“Howdy, folks!” he said as we finally made our way over. “Welcome to the South Pass City Historical Site. I’m Dallas, but you can call me Dally.” He patted his horse and said, “This here is Della.”

Dallas, who I would not be calling Dally, hopped down and shook everyone’s hands, asking their names and repeating them like he was committing them to memory forever.

“Are you a real cowboy, or is that a costume because you don’t have a sheriff’s badge but maybe you left it at home did you leave it at home?” Kane asked, looking up at Dallas curiously.

Dallas laughed. “Well, I’m not a sheriff,” he began.

“Oh,” Kane said, disappointed. “What are you, then?”

“I’m a college student studying agriculture.”

“What’s agg-i-cur . . . What’s that?” Kane asked.

“In my case, I’m going to be a food scientist.”

Kane looked at him blankly.

“But I grew up on a ranch and do rodeo, so yes, you can call me a cowboy,” Dallas added quickly.

Kane seemed satisfied.

Addressing all of us, holding Della’s reins loosely as she shifted her weight, Dallas said that he’d take us on a tour around the structures that remained in Old Pass City from the old days, which included the saloon, school, store, and mine.

“Then we’ll tour the recently uncovered tunnels at the Carissa Gold Mine—”

“Underground?” I interrupted, not meaning to, touching my fingers to my lips.

“Yes, ma’am, the tunnels cut through the rock,” he said. “We’ll walk along the original tracks laid by gold miners in the eighteen hundreds by candlelight.” I must have looked as horrified as I felt, because he said, “I promise it’s safe. We do tours all the time.”

“Wicked awesome,” Kennedy said, and it sounded like she meant it.

“Yeah,” I agreed, despite feeling like locking myself in the minivan.

Dallas led us to a cluster of buildings set against the backdrop of a small hill. We started on the left with the schoolhouse, which was just a single-room log cabin where kids of all ages were taught by one teacher. We had to look at the classroom setup through a glass partition so we wouldn’t mess anything up, I guess. Kane smashed his face against the glass and blew; I’m sure it looked funny on the other side of the glass. He left behind a wet smudge that Aunt Maureen didn’t notice.

The schoolhouse had a freestanding closet behind it, which Dallas said was the outhouse: otherwise known as a bathroom with no electricity or running water.

“Those kids had it rough,” Kennedy said as we walked toward the general store, proving she was paying attention. I tried to, too, but dread was growing in my core. Not only was I afraid of the dark, but I was also afraid of small spaces—and being crushed.