Stopped.
Cranked again.
Coughed.
Then started with a violent shake.
Smoke drifted from the exhaust.
The auctioneer spoke into his microphone.
“John Deere 648 cable skidder, runs and drives, seller reports no guarantees, inspect before bidding, sold as-is, where-is.”
Dale called from the crowd:
“Mostly as-is.”
Laughter.
The auctioneer grinned.
“Who’ll give me five thousand?”
Nobody moved.
“Four?”
Silence.
“Three?”
One man raised a hand.
The auctioneer found him immediately.
“Three thousand, now thirty-five?”
The bidder shook his head.
Auctioneer dropped.
“Twenty-five?”
Another man offered twenty-five hundred.
Then stopped.
At two thousand, bidding stalled.
Hannah watched.
She had set a maximum.
$1,700.
Not because she believed the skidder was worth only $1,700.
Because that was all she could afford without touching money reserved for property taxes.
The bidding unexpectedly fell backward when the auctioneer realized the second bidder had misunderstood the lot number.
The real standing bid was $900.
That changed everything.
“Nine hundred, looking for eleven.”
Hannah raised her card.
“One thousand one hundred.”
Heads turned.
Dale Bishop laughed loud enough that even the auctioneer looked toward him.
“Eleven hundred from the young lady. Twelve?”
Nothing.
“Eleven hundred once.”
Someone behind Hannah whispered:
“Let her have it.”
“Twice.”
Dale called:
“You’ll spend eleven hundred getting it off the property.”
More laughter.
The auctioneer raised his hand.
“Sold.”
Gavel.
“Eleven hundred dollars.”
For approximately three seconds, Hannah felt victorious.
Then the Deere coughed.
A cloud of smoke rolled from beneath the engine compartment.
The crowd exploded in laughter.
Dale pointed at the skidder.
“Perfect timing.”
Hannah stared at her purchase.
The crewman inside the cab shut the engine down.
Silence returned except for laughter and wind.
Hannah walked toward the machine.
Dale followed.
“You know what the scrap yard pays?”
She ignored him.
“About nine hundred if you haul it.”
She crouched beside the rear tire.
“That gives you two hundred dollars of learning.”
Hannah looked up.
“Finished?”
Dale smiled.
“Trying to help.”
“Then hold this.”
She handed him her flashlight.
His smile vanished.
“What?”
“Hold it.”
For reasons he would later deny, Dale did.
Hannah crawled underneath the skidder again.
Several men watched.
She pointed upward.
“Read that.”
Dale bent.
“Read what?”
“The aluminum tag.”
He found it.
The humor disappeared from his face.
Hannah watched his eyes move across the numbers.
“Transmission rebuilt fourteen months ago.”
Dale handed the flashlight back.
“Doesn’t mean the rest isn’t junk.”
“No.”
She stood.
“It means somebody spent twelve or fifteen grand on the part everybody assumed was dead.”
Dale stared.
“How many hours?”