Nancy May Morgan was in trouble.
On Friday night, she’d taken off her engagement ring so as not to scare away the boys in the dance hall.
She didn’t realize it was missing until Saturday morning and then spent all day searching high and low. No luck.
Her beau, Judge Thomas Righter, was due back in town on Monday morning.
And so, on Sunday after church, it was with a healthy dollop of desperation that Nancy May approached the only man in town who could help her -- Smeller Pete.
As the saying went, if you’ve lost your girl, Smeller Pete can smell her feet from a mile away.
It was an easy agreement -- two pints of whisky in exchange for the services of Pete’s magnificent nose.
They set off within minutes, but progress was slow.
The afternoon sun bore into their skin as they made a meandering path through the town, up one side of the main street and down the other.
By five o’clock, they had turned north into the desert and left the village behind them. Unease crept into Nancy May’s belly as the shadows grew longer.
“I think we should turn back, Pete,” she said. “My ring can’t be this far out.”
Pete came to an abrupt stop.
He held up a finger to shush her. “There ya go.”
He pointed toward a single, scraggly tree on a rise in the distance. Nancy May could just make out a midnight black raven perched in its nest among the top branches.
And, glinting in the sunlight … brilliant golden metal.
“My ring!”
Pete was already walking away.
“Aren’t you going to get my ring?” Nancy May pleaded.
“No, ma’am. My specialty is findin’ things. Seems you need a retrieval expert.”
He giggled as he disappeared into the dusk.
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