He traced the fuel line, checked the filter housing, loosened a fitting, and frowned.
"You've got fuel starvation," he said.
Elaine folded her arms.
"Bad pump?"
"Maybe. But I'm not condemning it yet."
A black pickup appeared on the road ten minutes later.
Then another.
Three men climbed out wearing clean boots, pressed shirts, and the particular expressions of people accustomed to being obeyed.
Caleb recognized two of them. They belonged to families that owned several large farms outside Grover Falls.
One, Wade Harlan, had once brought a combine into Morrison Mechanical, argued over the estimate, then taken it to a dealership forty miles away because Caleb refused to install a used component and bill insurance for a new one.
Wade recognized him too.
His mouth curled.
"Morrison."
Caleb kept working.
"Afternoon."
Wade looked at Elaine. "We heard you were stuck. We've got a service truck coming."
"He's already looking at it," Elaine said.
Wade glanced at Caleb's old pickup and laughed under his breath.
"Just fix the tractor and leave," he said. "No need to turn this into a rescue mission."
One of the other men smiled.
"Assuming he can fix it."
Lily was awake now.
Caleb saw her watching through the rear window.
That hurt more than Wade's words.
Caleb could tolerate being underestimated. He hated his daughter learning that grown men sometimes measured another man's worth by the shine on his truck.
Still, he didn't answer.
He reached farther behind the fuel housing and found what he'd been looking for.