"That's what I was trying to tell you," June whispered.
Martha set the damaged seal on a clean rag. "You told me. I wasn't listening fast enough."
June blinked. "You're not mad?"
"I'd be mad if you saw it and kept quiet just because I was in charge."
They repaired the suspect joint with suitable material from the service truck, made sure the line would not rub against the bracket, and checked the repair. The fuel stayed clear under the appropriate test. Martha wrote the result in the notebook, then handed the pen to June. "Your finding," she said. "You document it."
June's fingers tightened around the pen. All morning the crowd had been calling Martha brave, stubborn, or lucky, depending on whether the speaker wanted her to succeed. June had mostly been called the helper. Now Martha was giving her responsibility in ink. It would have been easier to accept praise than to understand the significance of that gesture. June wrote the time and observation carefully, not wanting her handwriting to shake.
Calvin approached just after eleven forty. He saw the new line and the seal on the rag. "What's that supposed to prove?"
"It proves a leak can happen without leaving a puddle," Martha said.
"You mean you're still guessing."
"I'm testing. Guessing is what got this machine called dead."
Calvin's face reddened. He looked around for someone willing to laugh with him, but the crowd had become too interested in the mechanics to cooperate. Arthur Bell stood with his cap in one hand. Two farmers who had spent the morning at the grain cart moved to the barrier. A mechanic from another town asked June which section had failed, and June explained it without looking to Martha for permission. Martha listened. She noticed that June used the word likely instead of definitely where evidence remained incomplete. That, more than the correct terminology, made her proud.
At eleven forty-one they primed the system and confirmed that the test line stayed clear. Martha secured the service access, checked that nobody remained near the machine, and looked toward the auction manager. Walter nodded and reminded the crowd that the agreed condition required a genuine stable idle, not a momentary start. He also reminded Calvin that the deadline meant what it said: before noon, not before Calvin grew tired of watching. Calvin folded his copy of the agreement into a small square and tucked it away.
Martha climbed into the cab. She could feel every minute the machine had cost her, and every dollar the afternoon might still cost if it failed. She thought about the bank letter on her shop desk and Henry Lawson's forty acres of corn. She thought about June standing in the heat below her, defending an observation that had almost been ignored. Then she reminded herself that pressure did not change the engine's needs. The machine would run when it could run, and no earlier.