Free Big Wheat by Richard A. Thompson Page A

suck on a horseradish.”
    Below them, there was a lot of clanking and pounding, and finally Jim Avery emerged from the machine and began to bolt the cover back on.
    “All right men, get to work!” Bjorkland made a broad circular motion with his arm, as if he were trying to dry off a towel, and people began to move. The steam engineer threw a lever and opened a valve, and the big reinforced rubber belt began to turn the idler pulley on the thresher. The separator man made a gesture toward the big lever but looked at Charlie first, to get permission. Charlie held up a hand in a gesture that said, “Just one minute.”
    “You all clear down there, boss?” It was obvious that he was.
    “As soon as Bjorkland pays me, I am.”
    Well, there was that, yes. And Charlie saw an expression on the farmer’s face that he knew altogether too well by now. He jumped down off the separator and quickly did some adjustments to the exposed gear and chain mechanisms on the far side of the box. “We don’t want to forget to re-engage the swivett,” he said. Nobody paid any attention to him.
    “Crank her up,” shouted Bjorkland.
    “You owe me ten bucks,” said Avery.
    “Was I talking to you?” To the man on the separator, he yelled again. “Crank her up, you want to keep your job!”
    The man looked at Charlie, who shook his head, no.
    “Now, damnit!”
    The man gave a shrug of helplessness and threw the lever. The machine shook, clattered, and clanked to life. A wagon pulled up alongside the apron and men began to pitch wheat bundles into it.
    “Ten bucks,” said Avery, holding out his hand.
    “Are you crazy? You come here late, hold up my crew, and now you want to charge me enough money to buy a whole new gear, too? Highway robbery! I’ll give you two dollars, take it or leave it. But either way, get off my farm.”
    So much for Oleanna and the land of good times
, thought Charlie.
    “Listen, you ten-cent chiseler, I can—”
    “Take the two bucks,” said Charlie in his ear. “Trust me, it’ll be okay.”
    “You sure?”
    “I’m sure.”
    Avery held out his hand again, Bjorkland triumphantly dropped two silver dollars into it, and Avery and Charlie strolled back to the truck.
    “Walk slow,” said Charlie. “It won’t take long.”
    They strolled slowly back around the barn, and pretty soon they heard frantic shouts.
    “Why in tarnation ain’t anything coming out?”
    “The feed belt on the apron don’t move; it just shakes a bunch.”
    “It’s got to be moving; it don’t have a disengager clutch. The problem is in the collector gear coupling.”
    “No, it ain’t. I already looked.”
    Very quietly, Avery said, “What the hell did you do?”
    “Pulled a shear pin,” said Charlie. “One that never breaks, so hardly anybody knows about it. No way they’ll find it on their own.”
    Soon Bjorkland was back in their faces, first demanding, then asking, and finally begging that they fix his machine. Again.
    “Seems to me, last time I fixed your machine, I didn’t get paid.”
    “Ah, come on. That was just a little joke, see. I wanted to show off for the crew. I was going to pay you all along, you gotta know. You can’t take a little joke?”
    “Can you?” said Charlie.
    “Look, here’s the other eight bucks, see? You happy now? We all square?”
    “Why, sure,” said Avery.
    “No way,” said Charlie.
    “But I paid…”
    “For the extra time and the insult, you owe my boss another ten.”
    “Five,” said Bjorkland. I’ll pay the extra two you wanted for the overtime and another three to fix the new problem.”
    “Ten,” said Charlie. “Up front. Or that swell Case machine of yours won’t give out any wheat berries for another week. And that’s if it doesn’t shake itself to pieces before then.”
    “Okay, say seven, and I’ll—”
    “Ten,” said Charlie, and began walking away. “Let’s go, boss. This hayseed wouldn’t know a good deal if it bit him.”
    “All right, then!”