Who says that? Everyone. All the farmers who laughed at you back in ‘ 69. Vernon finally looked up. They’re not laughing anymore, Dale. They’re saying you’re the only reason half the equipment in this county still runs. Dale was quiet for a moment, remembering that day at the auction. Vernon’s laughter, the pointing, the mockery. I remember when you told me I’d wasted $75, Mr. Krebs. You said that Farmall wasn’t worth 15. Vernon flinched. I was wrong. Yes, you were.
I was wrong about a lot of things. Vernon’s voice cracked slightly. I told a lot of farmers to buy new equipment, take on debt, expand while the getting was good. I made money on those sales. Good money. He looked out the workshop door toward the fields. Now those farmers are losing everything, and I can’t sleep at night. Dale studied the man who had mocked him 16 years ago. The arrogance was gone, replaced by something that looked like genuine remorse.
“Bring me the tractors,” Dale said finally. “I’ll take a look. How much do you charge?” “We’ll figure it out. Just bring them over.” Vernon nodded, turned to leave, then stopped. “Dale, that farm all you bought? Is it still running every day? After all these years? After all these years?” Vernon shook his head slowly. $75. Best investment anyone in this county ever made. He walked to his truck and drove away, leaving Dale alone with a truth he’d always known but never spoken.
Patience and skill beat money and flash every single time. Now, let me tell you about the discovery because this is where the story takes its final turn. One morning in October of 1985, Dale was doing what he did every fall, going through the farm all for its annual maintenance before winter storage. He’d done this ritual every year since 1972, checking every system, replacing worn parts, making sure the old tractor would be ready for spring. This year, something caught his attention.
A hairline crack in the engine block. It was small, barely visible, but it ran along the seam where the crankase met the main block. Dale had seen cracks like this before. They started small and grew bigger, eventually causing catastrophic failure. The block would need to be welded or replaced entirely. He spent a week looking for a replacement block. They were getting rare. The 1948 Farm M was nearly 40 years old, and most of them had been scrapped long ago.
Finally, he found one at a salvage yard in Kansas and arranged to have it shipped. While he waited, he decided to do something he’d never done before. Completely strip the original engine. Not just rebuild it, but take it apart to the bare block, documenting everything, understanding every inch of the machine that had served him for 16 years. It was during this tear down that he found it. The crankase had a false bottom. Dale noticed it when he was cleaning the oil pan area.
The measurements didn’t quite add up. There was about 2 in of space that shouldn’t have been there. He’d never noticed before because he’d never completely removed the crankcase from the block. He’d always worked around it. Now with everything apart, he could see that someone had welded a secondary plate inside the crank case, creating a hidden compartment. His heart pounding, Dale cut through the welds. Inside, wrapped in oil cloth and sealed in a leather pouch, he found two things.
The first was money, old bills, nothing newer than 1951. He counted it three times, not believing the total, $3,200. The second was a document, a land deed, dated 1949, for 40 acres of farmland in Frontier County, about 60 mi west of Dale’s farm. There was also a letter handwritten dated November 1952. Dale sat down on his workshop floor and read it. Let me tell you what the letter said because this is where Clarence Hollister’s story finally makes sense.
The letter was addressed to whoever finds this. It began. My name is Clarence Hollister. If you’re reading this, I’m probably dead and you found what I hid. Let me explain. In October 1951, the First National Bank of Curtis was robbed. Two men with guns took $8,000 from the vault. The sheriff said they escaped in a truck heading west. They never caught anyone. They never caught anyone. So, Strad and Nidi Ram Priyan Kurds ficking Politri and Hab say lien from Aquade Rip say Rag the board.
What nobody knows is that I found the money. I was driving home from the feed store on Route 6 when I saw a truck broken down by the side of the road. I stopped to help the way you do. The two men were nervous, sweating. I didn’t think much of it. Truck trouble makes everyone nervous. But when I looked in the back of their truck, I saw a canvas bag. And when I helped them push the truck to the side of the road, the bag split open.
