One headlight missing.
Wiring chewed in places.
Seat destroyed.
Rear tires cracked.
Fuel smelled terrible.
Noah did not pretend he could diagnose the engine completely in a parking lot.
That would have violated everything Earl taught him.
Instead, he made a list.
Oil level.
Present.
No obvious water on dipstick.
Coolant low.
Radiator not visibly split.
Fuel tank contaminated.
Injection pump exterior heavily oxidized.
Engine would not rotate through normal means.
Noah removed only what auction rules allowed.
He inspected external access points.
Checked for obvious block cracks.
Looked at the exhaust.
Studied the engine serial information.
Crawled underneath with a flashlight.
Ruth stood above him.
“You alive?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Thirty minutes later, Noah tried carefully to determine whether the crankshaft had any movement using permitted manual inspection.
Nothing meaningful.
Seized.
But the resistance felt solid rather than broken.
No clunk.
No obvious loose internal movement.
That was encouraging.
Not proof.
Noah wrote:
Possible rusted cylinders / liners.
Possible stuck rings.
Possible bearing seizure.
Possible pump/fuel system damage.
UNKNOWN UNTIL TEARDOWN.
That last line mattered.
He did not know exactly why it was seized.
He knew what the likely causes were.
And he knew the tractor appeared complete enough to justify a restoration gamble if the price stayed low.
A man behind him laughed.
“Planning to drive it home?”
Noah looked up.
Floyd Meeker.
“No.”
“Smartest thing you've said.”
Floyd kicked one rear tire lightly.
“This is yard art.”
“Maybe.”
Floyd looked at the notebook.
“What are you writing?”
“What I don't know.”
That answer made Floyd pause.
Then he smiled.
“Kid.”
“Whatever you think is wrong with this thing, multiply the money by three.”
“Then multiply the time by five.”
Noah nodded.
“That sounds fair.”
Floyd had expected argument.
He walked away.
At 11:36, lot seven entered the barn.
Gary Sims held the microphone.
“John Deere 4020.”
“Diesel.”
“Non-running.”
“Engine stuck.”
“You are buying everything you see and everything you don't.”
Laughter.
“Who gives me two hundred?”
Floyd lifted his paddle.
“Two.”
Gary grinned.
“Floyd buys another lawn ornament.”
People laughed.
Then Noah raised his hand.
Gary stopped.
“Two-fifty?”
Noah nodded.
Floyd turned.
Saw him.
Then laughed.
“Boy.”
“That tractor hasn't run in twenty years.”
Noah held his bidder card.
“I know.”
“You got four hundred dollars for an engine?”
“No.”
“You know what wet sleeves cost?”
“Depends what it actually needs.”
“You even know what that means?”
Noah looked at him.
“I know I shouldn't order sleeves before measuring the cylinders.”
That stopped a few smiles.
Noah continued.
“If it's rust-seized from moisture, I need to tear it down first.”
“Check liners.”
“Pistons.”
“Bearings.”
“Crank.”
“Then the fuel system.”
“The injection pump may need professional work.”
“I don't know yet.”
Floyd’s face changed.
Noah added:
“My grandfather taught me from the service manual.”
Gary Sims looked between them.
Then said:
“Gentlemen, this is still an auction.”
A few people laughed.
“Three hundred?”
Floyd raised.
Noah looked at Ruth.
She said nothing.
That was deliberate.
His decision.
Noah raised.
“Three twenty-five.”