Maya shut it down at 3:47.
Nine machines mechanically repaired.
But the agreement required functional tests.
The ninth still needed one under load.
Deadline 5:00 p.m.
Plenty of time, theoretically.
Then snow began.
Not heavy.
Wet flakes.
Early storm pushing down from the mountains faster than predicted.
By dawn, the yard was slick.
Clayton looked at the sky.
“We can’t field-test everything in this.”
“We only need nine.”
“Eight already passed.”
“Nine needs load.”
“Use feed wagon in yard.”
“Too slick.”
“Gravel loop.”
“Maybe.”
Luke arrived.
“North road’s icing.”
Maya looked at the clock.
Clayton said:
“We wait.”
“No.”
“Safety was in your contract.”
She stared.
He smiled.
“Annoying when somebody reads it.”
She almost threw a glove at him.
Instead they waited.
By ten, snow turned to rain.
Gravel softened but remained passable.
At eleven thirty, Maya climbed into machine nine with Luke.
Clayton drove behind.
They pulled the loaded feed wagon around the ranch loop.
Ten minutes.
Twenty.
Forty.
No faults.
Maya watched network values.
Stable.
At 12:41, they returned.
Luke stopped the tractor.
Maya looked at the clock.
Four hours nineteen minutes before deadline.
Nine.
All nine.
She sat inside the cab.
Did not move.
Luke smiled.
“You won.”
Maya stared at the machines lined along the yard.
One hundred cows.
She had been too busy to think about what winning actually meant.
Luke nudged her shoulder.
“Hey.”
“What?”
“You won.”
Maya laughed.
Then cried.
She hated crying in front of people.
Luke politely looked through the windshield.
Clayton stood outside.
He had apparently understood anyway.
When Maya climbed down, he held a clipboard.
Not the wager.
A cattle inventory.
“One hundred cows.”
He handed it over.
Ear tag numbers.
Ages.
Pregnancy status.
Veterinary records.
Every animal already identified.
Maya looked up.
“You prepared this?”
“Day two.”
She stared.
“You thought I could win on day two?”
“No.”
“Then why?”
Clayton looked uncomfortable.
“Because you made me sign.”
She smiled.
He continued.
“And because after that first tractor started, I thought I should be prepared to lose honestly.”
Maya looked at the list.
The north pasture herd was not junk.
Not culls.
Not elderly cows headed for sale.
Prime breeding stock.
Mostly four-to-six-year-olds.
Good genetics.
Many confirmed bred.
She looked at him.
“These are worth more than the minimum implied by our deal.”
“No minimum.”
“You could’ve picked worse cattle.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you?”