We’re Carolyn and Harold, Territory historians, racing the sunset to put this country on paper before the stories ride off for good.

Along the trail we’ve made the kind of friends a soul brags about: a straight-shooting cowboy, a sharp-tongued riverboat first mate, a quiet Dakota winyan, a blacksmith who can curse iron into shape, and a dozen more hard-worn, big-hearted souls who call this land home. They’re waiting right now, coffee on, hats tipped back, ready to talk, in their own voices.

Ask Buck what night guard feels like under a sky so thick with stars you can hear it breathe. Ask Martin what a real bullwhacker is when the whip cracks and the mud’s axle-deep. Ask Samuel how cold that river water is when a man’s paying in gold dust. Ask any of them anything. They’ll answer like you’re sitting on the same log, sharing the same fire. This ain’t a museum. This is a living Territory, and the door’s wide open. Step in. The Friends of Dakota Territory have been expecting you.