“Two hundred forty thousand,” Denny announced, his voice rising over a sudden gust of wind.

The man in the brown jacket took a cell phone out of his pocket and tapped the glowing screen with his thumb.

He gave another tiny nod toward the hay wagon without taking his eyes off his phone.

He was treating this auction like a quick errand on his way back to the highway.

“Fifty,” Denny said.

“Half a million dollars’ worth of dirt going for two hundred fifty.

Do I hear sixty?”