Naomi had spent years examining irregular municipal water-system data.
She knew one strange reading could be an instrument error.
Two might be coincidence.
But repeated measurements from different reference points were harder to dismiss.
So she kept recording.
Every Sunday evening, after the children finished dinner, she walked toward the pond.
She measured the waterline.
Checked the soil.
Photographed the banks.
And wrote down anything unusual.
By the third week of August, she had enough observations to know the problem wasn't ordinary seasonal variation.
The shoreline continued moving.
The northeastern bank was sinking.
And the cattle were behaving strangely.
Dale's herd drank from the northern edge of the pond.
They approached in loose groups, lowered their heads, and moved away when they'd finished.
But not one animal willingly grazed along the northeastern corner.
They walked around it.
Sometimes leaving a wide arc of untouched grass.
Naomi noticed the pattern several times before mentioning it.
Dale shrugged.
"Cows get habits."
"All forty?"
"Sometimes."
She looked toward the green grass the animals refused to eat.
"Why would they avoid the best-looking section?"
Dale examined the bank.
For a moment, he seemed thoughtful.
Then said, "Maybe the footing's soft."
Naomi nodded.
That was possible.
But the animals avoided the area even when the surface looked dry.
She marked the edge of the ground depression with two survey stakes.
A week later, the crescent-shaped crack extended beyond both.
The soil had dropped enough that she could feel a distinct step beneath her boots.
She stopped allowing the children into that pasture.
Then she asked Dale to keep the cattle away from the northeastern bank until the ground could be assessed.
He agreed reluctantly.
But the older rancher still didn't believe anything unusual was happening beneath the pond.
And his friends agreed.
Otis Kline was sixty, heavyset, with a gray beard, a brown plaid shirt, and denim overalls that looked as though they hadn't been clean since spring.
He owned a nearby cattle farm and had a loud laugh that carried across entire fields.
Emmett Shaw was fifty-five, leaner, with a gray mustache, a beige work shirt, and a faded baseball cap.
The three men often met at Dale's property to discuss cattle prices, equipment problems, and the weather.
When Naomi mentioned the bubbling sounds at dusk, Otis laughed.