I just finished Craig Johnson's newest little novella, Spirit of Steamboat.
It is Christmas Eve, and Sheriff Walt Longmire is sitting at his desk in Durant, Wyoming, reading a copy of Dickens' Christmas Carol, a gift from his father many years ago. A young Japanese-American woman comes into the office, searching for the former Sheriff, Lucian Conellly. Longmire takes her to the assisted-living facility where the former sheriff resides, and the former sheriff is thanked by the young woman for saving her life thirty years earlier. He doesn't remember her, until she says the word, "Steamboat".
The novel goes back then to 1988. There's been a horrific automobile accident north of Durant. A mother and father are killed in a burning car, and a little girl needs immediate medical treatment. Sheriff Conelly, a former Doolitle Raider, flies an ancient and aged B-25 (once used in Durant as a firefighting plane) to Denver to get the little girl the treatment she needs to save her life. The outcome of the flight is never in doubt, but only through teamwork, Macgyver-ism, and pure intestinal fortitude does the plane make it to Denver.
I've never read a better little novella. It took me about an hour, and I'll enjoy re-reading this book for the rest of my life.
What did I relearn?
"“. . . no space of regret can make amends for one life’s opportunity misused. . . "
Think about it.
Rue Morgue - '08, '09
Black Rock Beacon - '10, '12
Bacon is forever.
Veni, vidi, pertudi.