Lindsay
Schopfer

By Lindsay Schopfer

Keltin lowered himself from the buckboard in relief, his back and neck aching from the bumpy ride. The driver was already on the ground, helping the few passengers from the stagecoach and retrieving their luggage from the storage net in the back. The rangy man in faded trail clothes hadn’t spoken more than a dozen words during the trip, but that suited Keltin. Days spent alone while hunting had refined his appreciation of solitude and silence.

He reached up under his seat, pulled the heavy strongbox out from its hiding place, and lowered it to the ground. The driver came around the coach to check each of the four horses for any damage they had sustained on the trip.

“Will you be going on to Johnsville tomorrow?” asked the driver as he picked a stone from one of the horses’ hoofs.

Keltin shook his head. “No, but Mr. Jastin in Gamperton should have telegraphed ahead of us to get you another strongbox guard for the trip.”

The driver grunted and lowered the cleared hoof to the ground. “All right then. Good luck on your travels.”

“Thanks. Can you direct me to the courier’s office here in town?”

The driver gave him directions and said a short goodbye as Keltin joined Mr. Paulsen standing nearby.

“How will we be moving on to Krendaria, Mr. Paulsen?”

“By rail,” the banker replied, glancing at his pocket watch. “We’ll be leaving on the four o’clock train this afternoon. I’ll need to go home and pack for the journey. Will you be all right until then?”

“Of course. I’ve got some errands to run myself. I’ll meet you at the station.”