The stockyards were at the edge of the city, close by the railhead. Livestock pens full of pianos stretched in all directions, the air around them full of the sound of piano chords and the smell of varnish. They had been brought in from the ranches - some by rail from the nearby towns, others along the trails. Now they were waiting their turn to be shipped across country to whatever future awaited them. Every day trains would arrive at the railhead, their wagons empty; and every day trains would leave laden with pianos, their gleaming woodwork visible through the wagons' ventilation grilles.

"Next!" Robert Channing ran his part of the stockyard like the professional he was. He made sure that the ranchers brought their herds to the right pens, and that their instruments left on the right trains. His ledger was his Bible; his paperwork was his Gospels. And, just like a bishop speaking ex cathedra, Mr Channing was infallible.

'Next' was Gordon Fox, owner of the Bar-F ranch. He dismounted from his horse and took off his gloves to shake hands with the stockyard manager. "Afternoon, Mr Channing."

Channing returned the greeting. He and Gordon Fox knew had known each other for a long time. "What you got today, Mr Fox?" The two men strolled back towards the herd. "Looks like a fine lot of Steinways to me."

"And all concert-grade." Gordon ran a hand over the lid of the nearest piano, which tinkled a minor chord in response to his touch. "Or so the agent told me."

"Already got a customer?" Mr Channing leafed through his ledger, looking for the day's entries.

"Got the bill o' sale right here." The rancher fished out a folded sheet of paper from the inside pocket of his dusty jacket, and handed it over to Channing for him to inspect.

"Heh." Channing unfolded the bill and checked it against the details in his ledger. "Matches up. I take it you want these fine creatures on the next train out?"

"Only if you can manage it."

Channing did a quick mental calculation. "Let's put them in pen twelve. This-a-way." He threaded his way along the dirt tracks that ran between the pens, Fox following behind him until they came to an empty enclosure. "Here."

"Now that will do rightly," Fox remarked. He waved his hat to attract the attention of his men. "Alright! Bring 'em in!"

The ranch hands set to work, guiding the pianos into the pen. As they passed down the chute, chords ringing out as they jostled against each other, the ranger and the stockyard manager counted each one through.

"You appear to be one short, Mr Fox," Channing remarked.

Fox checked the tally in his notebook. "I agree." He glanced back along the line of pens to where a lone piano stood alongside a boy dressed in dungarees and a woollen shirt. "Billy," the rancher said and shook his head in disappointment. "That figures. My boy is soft, but I'll teach him. He got attached to that one during the ride."

"It'll have to go with the others," Channing replied. "Or the numbers won't be right. Can't be having that."

The two men walked to where Billy and his piano were standing. "Billy," Fox began. His tone was kind, but admonishing. "It has to go in the pen."

"But, Da!" the boy protested. "She plays so well. Can't I keep her? Bring her back to the ranch?"

"No, son. She's already been bought and paid for. It wouldn't be right. Not unless you got a hundred dollars."

Channing reached out and put a heavy hand on Billy's shoulder. "Now, Mr Fox. A suggestion if I may. Your train ain't 'til tomorrow morning. An hour or two right now won't make a difference to that."

The rancher glanced back and forth between the faces of his son and Mr Channing. Then he relented. "Alright, boy. You can play one last time."

Billy raised the piano's lid, exposing the black and white of its keyboard. Then he set to, playing from memory. The sweet, sad music filled the afternoon air.