Sand in Black and White by John R. Canter

Xeric scratched his short beard. The young man thought for a long time on how to word his wish. You had to be careful with djinn, he thought, and efreet were even more dangerous than them. In the dark basement storeroom, a pair of fiery red eyes gazed impatiently through the smoke. What appeared to be a horned man had a grin on his face, trying to look trustworthy. It worked surprisingly well.

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A Dinosaur Safari is a Matter of Luck by John R. Canter

Diary of Albert Winston, of the Kope-Marshal Expedition, Sunday, the Second of September: We have seen the first signs of tracks since our expedition began some four weeks ago. Mrs. Kope and Mr. Marshal, well-read as they are, insist on inspecting every set of tracks they come across in the hopes that it is their quarry. Often I must persuade them, by the number of toes, the shape of the impression, and other attributes of the style of the animal’s gait, that, no, they have not found their tyrannosaurs.

Two Old Pirates by John R. Canter

She looked up at the ship, its rotted planks warped by the sea water and plastered by the leavings of seagulls. It was still beautiful in her eyes, and although she could not say she was the more beautiful thing anymore, now that she was pushing 70, she didn’t feel quite so old looking at the shipwreck of The Dragonfly. After taking a moment to take in its crippled majesty, she hobbled up the rocks, cursing in achy stiffness as she went.