Scattered tree lines provided natural boundaries.
The veterinarian opened the notebook again.
“How long has your family used those divisions?”
“Almost eighty years.”
“Who designed them?”
“My great-grandfather.”
“Why?”
The young woman smiled faintly.
“Because he didn't have enough money to build one giant barn.”
The veterinarian looked out again.
“Sometimes necessity produces good design.”
The young woman considered that.
Then she turned to a blank page.
At the top she wrote:
THE OLD LAND.
Underneath it, she drew three columns.
Air.
Water.
Movement.
And then she began asking questions.
The next week brought bad news from the old rancher's property.
Thirty-seven cattle were showing respiratory symptoms.
Then fifty-two.
Then seventy.
The veterinarian and other professionals were working to identify the contributing diseases and recommend appropriate action.
The rancher's foreman urged him to reduce crowding in the winter holding areas and follow the veterinary recommendations.
But every change required labor.
Every adjustment cost money.
And the rancher hated being told that his own methods might be contributing to the problem.
“Those cattle were fine last month,” he snapped.
The foreman stood silently.
“Something came in from outside.”
“That may be part of it.”
“Then find out who brought it.”
The foreman hesitated.
“Sir, the vet says the way we're managing the groups could be making things worse.”
The rancher slammed his hand against the desk.
“I've been running cattle longer than that veterinarian's been alive!”
The foreman lowered his eyes.
But he did not withdraw the warning.
A few days later, the first death occurred.
Then another.
Then three in one night.
The rancher stood in the holding yard the following morning, looking at the bodies being prepared for proper disposal.
He remembered laughing about ninety graves.
The memory came uninvited.
He pushed it away.
The young woman first heard about his losses at the feed store.
The cardboard sign mocking her was still beside the counter.
But nobody was laughing.
Two farmers stood near the coffee machine, speaking quietly.
“Lost five more.”
“Who?”
“The big operation south of town.”
The young woman froze.
“Are you talking about the ranch with four hundred head?”
Both men turned.
One nodded.
“Yeah.”
“How bad is it?”
“Bad.”
She looked toward the window.
For a moment, she remembered the old rancher's face as he threw her receipt into the calf pen.
She remembered the shove.
The laughter.
The humiliation.
A small, bitter part of her wanted to smile.
But she did not.
She thought about the cattle instead.