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The backhoe operator and the state worker arrived within minutes of each other, the latter accompanied by a team sent to gather soil samples. Quint left Empty and Dallas to finish installing the electric fencing and went with the new arrivals to the carcass locations.
A deep burial pit was dug, and the carcasses were dragged to it and covered with quicklime before the pit was filled with dirt. More quicklime was applied to the areas where the carcasses had lain to inactivate any bacterium still present. Twilight had set in before the entire process was complete.
Quint returned to the ranch yard in time to give Empty a hand with the evening chores. A purpling shadowed the buildings when they finally headed for the house and the welcoming gleam of light from its windows.
The sharp ring of the telephone greeted Quint when he walked in. Automatically he headed for the desk to answer it. Dallas turned from the refrigerator, clutching a gallon of milk and a bowl of fruit salad.
“You might want to let that ring, Quint,” she warned. “Somehow the media found out about the possibility of anthrax. The phone hasn’t stopped ringing since I came in. There must be at least a half dozen messages on the answering machine—all from newspaper and television reporters.”
A certain grim acceptance thinned the line of his mouth as he turned away, letting the machine take the call. “They’ll probably show up here tomorrow.” Quint hung his hat and jacket on the rack by the door. “When they do, just refer all their questions to me.”
Neither Dallas nor Empty raised any objections to that.
By necessity, dinner was mainly thinly disguised leftovers from previous meals. Dallas helped herself to some home fries and set the bowl by her grandfather’s plate, then noticed he had yet to put any food on it.
She darted a questioning look at his morose and vaguely distracted expression. “Aren’t you hungry, Empty?”
He made a small grimace of disgust. “It’s this anthrax business. It’s put me off my feed.” Almost grudgingly, Empty picked up the bowl and spooned a helping of potatoes onto his plate. “Don’t you know Rutledge will be wearing a big smirk when he hears about it? You can bet if he’s sorry about anything, it’s that he didn’t think of it.”
“He’ll try to find some way to use it to his advantage, though.” Quint took the bowl from Empty. “It could be that we have Rutledge to thank for all the calls from the media. It would be like him to leak the news to them as soon as he heard about it. And with his connections, he could have heard about it two minutes after we called the vet. My guess is that he’ll do his best to ensure that it becomes a big story.”
“He can make it as big as he wants,” Empty declared with contemptuous unconcern. “I can’t see how that will cause us any trouble.”
Quint smiled wryly. “You’ve never had a horde of reporters flocking around you like vultures, pointing cameras and sticking microphones in your face, or you wouldn’t say that.”
Empty responded with a harrumph. “The first time a reporter sticks a microphone in my face, I’ll stick the muzzle of a shotgun in his and escort him off the premises.”
“That’s a fast and sure way of making an enemy of the press—and convincing them that you have something to hide,” Quint said, although he knew it was one his own grandfather would favor. “No, we’ll give them free rein, show them how cooperative we are. If there are any restrictions placed on them, they’ll come from state officials. Not us.”
Before her grandfather could take issue with that decision, Dallas sought to change the subject. “What did the state guys have to say when they were here?”
“Like I already told Empty while we were finishing chores, they’re recommending that we remove all the cattle from both the south and west pastures. Right now their thinking is that the strip we plowed for a firebreak may be the source of anthrax. Until they can determine otherwise, they want to keep all livestock away from it.”
“That makes sense.” Empty nodded in rare agreement. “A couple years back there was a big outbreak of anthrax over around Uvalde. There are a lot of old cattle trails in that area, going back to the days of the big drives north. Back then, if an animal got sick, they just left it along the trail to die. Some claim the ground there is thick with anthrax spores. A hard rain was blamed for causing the spores to migrate to the surface this last time.” He paused a moment. “Somewhere close to sixteen hundred animals died.” He shot a challenging glance at Quint. “A measly two dead cows can’t be such a big story when there’s been a lot worse cases in the past.”
“Unfortunately terrorism has made anthrax a hot news topic,” Quint replied. “And the media seldom make a distinction between the manufactured anthrax strains created for germ warfare and the bacteria that exists in practically every corner of the world. The only thing we can to do is catch tonight’s late newscast and see what kind of slant they’re taking on this.”
“Anthrax is back in the news,” the news anchor announced, and Quint sat forward on the couch, the whole of his attention focused on the television screen. “This time it’s in connection with the famed Calder Ranch in Montana. We have confirmed that state authorities suspect anthrax caused the deaths of two cows at the Cee Bar Ranch southwest of the city. The Cee Bar is the Texas branch of the Calder Cattle Company, owned
by the Calder family.”
Stock footage of a dead cow rolled across the screen, accompanied by an explanation of the deadly swiftness with which anthrax can strike a herd. Then the camera was once again on the news anchor.
“The authorities have not yet determined the extent of the current outbreak at the Cee Bar,” he continued. “But there is much speculation about the effect this will have on the renowned auction of breeding stock held by the Calders. Buyers are often reluctant to purchase cattle from ranches with a history of anthrax. And the Calder ranch now falls into that category.” After a slight pause, he added, “We will keep you informed of this developing story.”
Quint pulled in a long, deep breath and let it out in an irritated rush. “Now we know how Rutledge intends to exert some financial pressure.”
Empty punched the power button on the remote and the screen went dark. “Trouble is some buyers do fight shy of ranches that have lost cattle to anthrax.” There was a curl of disgust to his mouth. “It doesn’t matter to them that there’s no record of any healthy animal from a ranch that’s had anthrax, carrying it with him to another. But some buyers are just spooky that way.”
“What’s worse,” Dallas inserted in a tight, angry voice, “Rutledge wants to make anthrax synonymous with all Calder cattle, not just the ones here on the Cee Bar. It’s another one of his plots to force a sale—get rid of the Cee Bar and the Calders lose the taint of anthrax. It’s an obscenely brilliant strategy.”
Quint pushed off the sofa. “I’d better call Jessy and let her know what’s being said. She’ll be getting calls about it tomorrow if she hasn’t already.”
“Isn’t there something we can do?” Dallas demanded, rising from her chair in agitation.
Quint took one look at her battle-bright eyes and smiled. “Those sound like fighting words,” he said, recalling all the times when she had advocated otherwise.
“They are.” Her chin lifted a notch.
