“Yeah?”
“Who tiled this ground?”
Ryan shrugged.
“It’s been tiled forever.”
“When was the last work done?”
“Maybe 2008? Dad handled it.”
Walter shook his head.
“Older than that.”
Ryan frowned. Walter pointed toward the swale.
“There used to be an open draw through here.”
Ryan looked across the flooded beans.
“This field’s almost flat.”
“Now.” Walter pointed toward the old fence. “In 1964 that fence corner sat beside a drainage cut nearly three feet deep.”
Keith looked between them.
“How do you know?”
Walter looked back toward his old John Deere.
“Because I filled half of it.”
Silence.
Ryan stepped closer.
“You worked this field?”
“My uncle rented it before your grandfather bought it.” Walter pointed toward the combine. “We tiled that draw before you were born.”
Keith’s skepticism faded slightly.
“What kind of tile?”
“Clay.”
Ryan looked down. Walter nodded.
“Four-inch sections. Hand-laid in most places.”
Keith looked at the flowing water.
“And you think the tile collapsed?”
“No.” Walter walked toward the combine again. “I think somebody replaced the main line later, but nobody moved the old trench.”
He stamped his boot.
“The soil over an old drainage cut never settles exactly like untouched ground.”
Keith stared toward the combine. Walter continued.
“Your machine crossed it almost straight.” He pointed at the combine’s original tracks. “See that?”
They did. The combine had traveled normally across the field. Then the left tire suddenly dropped. The right followed several feet later. Walter drew an imaginary line through both holes. Continue that line—and it pointed directly toward the swale.
Keith’s expression changed. Walter saw it.
“There.”
Keith crouched. Rain streamed from the hood of his yellow jacket.
“So it’s sitting in the old trench.”
“Partly.”
Keith looked beneath the machine.
“That doesn’t explain why it keeps sinking when we pull.”
Walter stood.
“Because this isn’t just mud anymore.” He drove his boot down hard. Water immediately filled the depression. “This whole strip is saturated.” He pointed toward the huge tire. “When that combine broke through the topsoil, it punched into loose backfill above the old drainage line.”
Keith listened carefully now. Walter continued.
“Then you pulled.” Cody stopped smiling. “Every time those tires spin, every time you drag the machine, you knead water into that loose soil.” Walter squeezed another handful of mud. It oozed through his fingers. “You’ve been turning the trench underneath it into soup.”
Keith stared at the cable. The cable ran almost exactly along the direction of the buried trench.
Walter nodded toward it.
“And you’ve been trying to drag thirty thousand pounds of sunk wheel through the weakest ground in the field.”
“More than thirty,” Keith muttered.
“Exactly.”
Ryan asked, “So what do we do?”
Walter looked toward the shallow swale.
“First?” He pointed at every recovery vehicle. “Nothing.”
Keith almost objected. Then stopped himself.
Walter looked at Ryan.
“Got a shovel?”
Cody laughed.
“A shovel?”
Walter turned to him.
“You got something better?”
Cody looked at the buried combine.