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Weekly Contest #296
I always hated Fort Bridger. The way they draped the flag over the Johnson family general store shopfront sign didn't sit right with me. It felt symbolic–like our own army had invaded and tactically cut off our supply lines, like they did the Indians. The Johnsons were good people. They never charged more than a nickel for a tin of coffee and even gave goods on credit when the winter ran long. I caught Tim Johnson before he left, his wagon sagging under everything he owned, heading towards Green River while I was hunting elk in the foothil...
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