It was a beautiful sunny morning on the famous Comstock Lode as LEGO-Sheriff Triibeard strode down the boardwalk of Virginia City toward the office of the local Territorial Enterprise newspaper. 

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“Howdy, Sheriff,” greeted a young Mr. Clemens as the lawman pulled out a coin to pay for the paper. “Good morning, Sam,” said the Sheriff. “What’s fit to print in the Enterprise today?”

“Well, the new bank in Gold Hill is open. Bein’ run by some fancy-pants Italian financier – wears a white tailored outfit, a white hat, and a black facemask. See, right there on the front page: ‘Masked Italian Financier opens Honest Bank.’ ”

“Nice headline, Sam,” chuckled the Sheriff, “How much did you embellish the story this time?

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“Why, Sheriff,” said Sam, somewhat taken aback by the comment. “The story speaks for itself in black and white. I simply fill in some of the colorful details.”

The Sheriff read the article aloud:

“A man of mystery has come to the Comstock to establish a local banking institution serving the citizens of the Nevada Territory with a high level of fairness hitherto unfamiliar to the community. The Honest Bank will lend money at fair and friendly rates and provide safe and secure deposit storage in the bank’s safe.”

He looked at Sam over the top of the paper and then continued...

“The proprietor also offers good prices for locally mined silver and gold. Little is known of this émigré from the Italian peninsula who is said to have experience in law enforcement and made his personal fortune in America from the production and sale of specialized ammunition made from precious metals.”

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The Sheriff finished reading the article and folded the paper neatly under his right arm. “Thank you kindly, Sam. I think I’ll pay a visit to this new banker and get to know him. Perhaps I can get some of those silver bullets for my revolvers.”

“I’d love to get an interview,” Sam shouted from inside the newspaper office. “It would make a great article for the Enterprise.”

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Sheriff Triibeard mounted his snow-white faithful steed, Neva, saying, "I'm headed to Gold Hill, Deputy Westin," and off he trotted down Greiner’s Bend to meet the mysterious moneyman.

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The Honest Bank building was of modest size, even for the Comstock, but it was freshly painted, neat and trim. On entering, the Sheriff was greeted by a familiar face behind the teller window.

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“Good morning, Maxwell,” replied the Sheriff. “I see you got a job with the new banker.”

“Yes, indeed, Sheriff. I used to work at the Bank of California up the road, and now I’m the head teller here at the Honest Bank.”

“Sounds like he’s an insightful businessman to entrust a man like you with that responsibility, Max,” replied the Sheriff. “Tell me, is your boss in? I’d like to introduce myself and share a few words with him.”

“He’s with a couple of clients right now, Sheriff, but I think they’ll be done soon. They’re finalizing the mortgage on a little house just up the hill on B Street. Helping people afford a home is the kind of work he enjoys the most. I’ll let him know you’re waiting.”

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Exquisitely carved mahogany and imported marble graced the walls giving the room an opulence that would surely appeal to the Silver Barons of the Comstock. Triibeard admired a pair of shining silver pistols and a polished gold star that were mounted over the banker’s office door. Odd ornaments for a financial man, he thought.

Shortly, a young couple left the office, their faces beaming with radiant smiles. The Sheriff recognized Zeke, the young husband, as a foreman at the Belcher Mine, and his cheery wife was a seamstress at Mrs. Haversham’s Millenary and Haberdashery up in Virginia City.


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They greeted him with youthful exuberance and told of their good news. “Annie and I are buying the old Morgan house, Sheriff, and the banker gave us really great terms on a mortgage!” He waved them goodbye as they headed down the street to celebrate.

Just then the banker entered the lobby.

“Ah, molto bene! Bienvenuto, Sheriff Triibeard. Grazie, grazie for a-coming to my-a humble bank.”

There he was, dressed in a finely tailored vest, white trousers, a crisp white shirt and white cowboy hat, and most peculiarly, a black mask covered his eyes.

Triibeard gasped. “Why, you… I recognize you!” stammered the stunned Sheriff, “You’re…”

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“That’s-a right-a, Sheriff. I’m-a da Loan Arranger.”

Triibeard's Thirty-NINE years of being bearded    (The recent journey from a short- to a long-beard)
Introducing LEGO-Sheriff Triibeard     (The origin story for our polymeric polychromatic hero)
Sheriff Triibeard and The Case of the Missing Beard Balm   (In search of that scoundrel RiffRaff)
Sheriff Triibeard and the Hermit Hoarder    (Consequences of acquisitiveness)

In a world of shorn faces, it is our privilege to offer those around us the exquisite opportunity to know a gentleman with a beard.
Last Edited By: Triibeard Feb 6 16 5:18 AM. Edited 5 times.