They Sent Me to Prison for the Family Fire, So I Came Home to Sell the Ranch Out From Under Them novel · Chapter 19 of 24

Chapter 19: No Signer

The bank on Idaho Street had glass walls on two sides, and by half past seven the festival had come to look.

They stood on the sidewalk in their good coats, a hundred of them already, ranchers and wives and old women in black.

Children rode on shoulders, and people held coffee in paper cups.

Somebody had set a table of pastries on the curb.

Nobody had told them anything, and every one of them knew.

I went in through the revolving door with Ansel at my shoulder.

He wore his own clothes, a clean white shirt and the work hat, and no county jacket.

A deputy at the door looked at the crowd, then at me, and let us through.

The conference room sat on the ground floor behind a wall of glass that looked straight out on the street.

The buyer's men sat on one side of a long table.

There were three of them in dark suits, with folders squared in front of them and the pale faces of men who had flown in the night before.

The bank manager sat at the head.

My father sat at the far end with his hat on his knee.

He had shaved.

My mother sat beside him with her purse in both hands and her eyes on the carpet.

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