C. C. Phillips
C. C. Phillips
June fifteenth is an unusual time of year for a farm auction but circumstances dictated that Pete Liscombe should sell off his equipment a month after the local farm sales were finished. The fire that had destroyed his barn had encouraged the retirement decision, or so he told his neighbours. While “bellied up” to the bar in Stockton's hotel beverage room a few days before the sale, the weather beaten rancher admitted, “A man can't go on forever, wintering cows and pulling calves.”
“Textbook perfect weather!” the auctioneer announced on the morning of the sale. Brilliant sunshine from an azure sky bathed the time-worn farmyard and, for a brief respite, the leaves on the stunted caraganna trees in their scraggly rows were moving not at all. Dust clouds boiled up from an onslaught of vehicles as they approached Pete Liscombe's yard and from the many tendrils spiralling skyward,St the promise of a good turnout appeared certain. Ralph Osborne, an ambitious local cowman of about thirty years, had taken a course in auctioneering down in Oklahoma some time previous. He handled most of the farm dispersals, household and estate sales as well as being the auctioneer for the stockyards situated along the railway track just south of Stockton. Because Ralph was the only man of his profession in the area, most charities and clubs coerced him into handling their fund-raising auctions as well. Although these functions were time consuming and unpaid, the busy auctioneer did his best to accommodate everyone.
Milt Milto had arrived at the sale quite early as her father had been helping Pete and Ralph assemble the machinery in neat rows, loading the hay racks with equipment and hauling household items out into the yard. Milt's father hadn't spent much time on his own big ranch as he dedicated so much effort to his neighbours, the St. Jaques and the Moffats, who had suffered the loss of their children in “The Accident.” Robert Milto pitched in where he could and Pete Liscombe didn't have to ask for assistance with his sale. Milt now left her father talking with Ralph Osborne and walked over to join her young neighbour, Benny Collins.
“Good morning, Benny,” Milt said as she pulled a lock of her long auburn hair back from her face and edged up to the hay rack where Benny stared transfixed at a particular object among the dozens of items to be auctioned. A soft poke in the ribs followed the lack of response. “Earth to Benny!” Milt raised her voice.
“Huh? Oh, hi Milt. I didn't see you standing there.”
“What's taken your fancy so much that you can't speak to a neighbour?” Milt asked as she scanned the strange assortment assembled on the flat wooden deck of the hay rack.
“Oh, nothin’, I was just eye-balling that old Winchester of Pete's. Damn! I never expected he would sell that gun, it goes part and parcel with his ol' Association Saddle an' I heard the saddle isn't being sold; Pete plans to be straddling it when he 'crosses the Divide,' or so he claims.”
Benny took a last lingering look at the rifle. “I'd kind of like to buy that gun though. You know, kind of a reminder of Old Pete after he's gone… moved to town.”
Milt said, “Well, maybe you can buy it. How much can an old gun be worth?”
Benny shook his head. “That particular old gun may sell quite high and I don't have very much money to spend these days.”
“Spending too much trying to impress Brenda Yeast, are you, Benny?”
The blond haired youth took the remark with a sigh and a shrug. “Well, I sure would like to have that Winchester….”
As ten o'clock, the time for the sale to commence, drew near, the farmyard's parking space continued filling with vehicles. Late arrivals had to park on the grass strips paralleling either side of Pete Liscombe's narrow lane all the way out to the main road.
Milt rejoined her father as he helped Pete with last minute final preparations. She overheard Pete's muffled growl about there being something wrong with folks these days.
Robert Milto grinned at his aged neighbour, “Don't let it bother you, Pete. Besides, the shot was directed at me, not you.”
“What shot was directed at you, Dad?” Milto asked.
“It's nothing, Milt,” said Robert Milto, in a vain attempt to dismiss the matter.
But Pete had his dander up and wouldn't drop the subject. “Some of the folks around here seem a tad peeved 'cause your Dad bought my property.”
Milt paled, realizing the significance of Pete's statement, but her thoughts were interrupted by Ralph Osborne drawling into the microphone that the sale was about to begin.
Ralph stood on the hay rack where Milt and Benny Collins had been discussing the old rifle. Before he could clear the dust from his throat to continue the announcement, Pete Liscombe had strode up and, with surprising agility, swung a long leg over the side of the rack, sprang aboard and grabbed the microphone from Ralph's hand. Keen blue eyes scanned the crowd and the initial glowering faded to a more amicable expression.
“I ain't never been one for speeches and this is a late age to begin, but I have a few things to say that needs sayin', and since this here is my auction, I reckon a fellow may be allowed… First off, I'd like to thank you all for a-turnin' out today. It is a real pleasure to see so many of my neighbours here at the old homestead. I'm kinda glad you all never came at once before ‘cause my cookin' ain't up to much and I would have had to kill a prime beef to feed everybody.” A ripple of laughter passed through the bystanders,
The old rancher straightened up his shoulders and continued with a fierce determination, “I been hearing some stories and comments lately which brings a touch of grief to me and so I'd like to clear up a few details of this here dispersal of my holdings: First thing, Bob Milto is new to this area by our standards as the rest of us have lived here for generations. Well, I don't want anyone to think that makes him an outsider. Some of you folks have sour grapes because I sold the land to Bob. I'll tell you just exactly how that came about though it ain't none of your damn business anyway.
Milt glanced up at her father to see how he was taking Pete Liscombe's address. The tall cattleman seemed completely detached; the oration could have been directed at the Prime Minister for all his concern in the matter.
“It was my idea to have Bob buy this place. He didn't want to step on anyone's toes and I had to convince him that it was the right thing to do. He paid more than I asked and more than anybody else would have offered so you can't fault the man at all.
“The second thing, and this ain't none of your damn business either, is that I turned my lease over to young Benny Collins. He bought my cows and he needs the pasture to graze 'em on. Now, if any of you have trouble swallowing that, just ask yourself: How we are going to keep our young people on the farms if they don't get an even break now and then? That's all I got to say.”
The whole crowd began to clap as their beloved old neighbour handed the microphone back to the auctioneer. Pete glowered back at them and then grinned as he muttered, “Gol damnedest bunch….”
Ralph Osborne chuckled as the rancher climbed down off the hay rack, “Well, if it’s all right with Pete, we’ll get this auction under way…”
Milt's mother had volunteered to help with the food booth serving coffee, baked goods and sandwiches to the throng of sale goers. Proceeds from funds raised at these functions were used for various community projects and benefits. Today, Pete Liscombe's sale enjoyed the refreshments compliments of a recently conceived group whose direction was to save Prairie Hills School from becoming another pigeon cote while on its way to extinction. As more and more country schools had closed down, the old halls of learning were allowed to deteriorate and eventually become a simple plaque or marker beside a field of grain or, more often, just a small flag of a quarter section representation on a dusty Municipal map. Constance Milto chided the community for their complacence in the demise of Prairie Hills. Her energy and influence eventually led to the formation of 'Prairie Hills Forever' and everyone who belonged to the old school district became members. The idea of preserving the school house for future generations to use as a rural hall appealed to folks. Guided by Constance Milto's encouragement, they were soon eager volunteers in the campaign.
The canvas tent serving as kitchen and booth for the farm ladies working the refreshment stand grew oppressively warm with the hot grill, huge, steaming coffee urns, bustling apron-clad “waitresses” and an unrelenting sun. Constance Milto brushed her arm across a warm brow and said as Myrna Yeast held the urn tap open to pour coffee in a paper cup, “My goodness, Pete couldn't have picked a better day. Everyone in the area is here.
Myrna smiled. “We'll have our hands full today. It seems folks have been looking for an outing like this.”
Connie Milto glanced over at the hay rack nearest the kitchen, noting the array of household articles displayed neatly for prospective buyers' viewing. Nodding her head in the direction of her gaze she said, “I'd like to bid on some of those antiques. They must be worth a fortune.”
Myrna straightened up and handed the filled coffee cup to a young farmer and accepted his dime. Dropping the coin in the cash box she looked where Connie Milto had indicated. “What antiques?”
Another customer interrupted the conversation and Myrna Yeast had forgotten the topic when next the two ladies had a chance to chat.
Ralph Osborne had started rattling off the auctioneer's jargon as the bidding started on the battered collection of Pete Liscombe's furniture. Eager buyers waved their hands while cautious bidders casually nodded. Ralph was flanked by two assistants who helped to display the goods and scanned the crowd for bidders. “Going once, going twice… Sold! To Rex Miller for six dollars.”
Ralph's wife, Marie, acted as clerk for the business and she recorded each article sold, including price and buyer. As the sale progressed, buyers would step up to the portable wicket house Ralph had built for the purpose and pay their bills. Mrs. Osborne would then issue a receipt. If they planned on buying more, she would assign a number to the item and then tally the total purchases at the end of the day, allowing the purchaser to make payment with one cheque.
Milt had been to a few auction sales with her parents but this one had keened her interest because of the closeness of the neighbour, both in proximity and friendship. She watched now as one of the assistants handed Ralph the rifle that Benny Collins had been examining before the sale. Milt noticed that Benny stood front-row centre, his eyes riveted to the auctioneer. Curiosity overcame the young girl and she decided to move closer to her neighbour to share in the excitement.
“…And here we have the gun that shot at least one deer on every knoll in the Sandhills…” Ralph Osborne paused as the crowd erupted with laughter. Pete Liscombe's prowess with the rifle and his disregard for hunting seasons were well known in the area. While conservation and law enforcement people turned a blind eye, the rancher provided venison for the elderly pioneers who spent their last years at 'The Lodge' in Stockton. “It's a beauty, Model 1894 Winchester, lever-action, .32 Special. It may be a tad scarred but Pete assures me it works just fine folks… octagon barrel, buck-horn sights, a real collector's item. What am I bid…”
Often, the auctioneer will suggest a starting price if no offer comes from the crowd. Sometimes, buyers may wait until the auctioneer's price is absurdly low before taking up the call and then escalating much higher than the original opening bid. This time, a townsman from Stockton opened the bidding with an offer of thirty dollars. Benny Collins glared at the man as if he were an intruder. “Thirty-one!” He a little too loudly. Someone else said thirty-five and the bid was on. As the price neared fifty dollars, Benny's bids were less enthusiastic and he began to turn pale. Now only he and the fellow from town were bidding.
“Forty-eight dollars to you, Benny. Do I hear fifty?”
Benny squirmed then nodded.
Ralph Osborne turned to the other bidder who grunted, “Fifty-two.”
“Fifty-four, Benny? Anyone, fifty-four?” A long silence followed and Benny almost whispered, “Fifty-three.”
Ralph grinned at the boy and looked back at the Stockton man whom Milt now recognized as the John Deere implement dealer. “Fifty-five,” he said as though it was petty cash for him and he was tiring of this game.
Benny slumped down under his Stetson and started to turn away. Milt grabbed his arm desperately and whispered, “Buy it and I'll go halfers!”
The auctioneer rattled off the final bid, “Fifty-five… Going once. Going twice…”
“Sixty dollars!” Benny shouted.
Ralph blinked in surprise at Benny then swung his gaze to the implement dealer who shook his head in disgust. “Sold! Sold to Benny Collins for sixty dollars.”
“You won it!” Milt cried hugging her young neighbour.
Benny gazed at Milt with a look of complete amazement. “What do you want with half ownership in a Winchester rifle?”
“Well, somebody has to provide deer meat for those old-timers now that Pete is retiring and they may as well use the same gun.”
Benny placed his battered hat on the pretty girl's head. “You don't look much like a boy but your dad sure ain't lacking for a son. By the way, have you got thirty bucks, 'cause I don't got sixty?”
Milt dashed off to find her dad whom she located at the refreshment stand. Her mom was passing two cups of coffee over the board counter for her husband and Leonard Yeast. Leonard gave Mrs. Milto a quarter, winked and said, “Keep the change.”
“Dad!” Milt said breathlessly. “Could you lend me some money? I'll pay you back when I can get to the bank.”
Leonard Yeast interrupted, “You won't need a loan. I'll buy you a cup of coffee.”
Robert Milto seemed surprised at his daughter's request, “What are you going to buy and how much do you need?”
“Benny and I went halfers on a gun. You know … Pete's old gun.”
Leonard Yeast threw back his head and laughed. “By the Lord Harry, I wisht my girls was interested in guns!”
As Robert Milto bemusedly studied his daughter's reddening face, Constance Milto said. “Robert, give her the money and Milt, you come take my place back here for a moment… They are about to auction off that old cream separator of Pete's.”
Milt pocketed the money her father handed over then grabbed the apron her mother tossed to her as she squeezed behind the counter of the refreshment stand. Robert Milto and Leonard Yeast followed Constance Milto with their eyes as she made her way through the crowd. Leonard Yeast lifted his cap and scratched his head in bewilderment. “Why do you suppose your wife wants a cream separator when you don't even have a dang milk cow?”
The tall rancher scratched his own head. “I'm not quite sure.”
Constance Milto reached the hay rack as Ralph Osborne informed the crowd about the fine implement up for bid now. “Many a gallon of milk has gone through this unit and I believe it still works, doesn't it, Pete?”
Pete Liscombe answered, “Yep, it was still working last Tuesday morning when I sold old Josie my milk cow to young Benny Collins.”
The auctioneer grasped the wooden handle of the crank and gave it a turn. “Well, there you are folks, this one works even when the power is off. Now what am I bid? Twenty dollars? Do I hear twenty? How about fifteen? I got fifteen! Now twenty?” He began to rattle off the numbers in rapid-fire, running them together.
Smoothing her dress and brushing a wisp of hair from her brow, Constance Milto discreetly tried to gain the attention of the auctioneer's helper who stood nearest to her. She recognized the lad as one of the Miller boys who farmed the bottom land along Miller's Creek. Being a very attractive lady, it didn't take long for the young man to notice her. Ralph Osborne had a bid of twenty-seven dollars and was looking for thirty. Mrs. Milto gave only the slightest nod and the Miller lad cocked his head in an inquisitive manner. Mrs. Milto nodded slightly again and the helper shouted, “Yep.”
Ralph Osborne continued on in his lingo upping the bid with “Thirty, I've got thirty, thirty-five ?
“Yep!” shouted the helper on Ralph's other side.
Constance Milto nodded and Kent Miller bellowed “Yep” as the auctioneer asked for forty dollars. The bid see-sawed back and forth jumping five dollars every pass and the crowd stood hushed as the game continued. Someone asked, “Who’s bidding against who anyway?” Another spoke up as the bid reached one hundred dollars, “God! I just bought a brand new Westfalia a month ago for eighty dollars, and it's electric!”
Robert Milto slipped up beside his wife as the bid reached one hundred and twenty dollars. “Connie,” he said urgently, “you're bidding against Valerie Reid!”
When the bid came back to Mrs. Milto, she shook her head to indicate negative to the auctioneer's helper and Ralph went through the final pleas for another bid finally saying, “Sold! Sold to Mrs. Reid,” then added, “I guess you'll have to buy a milk cow now, Danny.”
Constance Milto threaded her way through the crowd again until she spotted Valerie Reid standing beside her husband. “Oh! I am sorry, Valerie!” she cried “I didn't know it was you bidding against me.”
Val Reid gasped in astonishment, “I didn't know it was you either!”
Danny grinned at Robert Milto. “Did you stop Connie or did she run out of money?”
The rancher shook his head, “I noticed your wife's index finger flicking a little every time the bid changed so I figured out who Connie's competition was. By the time I managed to slow her down, the offer had gone up another twenty dollars.”
The cream separator happened to be the final item of small merchandise and the entourage carried on to the double row of machinery. Pete didn't have much in the line of harvest and seeding equipment but the old rancher possessed some well maintained haying equipment, an old grain truck in good shape and two late model tractors.
Lou Collins gained stride with Robert Milto as the two cattlemen moved along with the crowd. Robert Milto nodded a greeting and said, “Anything special you're looking at in the machinery, Lou?”
“Well, if that boy of mine would consider haying a priority over hunting— either girls or critters— I'd be able to scrounge up some cash to bid on that pitmanless mower of Ol' Pete's. How about you, Bob, see anything you like?”
“Actually, I had been thinking about bidding on that mower, too. I cut hay with a sickle mower but since this one is pitmanless and can run horizontal or vertical, I had figured maybe a guy could mount it on the front end loader of a tractor and use it for trimming hedges. If a fellow rigged up a hydraulic driven orbit motor it might be quite handy.”
Lou nodded, “Yeah, I can see where that would be a useful tool around your place with all them neat tree rows…”
“What do you suppose that mower would sell for? I haven't priced them out at all.”
Lou Collins paused for a moment and then said, “It probably ain't worth more'n two hundred and fifty bucks, I s'pose.”
“Well, maybe we should buy it together. We won't be needing it at the same time, since I can trim hedges any time during the summer and you'll be needing it during haying season…”
Lou Collins grinned, “First our young 'uns buy a rifle together and now we become partners on a mower. Suits me fine though.”
“Okay,” Robert Milto said. “You do the bidding and we'll split the cost.”
“Benny getten' that lease and you buying the deeded land rubbed some of these folks raw,” Lou Collins changed the subject. “Good thing Ol' Pete straightened everybody out. It ain't good to have neighbours quarrelling. Hell's bells, times is tough enough without that!”
Robert Milto said, “This sale has been good for patching up a few things.”
“Yeah, seems like there's been a dark cloud over the area ever since them kids was killed.”
Ralph Osborne had transferred his public address system from the platform of the hay rack to the back of his pickup truck and he commenced selling the machinery from this mobile dais. People were in a spending mood and items went higher than expected. Pete Liscombe made a good dollar overall as the machinery went especially high, though Robert Milto and Lou Collins bought the pitmanless mower for two hundred and forty dollars; ten dollars less than Lou had calculated.
The little Massey Ferguson tractor equipped with three point hitch and factory front end loader was the last piece of equipment and it topped the sale, selling near new price. As Ralph Osborne made the closing comments to terminate the auction, Pete Liscombe climbed into the back of Ralph's truck once again grasping the microphone. Robert Milto, standing beside Leonard Yeast, heard his neighbour mutter, “Never could get Pete to say two words in front of a dang crowd all the years I've known him and now he won't shut up.”
“Just hold on a moment before all you folks head home,” Pete growled. “I got an announcement to make and I'd like to have Connie Milto come up here for a minute.”
Pete shuffled nervously from one foot to the other as he waited for Mrs. Milto to be summoned from the refreshment stand. The crowd wore amused expressions as they wondered what the old-timer had in mind. As Connie Milto reached the truck Pete Liscombe said, “Come on up here, neighbour.”
The young Miller boy who had been helping the auctioneer throughout the sale offered the lady a hand assisting her to step up into the truck box.
“Since you have worked so hard,” Pete began, “at preserving the old school for the future, I'd like to make a donation to your cause. This district is my home and I went to school at Prairie Hills when it was near new, sixty years ago.” He grinned at the crowd. “And it ain't none of your damn business how long I attended. So, for the future of the Hall I want to donate this two hundred dollar cheque.”
Two hundred dollars was an unheard of sum for a donation and the crowd gasped in disbelief. Constance Milto gratefully accepted the paper and with tears in her eyes thanked the old cowboy for his benevolence. Turning to the crowd as Pete held the microphone to her lips she said in a quavering but clear voice, “This has been a wonderful day. It is indeed very kind of Pete to make this generous donation to Prairie Hills Hall. I would also like to thank the ladies who donated food and refreshments as well as their time for the booth today. Myrna Yeast and I have done a quick tally and our earnings for the event are in the neighbourhood of sixty dollars.” An enthusiastic applause ensued and as Pete lowered the mike Connie Milto grasped his hand and spoke into the transmitter. “It has been an enjoyable day for all of us and it is still young. Perhaps we could dash home to our chores and then head over to the Prairie Hills Hall. Let's have a dance!”
…That sale was the most memorable this area has ever seen. Folks was just so grieved with The Accident and all, that they needed to bust loose and sort of shake it off. Nobody wanted to go home after the auction so we all headed over to the school and had a shindig. I can remember that evening pretty clear too. I had my banjo and my son-in-law Benny brought a guitar. Sven Larson, he had a fiddle. Connie Milto played the old piano that is still in the Prairie Hills Hall today, and she could play mighty good too. She done a couple of solo tunes while the rest of us just stood and listened…
Submitted by Leonard Yeast
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