The bidding slowed. Men shook their heads and muttered about grain prices and rail fees. A rancher near the gate spat, turned, and walked off like he’d just decided pride was cheaper than feed.
Silas raised his hand.
“Fifteen from the man in the back,” the auctioneer crowed, pointing straight at him. “Fifteen. Do I hear sixteen?”
Silence.
Hank nudged Silas with his elbow. “Steel of the century.”
Silas kept his eyes on the horses as if looking away might invite trouble.
“Going once… going twice…”
The gavel cracked down hard.
“Sold!”
The auctioneer’s grin widened, and something about it made Silas’s stomach tighten. It was the grin of a man who’d found a new way to be cruel and couldn’t wait to try it.
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