Nine
Tyler and Hank left the Walker house with Hank driving the wagon along the narrow dirt road as they made their way back to town. In Vancouver, the makeshift tents were already beginning to give way to rough buildings. Tyler was impressed. It had only been a day since the fire had ripped through town, destroying everything.
But these were hardy people, used to making their own way in this challenging wilderness. There was certainly enough lumber around to build all the houses they needed, and he was sure that the sawmills would welcome the business.
“How long have you lived here, Hank?” Tyler asked as the wagon bounced sharply over another bump, causing his question to stutter out from between clenched teeth.
“Since the town was founded, about fifteen years ago.”
“A founding fathe
