“Well, the important thing is that my father’s fine, he didn’t die. And I have a feeling that Violet is going to be OK. A little bird once told me she was ‘feisty, just like her mother.’”

Bertha gave a watery chuckle. “Oh, aye, I wager that girl has more fight in her little finger than most men have in their entire body.”

“There you are, then. We’re going to find them, Bertha. Just you wait and see. We’ll get our Violet back, and we’ll snatch that treasure right out from under John Pete’s nose.”

Bertha gazed at me. “I always wanted you for Violet. You have the same courage and passion as your dear old da.”

Flustered, I looked away, sure that my face was blazing red. “Ahem! Did you see a sword lying around here? I think my father dropped it during the scuffle.”

I found the sword and we returned to the kitchen, where I helped Bertha carry my father’s meal back to the cabin where he lay. As soon as we entered the room, my father perked up, his eyes twinkling.

“Did you remember to bring the whiskey?”