He took his place in the middle of the wagon bed and smoothed down the front of his jacket.

The wagon tires sagged a little under his weight.

He picked up his wooden gavel from a small folding table covered with a green cloth.

Denny leveled the gavel at the middle of the crowd.

“Who’ll start us at two hundred thousand for this prime piece of Kearney County land?” Denny asked.

His voice settled immediately into a sharp, rolling rhythm.

He talked in a rapid cadence that made his words bounce off the red barn siding.