This is the twenty-ninth part in a series, so if you have not already done so, you might want to read Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, Part VI, Part VII, Part VIII, Part IX, Part X, Part XI, Part XII, Part XIII, Part XIV, Part XV, Part XVI, Part XVII, Part XVIII, Part XIX, Part XX, Part XXI, Part XXII, Part XXIII, Part XXIV, Part XXV, Part XXVI, Part XXVII, and Part XXVIII before continuing.
As soon as we got inside, I lost no time in making my way over to the fence, climbing over it, and flipping the switch that turned on the single, bare lightbulb that hung from the ceiling.
Phil stayed on the ground level, walking amongst the cattle, checking the tag on every ear he passed.
I climbed onto the fence again, swinging one leg over the top so I could stand on the middle rung of the fence with one leg on each side to keep me stable. From that height, I had a better vantage point to view the cattle.
Ledd used red tags to mark his cattle, whereas Phil used yellow tags on his.
“I see four cattle with your tags.”
“Four? I counted three,” said Phil.
I pointed to the corner closest to me where a yellow tag stood out, almost directly under the lightbulb.
Phil took out his phone and snapped another photo. Realizing I should have been doing the same, I whipped out my phone and quickly took photos of all the yellow tags I could see. Then I zoomed out and took a few photos of the whole herd, just in case we were able to find more yellow tags in the photos later on.
“OK, we got our evidence,” I said. “Time to go.”
No sooner had I finished speaking than the doors to the field opened wide. But Phil hadn’t opened them. He was still making his way among the cattle when they noticed the open doors and moved as one to head outside.
I couldn’t do a thing to help him. If I cried out to warn him, he probably wouldn’t even hear me. Even if he did, there was nothing he could do, caught as he was in the middle of the herd. If I jumped in and tried to grab him, I’d be in the same predicament he was in. Two men against a herd of cattle was indistinguishable from one man against a herd of cattle. The only difference would have been two dead men instead of one.
I watched helplessly as the herd of cattle swept Phil out of the barn and up against the fence that funneled them into the field. The last I saw of him, he had his hands above his head and was twirling like a ballerina as the cows spun him against the fence on their way out to pasture.
To be continued…