she gathered the dried laundry from the fence, folded it, and placed her dad''s clothes on a shelf, while putting her own in her saddlebags and setting a pair of jeans and a shirt out for herself to change into later. She then brought firewood in and placed some by the stove in her dad''s stall and the rest beside the bar''s stove.


    Her dad was ready to get out of the tub. Jangles leaned his neck over and he took hold of the ridges again. Jangles slowly lifted him out of the tub with Lori¡¯s help and lowered him onto the chair. Lori draped him with a towel and scrubbed him dry with another. Then she combed his hair while he padded himself dry as best he could. She helped him dress, reattach his limbs, and assisted him to a table where she served him coffee and set his punched can of condensed milk within reach. She rolled a cigarette and lit it for him.


    Then it was time for her bath. She set her boots and hat and a change of clothes on the chair. Jangles blocked the view from town with his wings again and she quickly removed her long johns and got in the tub. She glanced at her father who was facing the back of the barn, smoking and occasionally sipping his coffee.


    After Lori slipped beneath the water''s surface, Jangles trotted into the barn, gently nuzzling her father¡¯s shoulder with his snout. She watched as her father gently scratched under Jangles'' chin. He whispered something and motioned towards the library, prompting Jangles to trot back and return with a large, red-bound book delicately held in his teeth. Her dad took the book from him and began reading aloud.


    Lori smiled as Jangles listened intently to her father reading. She leaned back in the warm tub, wishing she could soak longer, but she had too much work to do. She washed her hair, enjoying the warmth as she poured the water over her head from the old tin peach can.


    She relaxed and enjoyed the bath as her father finished reading the story. Then she called Jangles to block the view again so she could towel off and dress. Once she buttoned her shirt and ran a comb through her hair, her father stood and turned to face her.


    ¡°Get your pistol and rifle.¡±


    ***

 Shooting Lessons

    The sun hovered low in the sky, casting a warm, golden glow over the peaceful corral. The air carried the scent of weathered lumber and earth mingling with the smoke of burning wood from the stoves inside and the fire pit. A gentle evening breeze rustled the tall prairie grass, the soft, rhythmic creak of the windmill up the hill, and the distant call of birds added a touch of serenity to the dusk.


    She set up her targets of tin cans on a stretch of fence, the town at her back. Lori''s hand was a blur as she drew her revolver, fired five quick shots, and re-holstered her weapon before the targets hit the ground.


    Her father stood behind Lori holding her rifle and nodded in approval.


    Jangles whooped with excitement, "She''s so fast that five shots blur into one!"


    He winked at the dragon. "Reload."


    Lori''s hands moved with lightning speed, ejecting the spent shells and loading fresh rounds from her belt. Each click of the cylinder felt like a countdown, her heart pounding with each second. With her father¡¯s critical eye on her, she fumbled and dropped a bullet.


    ¡°Slow down, kid. Practice your movements. Accuracy first, speed will follow. Now,¡± he gestured to a white circle painted on one of the thick fence posts. ¡°Put five rounds into the center of the target, then reload.¡±


    Lori holstered the revolver, took a breath, and drew. She fanned the hammer of the gun and put five rounds in the circle almost at once. She took the time to push out each spent shell with the ejector rod and thumb in a fresh round.


    ¡°Again,¡± he said.


    Lori fired more shots at the white target, then paused to reload. Her father intervened, advising her on how to hold the pistol as she reloaded. She fired another volley, and her father stepped in once more, tightening her reloading technique.


    Lori kept firing and reloading under her father''s watchful eye, honing her technique until he was convinced she had mastered the process. He then had her repeat the actions several times before giving her an approving nod.


    ¡°That¡¯s the way. Do you think you can practice like that from now on?¡±


    ¡°I think I can remember.¡±


    Her father tapped Jangles with is wooden arm. ¡°You make her practice every night, you hear?¡±


    "Yes, sir!" said the dragon, nodding eagerly.


    ¡°You never needed to practice shooting, kid. You¡¯re a natural. But you¡¯ve got to reload until you can do it in your sleep. That¡¯s what will save your life.¡±


    ¡°Yes, sir.¡±


    His teachings meant a lot to Lori. There was a time when her father was the fastest gun in the west, and many sought after his highly regarded advice.


    Next, her father handed her the rifle, its weight familiar in her hands. She fired, the sharp crack echoing through the air as tin cans went flying. Her father halted the session.


    ¡°There¡¯s no point. You¡¯re better than anyone.¡±Stolen novel; please report.


    Lori reloaded the rifle, her cheeks turning pink.


    Jangles chuckled. ¡°You have no idea, sir! Last week she shot a deer while we were in the air!¡±


    Her dad nodded approvingly. ¡°Impressive shot, kid.¡±


    Lori glanced away, embarrassed. ¡°Just a lucky shot.¡±


    Her father shook his head. ¡°No. You¡¯re not lucky. You¡¯re the best.¡± He almost looked at his missing right arm. ¡°You had to be.¡± He turned and limped back toward the barn. ¡°Let¡¯s quit. It¡¯ll be dark soon.¡±


    Lori and Jangles watched as her father hobbled away, the lingering scent of gunpowder hanging in the air.


    ¡°What did he mean, ¡®you had to be¡¯?¡± Jangles asked.


    Lori''s eyes fell to the ground, the gravity of her father''s crippling injury pulling her thoughts into the past. Her gaze drifted to the top of the hill, where a solitary tree stood beyond the crest. ¡°I had to be a good shot. I had to hunt to keep us fed.¡±


    ¡°Oh,¡± Jangles nodded. His eyes traveled to the lone tree atop the hill that marked the graves of Lori¡¯s mother, her brothers, and her sister. Jangles regretted asking.


    Before Jangles entered their lives, Lori faced a relentless series of losses. Her family fell, one after another, until it was just her and her father. She spoke of it sparingly, but the pain was clear in her eyes.


    Lori leaned the rifle against the fence, stepped away a few paces, pivoted, and launched a knife that sank into the wood with a satisfying *thunk*. In one fluid motion, she threw her tomahawk, embedding it right next to the knife. She strode back, prying them free and examining them.


    The tomahawk and knife bore worn markings etched into the blades, powerful symbols that made them effective against the undead and various creatures of the night. She hefted them in her hands, feeling their weight and watching the fading sunlight glint dully off the sharp edges.


    ¡°He gave these to me after mom died,¡± she said, her eyes tracing the etchings. ¡°He couldn¡¯t hunt anymore after losing his limbs.¡±


    Jangles asked, ¡°Did he want you to carry on his work?¡±


    Lori shook her head, then nodded, then shrugged. ¡°Maybe. I don¡¯t know. He never said. Maybe he just couldn¡¯t use them anymore and gave them to me.¡±


    Jangles'' eyes darted from the barn to Lori. ¡°He never quit hunting. He stayed behind, guiding and teaching other hunters. He adapted, becoming their mentor.¡±


    Lori sighed and holstered the knife and tomahawk. ¡°Yep. Keep fighting the good fight. Even though it costs an arm and a leg,¡± she spat bitterly.


    Jangles nodded to the top of the hill. ¡°I never knew your family, but we¡¯ve visited their graves many times. You never told me what happened to your father. And I suppose it¡¯s none of my business. You and your father found my egg, hatched me, and raised me. I care for you both very much. I kind of think of him as my own father. In a way, he is. He read to me, looked after me while you were away hunting. I owe him as much as I owe you.¡±


    Lori leaned back on the fence as she rolled a cigarette. ¡°What are you trying to say?¡±


    Jangles sat on his haunches. ¡°You are as much a Hunter as your father was. We might have to eke out a living delivering mail and shuffling passengers to and fro, but you are a Hunter, and you¡¯ll never be satisfied doing anything else.¡±


    Lori rolled her eyes as she struck a match and lit the cigarette. ¡°I will never be a Hunter, Jangles. You and me, we¡¯re bound for the skies, for the next horizon.¡± She looked towards the setting sun and a wistful smile spread across her face. ¡°I want to travel, see the world, not hunt vampires and ghosts. Forget that. You and me, Jangles, we¡¯re going places, just as soon as we get dad settled in at Craterton Forge, we¡¯ll go to the farthest unexplored reaches. We¡¯ll go where no one¡¯s ever gone, and take a look around!¡±


    Jangles smiled. ¡°I¡¯d like that.¡± His smile faded as he glanced back at the barn. ¡°I¡¯m only three years old, but I already know that what we want and what we get are never the same,¡± he said, lowering his gaze.


    Lori patted his muzzle. ¡°Cheer up, my friend. It¡¯s going to be hard, I know, but we¡¯ll get there.¡± She pressed his face to her body with a deep hug. ¡°As long as we¡¯re together, we can handle anything.¡±


    Jangles purred in her embrace for a few moments. Then Lori shouted in surprise and dropped her cigarette when Jangles lifted her high into the air. Lori squeezed her legs around Jangles¡¯ nose, gripping onto his large horns, holding onto his face for dear life.


    ¡°Oh no, I can¡¯t see! I¡¯ve got something on my face! Lori! Help!¡± Jangles staggered around, pretending to be blind.


    Lori laughed and shouted, ¡°Put me down, you crazy dragon!¡± She held on tightly as the ground spun beneath her.


    The dogs leapt about at his feet, joyfully barking and baying as they joined in the fun.

 The Letter

    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.This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    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.


    ***

 The Kobold

    Lori awoke to the soft call of a distant train whistle. She blinked blearily, the sound an intrusive yet gentle call from the world beyond her dreams. With a groggy grunt, she shifted in her cot and leaned over to peer out the hayloft door. A train chugged along, miles away on a stretch of track that wound its way between gentle hills, its smokestack shooting black clouds that billowed and twisted against the early morning sky.


    She flopped back down on her cot, too tired to care who might be coming. It was Oblivion, after all. No one came here anymore. Could a train get lost? The thought made her smile, and soon she was snoring again.


    Lori awoke an hour later to the insistent call of nature. She groaned, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, swung her legs over the side of the cot and tugged her boots on.


    Staggering down the creaky ladder in her long johns, she spotted her father at the table, engrossed in the stack of letters with a steaming cup of coffee beside him. She stretched and yawned, giving him a sleepy wave, which was met with a quick nod. She pushed open the heavy barn doors letting the crisp morning air envelop her as she stepped outside.


    The morning sun gently cast the world in yellow light, the sky still a canvas of pastel hues. Lori yawned again as she made her way to the outhouse, the prairie grass damp with morning dew.


    Lori''s eyes meandered to the distant train station. To her surprise, the train she had noticed earlier was still there, its polished brass glinting in the morning light as it idled on the tracks. The sight was unusual and piqued her curiosity, but the pressing nature of her current mission could not suffer delay.


    She arrived at the outhouse, its weathered wooden door groaning in protest as she pried it open. The smell! Good grief, the smell! The rustic interior was the farthest thing from luxurious. Spiderwebs clung to the corners of the ceiling, their delicate threads catching the morning light seeping through the cracks between the boards on beams of swirling dust. A stack of old newspapers lay beside the opening, destined for practical use.


    As Lori fumbled with the trapdoor of her long johns and sat down to business, the dogs barked fiercely. She leaned to her side, peering through the cracks in the warped boards. Through the narrow slits, she caught glimpses of the dogs darting toward the town. Beyond the flurry of wagging tails, a figure emerged from the distant buildings ¨C a blur of brown and green making its way toward them.


    Of all people, why did it have to be him? Lori grimaced, her suspicions souring her mood further. With a sigh, she leaned forward, resting her elbows on her legs in a disgusted hunch, staring at the dirt floor beneath her feet. What could he possibly want now?


    The dogs'' happy barking grew louder as the newcomer drew closer. Through the gaps in the wood, Lori saw Jangles had roused from sleep and gave a rumbling yawn. He stretched lazily in front of the barn, his limbs shaking off the stiffness of sleep, and he stretched his wings, then flapped them to get the blood moving, shaking off the last remnants of sleep.


    As Jangles finished his stretch, he froze, his body suddenly bristling and alert. His eyes narrowed, fixating on the figure drawing closer. Jangles'' reaction dashed her hopes that she might be wrong.


    As the newcomer came into view, she recognized the distinct form of the kobold she knew too well. He stood no taller than three feet, the creature¡¯s dense coat of brown fur shimmered slightly in the morning light. The green bowler hat perched jauntily on his head cast a small shadow over his large, black eyes. A matching green walking stick complemented his hat, clutched firmly in his right paw. He resembled a groundhog or a prairie dog walking upright, his short legs waddling with surprising agility across the corral. The dogs darted around him, yipping excitedly, their tails a blur of motion.


    He petted each of the dogs as he strolled along. They adored him, their barks turning into happy whimpers as they nuzzled his hands. He took off his bowler hat and reached inside and produced a treat for each of the dogs, who barked and whined in suspense until each got their due. He kept one eye on Jangles, who hadn''t moved from his tense stance in front of the barn. The dragon''s eyes narrowed further as the kobold stopped a few feet away, maintaining a respectful distance.


    ¡°Good morning to you, Jangles,¡± the kobold said, tipping his green bowler hat before placing it back on his head.


    ¡°Ebeneezer,¡± Jangles replied with polite coolness, his voice a deep rumble. He didn''t budge, his body still coiled with cautious energy.If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    Ebeneezer looked at the dragon for a moment, his large black eyes reflecting awkward curiosity and perhaps a hint of regret. "Well¡­" he sighed, accepting the unspoken chill. He turned and continued into the barn, the dogs following closely behind.


    The moment Ebeneezer was out of view, Lori slipped from the outhouse and quietly ran to the barn. She could hear the dogs'' quiet whimpers and the voices inside. Pressing her ear against the thin wooden wall, she could easily make out the conversation.


    "Colonel Drake," Ebeneezer said. "It''s been too long."


    ¡°Hello, Ebeneezer. Have some coffee.¡±


    ¡°Aye! Don¡¯t mind if I do!¡±


    Lori could hear the little kobold waddling across the floor, sliding the pot from the stove that was as tall as he was and pouring into a tin cup. ¡°How long has Lori and Jangles been back?¡±


    ¡°They arrived at noon, yesterday. Leaving sometime today, I think.¡±


    A chair shifted across the dirt floor as Ebeneezer sat down. ¡°I should have guessed by all the post and reading material.¡±


    ¡°What brings you out this way? Trouble in Hakitaw?¡±


    ¡°Ah, so you¡¯ve read Bing¡¯s letter?¡±


    ¡°Last night.¡±


    ¡°I see.¡± He paused. ¡°We sent a man to Hakitaw a couple of weeks ago. He has not reported in.¡±


    Silence.


    ¡°You see, we think it may be a tribal curse. Something with the local natives that used to live there.¡±


    More silence.


    ¡°Would ye come along? We could use your expertise¡­¡±


    Silence, and Lori''s jaw tightened as she pieced it together. She had stupidly hoped that Ebeneezer had come here to get her and Jangles to give him a ride, but Ebeneezer had come from Craterton Forge, and there were any number of ways he could get transportation from there without coming all the way out here. Ebeneezer had come for her father.


    He had not answered. She could picture him thinking over the rim of his coffee cup.


    ¡°We can go if Lori will take us. But she has post to deliver to Fort Dane, first.¡±


    ¡°Splendid!¡± Ebeneezer said. ¡°Fort Dane is on the way! Or near enough.¡±


    Lori''s knees almost gave way. Her breath quickened. How could he have agreed so easily? She clenched her teeth in frustration.


    Jangles walked quietly up behind her. She ignored his presence, her fingers absently plucking splinters from the barn¡¯s wooden planks.


    ¡°Lori?¡±


    She sniffed. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Jangles, I¡¯m just really mad right now.¡±


    Jangles coughed lightly. ¡°It¡¯s just that¡­¡±


    Still tugging at the splinters, Lori barked, "What?"


    ¡°The trap door to your long johns is down. You¡¯re showing your bare bum to the whole town.¡±


    Lori felt her face turn hot and red.


    ***


    Lori stepped into the barn with Jangles behind her. Ebeneezer turned to see her in her bright red long-johns. Lori gave an indignant sniff, and Ebeneezer quickly turned back around to face her father, wide eyed and properly mortified. Lori made sure her trapdoor was securely buttoned before climbing the creaky wooden ladder. Once decently dressed, she descended the ladder again.


    ¡°Hello, Ebeneezer.¡± Lori walked to the stove and poured herself a cup of coffee.


    ¡°Good morning, Ms. Drake. Good to see you again.¡±


    A moment of silence hung between them as they both seemed to agree to never mention her appearing in her long johns.


    A quick glance at her father proved that he would be mentioning it again at some point, given the strain with which he kept a straight face.


    ¡°What brings you out this way?¡±


    Lori refilled the coffee pot with water and fresh grounds and placed it on the stovetop as Ebeneezer told her everything she had already heard.


    Lori was about to speak when her father said, ¡°I¡¯m going. That¡¯s final.¡±


    Lori nodded with a meek, ¡°Yes, sir.¡±


    ¡°Well,¡± Ebeneezer said with a searching glance between Lori and her father, ¡°I suppose I can tell the engineer to go on without me.¡± He hopped down from the chair and took up his cane. ¡°Would either of you care to join me?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll come with you.¡± Lori set her coffee down. ¡°I have to find someone in town who will see to the dogs and goats while we¡¯re gone.¡±


    Ebeneezer nodded in surprise after an uncomfortable pause. ¡°Very well.¡±


    ¡°Jangles, get yourself a goat for breakfast. We¡¯ll be leaving in a couple hours.¡±


    ¡°Hmph.¡± Jangles grunted and watched them leave, his eyes narrowing at Ebeneezer who quickly glanced away.


    The two walked in silence, the awkwardness hanging between them like a bad smell. Ebeneezer kept glancing sideways at Lori until they were nearly at the large corral gate down the hill.


    ¡°Look, lassie, I don¡¯t quite understand what I have done to merit such a cold reception-¡±


    ¡°You use my father!¡± Lori¡¯s shout cut through the still morning air and echoed off the empty buildings. The crows erupted from the water tower, cawing and squawking.


    Ebeneezer winced and stood in a confused, hurt silence.


    ¡°You! And Bing! And all of them! Hunters who come here for miles around asking his advice! They get tactics and knowledge from him! He teaches others to do what he can¡¯t anymore!¡± She pointed at the barn. ¡°He serves them whiskey, he feeds them! He feeds their horses! He gives them a place to sleep, and they never pay!¡±


    Lori¡¯s voice cracked as tears threatened to flow. ¡°I have to fly all over this country delivering post and taking whatever work I can get to make a living just so we can scrape by! Meanwhile he¡¯s stuck in that leaky barn by himself because you and your righteous crusaders against evil can¡¯t be bothered to help! You¡¯re leeches, all of you! Sucking him dry and leaving him to pickle in his own misery! Where the hell are you all when he needs help with cooking? The laundry? Fetching water? Now you come along and expect him to go on a hunt?¡± She shouted in disbelief and threw her hands up. ¡°He¡¯s missing an arm and a leg! Hadn¡¯t you noticed?¡± She shoved the gate open and marched down the empty streets.


    Ebeneezer stood stock still, bewildered and speechless as he watched her go.