Hidden Heritage Read Free Page A

Bart’s dispatching tonight.”
    The furnishings were Danish modern. Easy to clean in an environment dominated by dust. Keith glanced at the main server that was large enough to store data for half the state. In a couple of hours it would display a running tape of the commodities futures market. What Carlton County lacked in population, it more than made up for in computer geeks per square mile. MBAs and Agriculture Economics majors now ran corporate farms, and the beef industry was dominated by men hardwired for profits.
    Opposite the hall leading past Dwayne’s office are several rooms for the drivers’ comfort. In them are exercise equipment and a small kitchen with a mini fridge and a microwave. Dwayne had given me a tour once and I knew the shower had a full collection of toiletries. Another room has a flat screen TV and another has four bunk beds so drivers could catch up on their sleep between loads. The tile floors gleam and there are plants galore.
    I had been out here many times during daylight hours and knew that no amount of filtering would eliminate the faint haze of dust particles that permeates the air or minimizes the odor rising from thousands of cattle being fed out.
    The sky was lightening. Poets can write all they want about the glories of dawn, but when there’s been a death, daylight isn’t welcome. Dark and shadows soften reality.
    A truck entered the feedyard and Dwayne rose and went to the plate glass window that faces the road.
    â€œThey can’t unload yet,” Sam said. “Not until…” He faltered. Keith looked at him sharply and I knew he was mentally filling in the missing sentence. Knowing instantly that Sam had seen something when Victor’s body was loaded. Knowing for some reason our sheriff thought this death was suspicious.
    Dwayne’s face flooded with blood. A vein on his temple throbbed. “Just a minute here, Sam. We have to unload that truck right away. Get those cattle weighed and put in a holding pen. The cowboy crew gets here right before daylight. In another hour or so, the processing crew will start coming in, too, and finish them the rest of the way. Other trucks. More cattle coming in all day long. We can’t have truckloads of cattle just sitting here. They need to be inspected, and fed and watered.”
    He turned to Keith who was often called on to look over the cattle. “Tell him, Fiene. They have to unload.”
    â€œHe’s right, Sam. He can’t leave them on the truck.” Keith studied the whiteboard dominating one wall and listing pens and ear tag numbers. He glanced at Dwayne. “Where are you going to put them?”
    â€œPen fifty-one. It’s empty right now. Three more truckloads coming in today with feeders that weigh about the same. They aren’t custom feeders, so they will all be put in the same pen.”
    â€œCustom?” I asked, doing my best to follow the conversation.
    â€œWe buy most of the cattle at sales through order buyers. They belong to the feedyard. Custom-fed cattle belong to mostly local men who contract with us to feed them out.” Annoyed at having to explain basics, he turned back to Sam and Keith. My face flamed. The menfolk!
    â€œHave you done anything special to that pen?” Sam asked.
    â€œLike what?”
    â€œDisinfected? Anything like that?”
    â€œNo, just the usual. The maintenance crew comes in and cleans it up with bulldozers with a blade on front. All the manure is removed and piled and sold to local farmers for natural fertilizer. Then the ground is leveled, and the water and feeding troughs cleaned out. That pen is ready now.”
    â€œOther cattle been there in the last month?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œGood,” Sam said. He turned to me. “There’s a kit in my car. Please process that pen immediately.” I glanced at Keith. A surprised look flickered across his face. “Keith, go with her to record any