text: It was their first visit to Fort Sully, which was located on a high bluff overlooking the Missouri River Valley. The fort was well-maintained with barracks built of cottonwood logs. On a terrace below the main fort were stables, a granary, a sawmill, a smithy and a tavern where the troopers spent the largest share of their $13 a month in pay.
  
  In addition to the two long barracks for the troopers, there were separate quarters for the laundresses and nine separate buildings of wood on brick foundations for the officers.
  
  At the sutler's store, they bought what food they thought two adults and a child would eat throughout the winter. They bought all the staples, flour, dried pinto beans, sugar, salt, coffee, baking powder, soda, tins of peaches and pears, pickles, relishes, rice, oatmeal, raisins, dried apples, peaches and apricots and apple cider and white vinegar.
  
  "You wanna get potatoes, onions and carrots?" Paulie asked.
  
  "If we do, we'll have to dig out a root cellar," Grit said. "But then we could also get some heads of cabbage too. So yeah, do it!"
  
  Paulie carried out bags of potatoes, onions and carrots, and he got two dozen heads of cabbage which could be used for soups. When they were done, the wagon was full once more. They loaded 20 extra bags of oats for the horses and possibly the mules.
  
  "One last thing, I'll have that new Winchester you got there and four boxes of cartridges," Grit said. "Oh, and I'll need six more of the wool blankets, best you've got."
  
  "All told," the merchant said, "that'll be $238.15." Paulie pulled out the sack of money and paid the man.
  
  "Got any idea who sells hogs?" Grit asked.
  
  "Yeah, there's a farmer north of here a couple of miles named Christian Nilsen, and I think he'd sell you a hog."
  
  As he was walking out the door, Grit heard a voice say, "Hey, aren't you Grit Milburn?"
  
  Grit turned and saw a young woman that he recognized. "Yeah, that's me, and I remember your face, but I'm sorry I can't remember your name."
  
  "It's Colleen Byrne," she said. "You were in the parochial school in Chicago."
  
  Grit grinned in spite of himself. "Yeah, I was. You were there too."
  
  "Yeah, I was a year behind you," she said. "I graduated and couldn't find a job. We Irish are told not to apply for lots of jobs, so I'm doin' laundry for the troopers here."
  
  "That doesn't seem right," Grit said. "You got a good education, Colleen."
  
  "Yeah, well, doesn't matter, I guess," she said. "In this life, we do what we have to do. I remember when you got kicked out of school. Wasn't your fault either. What happened to you?"
  
  Grit blinked rapidly, not sure he should say. "Well... I got into the fight game, boxing you know, and anyway, I ended up hitting a man and killing him. They sent me to the Michigan State Prison for three years."
  
  "Oh, no!"
  
  "They put me on a wood cutting crew, and I cut wood for three years. Now I cut wood for the riverboats down on the Missouri, just about 25 miles south of here."
  
  "You got a cabin?" she asked.
  
  Paulie walked up and Grit said, "This is my partner, Paulie Samson. Paulie, this is Colleen Byrne. We attended parochial school together in Chicago. To answer your question, Colleen, Paulie and I have a house down on the river. We just had it built this year. Real nice view of the river valley."
  
  "You're doin' alright then," she said.
  
  "We're doin' fine, but we ran across a neighbor who's got a family, and they're gonna die this winter if they don't get some help."
  
  "Oh, so you gotta help 'em," she said.
  
  "It's the only thing to do... no other choice, even though the husband says he doesn't want our help," Grit said. "It's all about the wife and baby girl. Like you say, you do what you have to do."
  
  "I'd love to talk to you some more," she said. "Wednesdays and Saturdays are my days off."
  
  "Oh? I'll have to remember that, Colleen," Grit said. "It's good to see you again."