I know nothing about the venerable trade of cattle auctioning so maybe this is old hat, but a real treat in Cheyenne was witnessing a cattle auction in a large conference room. They used large, projection TV screens arrayed around the room to view the lots. The screens consisted of nothing more than video shoots of cows lolling around in pasture, sometimes individually, in close-up or medium shot, and sometimes in clumps, ambling from one bunch of grass to another, with superimposed titles that contained animal, lot, and location information. At the front of the room was a raised platform, a table with an association banner covering it, and three guys behind it. Between offered lots, all three would talk a bit, one taking the lead on offering a general description of the lot. Then, when the action started, the guy on the far right would unspool a whirlwind of verbal fire; the syllables rolling into the room, a fabulous, dense texture of consonants and vowels punctuated by the short, sharp draw of breath and abrupt, economical gestures in the direction of bidders. I understood not a word. If a man could speak in tongues it was as close a thing as I could imagine; volleys of intricately defined sound reconfigured into an unknown language. Everyone else in the room seemed to get it just fine. I swear that man had more verbal dexterity than virtually any of the most artful rappers I've ever heard.

And then it ended. As abruptly as it began, the room exhaled and relaxed, and the three men began to cheerfully drawl on about the next lot, someone made a joke, laughter, a greeting was exchanged with a man walking in the back, coffee was poured for those gathered at the two dozen or so round tables around the room...and then it would begin again.

Robert took some pictures. When I get them, I'll post them, as much for the sea of straw cowboy hats as for the wonderful character with the snow white handlebar moustache and aviator sunglasses.