"You shouldn't have done that."
"Probably not."
"He'll make sure you don't buy anything today."
Daniel glanced down at bidder card 117.
"He can try."
They returned to the ring separately.
As Daniel took his seat, the two ranchers beside him were discussing King's Resolve.
"Whitmore says there's a recessive issue."
"Catalog says clean."
"Yeah, but who wants to risk it?"
Daniel leaned forward.
"The registry letter confirms he's clean," he said.
Both men turned.
"You saw it?"
"Yes."
"You know cattle?"
Daniel nodded toward the ring. "A little."
The first man smiled. "Well, if you bid, I guess we'll see how much you believe your own eyes."
Daniel rested bidder card 117 on his knee.
Across the ring, Clay Whitmore noticed.
The auctioneer sold three lots, then the gate opened and King's Resolve entered under the lights.
The bull stopped in the center of the sawdust and lifted his head.
Emma stood by the rail, pale but steady.
Clay crossed one leg over the other and smiled toward Daniel.
The auctioneer began his chant.
"Let's start him at seventy-five thousand. Seventy-five, who'll give seventy-five?"
No hands rose.
"Seventy? Sixty-five?"
Nothing.
The room, which had paid one hundred and thirty thousand for a younger bull an hour earlier, suddenly became fascinated by catalogs and coffee cups.
Daniel felt the shape of the rumor moving through the silence.
The auctioneer dropped again.
"Fifty thousand, who'll start me at fifty?"
Clay looked over his shoulder.
His smile said: I told you.
Daniel lifted bidder card 117.
The auctioneer saw Daniel's card before most of the room did.
"Fifty thousand, thank you, bidder one-seventeen. Now fifty-five, who'll give me fifty-five?"
For half a second, nothing changed. Then heads began to turn.
Daniel sat with one ankle crossed over the other, bidder card resting loosely against his knee. He looked neither nervous nor excited. To anyone who had not heard Clay Whitmore mocking him all morning, he might have appeared exactly what he was: a cattleman studying an animal he intended to buy.
But the room had heard Clay.
A man in a mud-stained shirt had just opened a fifty-thousand-dollar bid.
Clay laughed and raised his card.
"Fifty-five."
The auctioneer caught it instantly. "Fifty-five, now sixty, sixty where?"
Daniel lifted his card.
"Sixty with one-seventeen. Sixty-five?"
Clay raised his.
"Sixty-five."
Daniel answered at seventy.
The rhythm accelerated. The auctioneer's chant rolled over the seats, turning numbers into percussion.
Seventy-five. Eighty. Eighty-five.
At ninety thousand, one of the Oklahoma buyers who had been standing near the bull pens joined. A rancher from Kansas came in at ninety-five. The rumor was losing its grip. Bidding made its own kind of evidence. When serious buyers saw other serious buyers move, they reconsidered what fear had told them.
Clay looked annoyed rather than concerned. He bid one hundred thousand.
Daniel bid one hundred and five.
Emma Collins stood beside the ring with both hands pressed to the rail. She had needed ninety. The bull had crossed one hundred. Relief should have softened her face, but she was looking at Daniel now, not the numbers.
The Kansas buyer dropped out at one ten.
The Oklahoma buyer stayed to one twenty.
Daniel bid one twenty-five.
Clay raised one finger without looking at the auctioneer.
"One thirty from Mr. Whitmore. One thirty-five?"
Daniel lifted the card.
Clay finally turned around.
"One forty," he called, abandoning the silent card.
A murmur moved through the room.
The auctioneer grinned. "One forty. I like a man who speaks clearly. One forty-five?"
Daniel nodded.
"One forty-five. One fifty?"
Clay raised his card.
"One fifty."
The Oklahoma buyer shook his head and folded his catalog.
Now it was only Clay and Daniel.
The auctioneer pointed between them. "One fifty, looking for one fifty-five."
Daniel bid.
Clay leaned back and stared at him.
For the first time, Daniel could see calculation replacing mockery. Clay had not expected the ranch hand to survive past sixty thousand. At a hundred and fifty-five, the joke was becoming inconvenient.
Clay stood.
"Before this goes any further," he said loudly, "somebody ought to make sure bidder one-seventeen can pay."
The auctioneer's chant stopped.
The room changed at once. A cattle auction can tolerate noise, argument, even insults. It cannot tolerate doubt about payment. Every face turned toward Daniel.
Emma's eyes widened.
Clay spread his hands as though he were doing Redstone a favor. "No disrespect. But we all heard registration say premium buyers need proof. I'd hate to see the consignor celebrate a fake bid."
Several people nodded. Not because they trusted Clay, necessarily, but because the concern sounded reasonable when separated from the humiliation surrounding it.
Daniel did not stand.
"Check it," he said.
The auctioneer looked toward the registration desk.
June, the clerk who had issued Daniel's badge, was already speaking with a floor manager. She checked her computer, then picked up a phone. The floor manager walked to the auctioneer and whispered in his ear.
The auctioneer's eyebrows rose.
He looked at Daniel, then back at the manager.
"You sure?"
The manager nodded.
The auctioneer returned to his microphone.
"Bidder one-seventeen is financially cleared by Redstone for this sale."
Clay remained standing. "Cleared for what amount?"
The manager answered this time.
"For any lot offered today."
A low murmur rolled through the seats.
Clay's face did not move, but the muscles in his jaw tightened.
Daniel lifted his bidder card slightly. "Can we continue?"
Someone in the back laughed.
The auctioneer slapped his hand against the podium. "We can. One fifty-five stands with bidder one-seventeen. Looking for one sixty."
Clay sat down and bid one sixty.
Daniel bid one sixty-five.