"What do you need?" Lily asked in Native American and covered her mouth. She was from a tribe in the north and rarely spoke it because it reminded her too much of her mother who dies before her father became a sheriff. The American jewelry around her neck only symbolized she was that nationality but no one asked about it.
Scruffy-looking hombre, Buddy Reno swaggered through the swinging doors to the bar, patting a layer of dust and white powder from his tattered vest and breeches. He was in the company of another man, a short, round, bald, bespectacled sort, who was well-dressed in fine suit pants and silk shirt. A striking contrast the the rough-and-tumble Reno.
"That was a fine day's labor, young man..." the well-to-do doughboy commended, passing a leather pouch to Buddy as they approached the bar.
Buddy nodded to the stout fellow, and accepted his payment graciously.
"Much obliged, Mr Smith... let me know when you reckon you will start construction, and I'll be sure to make myself available..."
"Will do, son..." the elder man promised, tipping his bowler hat to Buddy before making a graceful exit from the saloon.
Buddy shrugged and continued to the bar, ordering up a sasparilla, then eying the entertainment.