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here; I’ll get it for you.”
    A pretty young woman in a blue dress stood in a wrought-iron cage. She was staring at him, blinking. Standish flinched, and then he realized that he was silhouetted in a shaft of light coming through the door. He must look like a ghost to her. He stepped up to the cage, nothing but his smile showing beneath the brim of his hat.
    â€œI was hoping I might see the bank president about some land.”
    The young woman smiled. “I’ll take you to him.” She stepped out of the cage, and Standish followed her. Something teased his nose. She was wearing a lilac scent. It was too early for lilacs, but the fragrance brought back memories of Standish’s childhood. He shook them from his mind, not wanting to be distracted in his talk with the president.
    The young lady stepped in front of the banker’s desk. “Mr. Butler, this gentleman would like to speak with you.”
    The bank president was bent over his desk, doodling furiously. He didn’t look up at his teller’s introduction. He had seen the bank’s visitor. Wide-brimmed hat pulled low over a bearded face. The flannel shirt was long on wear and short on clean, and his woolen trousers seemed capable of walking off on their own if they were given the opportunity. Perhaps more odious was the wafting odor of horse that proceeded the man.
    E.J. Burkhart was a professional man, a banker who held Last Chance’s financial reins in hand. He didn’t like to have his day interrupted by riffraff. Burkhart sighed. Public service was public service. He pulled a scented handkerchief from his vest pocket and held it to his nose.
    â€œWhat can I do for you, mister.…”
    â€œThank you,” Standish said, pulling out a chair and sitting down. “I’m interested in a place west of here and discovered that you have a lien filed against it.”
    Burkhart’s eyes darted around his desk, as though he were following the flight of a housefly. “Perhaps you could give me the name.”
    â€œBele, Klaus Bele.”
    â€œOh, yes, Mr. B-e-l-l.” Burkhart drew the word into a sneer. “So you have come to pay off his debt.”
    â€œI’d like to see the lien, please.”
    Burkhart’s eyebrow curled. “You can read?”
    â€œTolerably well.”
    â€œYes, I suppose.” The banker turned to the young lady in the teller’s cage. “Miss Smythe, would you please give me Mr. Bell’s papers?”
    The young woman was torn between counting a deposit on her desk and complying. Burkhart resolved the issue. “Now, Miss Smythe!” She jumped a little at the tone of her boss’s voice, apologized to her customer and walked to Burkhart’s desk.
    â€œI need the Bell file.”
    Miss Smythe nodded, bent down and opened the top drawer on Burkhart’s desk. She thumbed through the files for a moment and handed the Bell file to her boss.
    â€œHard to get good help, here,” Burkhart said, and Standish noticed a soft pink spreading across Miss Smythe’s face. She walked back to the teller cage and apologized again to her customer. He nodded, but knots rippled through the muscles of his jaw.
    Burkhart refocused his distaste on Standish. “This is the lien. Please don’t…muss it.”
    Standish pored through the lien, pausing to ask the banker. “You ever seen his place?”
    The banker’s eyes darted around his desk as though they had suddenly broken their bonds with his brain. He opened the middle drawer on his desk and began rearranging the pens, pencils, pads and forms there.
    Standish stopped reading and starred at Burkhart, awaiting a reply.
    â€œUh, yes I have. Not worth a dime, that place. Can’t see why you’re interested in it.”
    â€œPretty place.”
    Burkhart laughed, a chortling little laugh. “Can’t sell pretty.”
    â€œI guess not,” Standish said. He leaned