Like all good stories, this one begins,one day…It was a morning Myrna would always remember.

At sunrise a crimson glow lit the softly curdled clouds. Myrna stopped, entranced, in the doorway. Before she’d even finished a cup of coffee, the fullness of colors faded—the soft edges dissipated. She wished the image had lasted longer. Myrna quietly walked to the barn and mounted her horse, Star. Most of the children would already be in the classroom by the time she arrived at the Brown settlement, where she taught reading and arithmetic.

Myrna stayed at the Browns’ later than she meant that afternoon—but she and Belle-Liz needed to grade the students’ arithmetic lessons…and then they’d got to chatting. Now she’d have to ride her horse hard to make time before the rain descended. Already the wind was a gale.

There was a deep shush overhead before the sky blotted dark. Myrna glanced upward and dismounted: passenger pigeons. She took aim and fired several times. Four spiraled and hit the ground. It was not easy to make such accurate, delicate shots, she thought. She carefully laid the warm soft b