“And 9 A R sons. I know. And that of course would not
be visible to the eye. But still I am not satisfied. If another
bull was to be substituted for Caesar by … well, let us say
Clyde Osgood … it couldn’t be a near-champion, for the
bull was destined to be butchered, and near-champions are
valuable too. Would it be possible for an average bull, of
comparatively low value, to have a fairly strong resemblance
to a champion?”
“Might. At a distance of say a hundred yards. It would
depend on who was looking.”
“How does a bull score points?”
Bennett swallowed dumplings. “The scale of points we
judge on has 22 headings, with a total of 100 points for
perfection, which of course no bull ever got. Style and
symmetry is 10 points. Head 6, horns 1, neck 3, withers 3,
shoulders 2, chest 4, back 8, loin 3, hips 2, rump 6, thurls 2,
barrel 10, and so on. The biggest number of points for any
heading is 20 points for Secretions Indicating Color of
Product. That’s judged by the pigment secretions of the skin,
which should be a deep yellow inclining toward orange in
color, especially discernible in the ear, at the end of the tad-
bone, around the eyes and nose, on the scrotum, and at the
base of horns. Hoofs and horns should be yellow. There
is a very close relationship between the color of the skin,
the color of the internal fat, and the milk and butter. Now
that heading alone is 20 points out of the 100, and you can
only judge it by a close-up inspection. As far as value is
concerned, a bull’s A R record is much more important than
his show record. In the 1935 auctions, for instance, the
price brought by A R bulls averaged over $2000. Bulls not
yet A R but with A R dams averaged $533. Bulls not A R
and without A R dams averaged $157. That same year Lang-
water Reveller sold for $10,000.”
Wolfe nodded. “I see. The subtleties rule, as usual. That
seems to cover the questions of value and superficial ap-
pearance. The next point … I was astonished by what you
told me on the telephone yesterday when I called you from
Mr. Osgood’s house. I would have supposed that every pure-
bred calf would receive an indelible mark at birth. But you
said that the only ones that are marked—with a tattoo on
the ear—are those of solid color, with no white.”
‘That’s right.”
“So that if Caesar had been replaced by another bull it
couldn’t have been detected by the absence of any identifying
mark.”
“No. Only by comparing his color pattern with your knowl-
edge of Caesar’s color pattern or with the sketch on his
Certificate of Registration.”
“Just so. You spoke of sketches or photographs. How are
they procured?”
‘They are made by the breeder, at birth, or at least before
the calf is six months old. On the reverse of the Application
for Registration are printed outlines of a cow, both sides and
face. On them the breeder sketches in ink the color pattern of
the calf, showing white, light fawn, dark fawn, red fawn,
brown and brindle. The sketches, filed in our office at Fembor-
ough, are the permanent record for identification throughout
life. Copies of them appear on the certificate of registration.
If you buy a bull and want to be sure you are getting the right
one, you compare his color and markings with the sketches.”
Then I did understand you on the telephone. It sounded
a little haphazard.”
“It’s the universal method,” declared Bennett stiffly. “There
has never been any difficulty.”
“No offense. If it works it works.” Wolfe sighed. “One
more thing while you have your pie and coffee. This may
require some reflection. Putting it as a hypothesis that Clyde
Osgood actually undertook to replace Caesar with a sub-
stitute, how many bulls are there within, say, 50 miles of here,
which might have been likely candidates? With a fair re-
semblance to Caesar, the closer the better, in general appear-
ance and color pattern? Remember it mustn’t be another
champion, worth thousands.”
Bennett objected, “But I’ve told you, it couldn’t have
worked. No matter how close the resemblance was, Monte
McMillan would have known. He would have known Hickory
Caesar Grindon from any bull on earth.”
T said as a hypothesis. Humor me and we’ll soon be
through. How many such bulls within 50 miles?”
“That’s quite an order.” Bennett slowly munched a bite
of pie, stirring his coffee, and considered. “Of course there’s
one right here, up at the shed. A Willowdale bull, 3-year-
old. He’ll never be in Caesar’s class, but superficially he’s a
lot like him, color pattern and carriage and so on.”
“Are you sure the one in the shed is the Willowdale bull?”
Bennett looked startled for an instant, then relieved. “Yes,
it’s Willowdale Zodiac all right. He was judged a while ago,
and he’s way down in pigment.” He sipped some coffee.
“There’s a bull over at Hawley’s, Orinoco, that might fill
the bill, except his loin’s narrow, but you might or might
not notice that from any distance, depending on how he was
standing. Mrs. Linville has one, over the other side of Crow-
field, that would do even better than Orinoco, but I’m not sure
if he’s home. I understand she was sending him to Syracuse.
Then of course another one would have been Hickory Bucking-
ham Pell, Caesar’s double brother, but he’s dead.”
“When did he die?”
“About a month ago. Anthrax. With most of the rest of
McMillan’s herd.”
“Yes. That was a catastrophe. Was Buckingham also a
champion?”
“Hell no. He and Caesar were both sired by old Hickory
Gabriel, a grand and beautiful bull, but no matter how good
a sire may be he can’t be expected to hit the combination
every time. Buckingham was good to look at, but his pigment
secretion was bad and his daughters were inferior. He hadn’t
been shown since 1936, when he scored a 68 at Jamestown.”
“In any case, he was dead. What about the Osgood herd?
Any candidates there?”
Bennett slowly shook his head. “Hardly. There’s a prom-
ising junior sire, Thistleleaf Lucifer, that might be figured
in, but he’s nearer brindle than red fawn. However, you
might miss it if you had no reason to suspect it, and if you
didn’t have Caesar’s pattern well in mind.”
“What is Lucifer’s value?”
“That’s hard to say. At an auction, it all depends …”
“But a rough guess?”
“Oh, between $500 and $800.”
“I see. A mere fraction of $45,000.”
Bennett snorted. “No bull ever lived that was worth
$45,000. McMillan didn’t get that for Caesar as a proper and
reasonable price for him. It was only a bribe Pratt offered
to pull him in on a shameful and discreditable stunt. One or
two of the fellows are inclined to excuse McMillan, saying that
losing 80% of his herd with anthrax was a terrible blow
and he was desperate and it was a lot of money, but I say
nothing in God’s world could excuse a thing like that and
most of them agree with me. I’d rather commit suicide than
let myself—hey, George, over here! I was just coming. What’s
up?”
One of the men I had noticed in the judging enclosure,
a big broad-shouldered guy with a tooth gone in front, ap-
proached us, bumping the backs of chairs as he came.
“Can’t they get along without me for 10 minutes?” Bennett
demanded. “What’s wrong now?”
“Nothin’s wrong at the lot,” the man said. “But we can’t
lead from the shed and back, on account of the crowd. There’s
a million people around there. Somebody found a dead man
under a straw pile in the Holstein shed with a pitchfork
through him. Murdered.”
“Good God!” Bennett jumped up. “Who?”
“Don’t know. You can’t find out anything. You ought to
see the mob …”
That was all I heard, because they were on their way
out. A Methodist started after Bennett, but I intercepted
her and told her I would pay for the meal. She said 90 cents,
and I relinquished a dollar bill and sat down again across
from Wolfe.
“The natural thing,” I said, “would be for me to trot
over there and poke around.”
Wolfe shook his head. “It’s after 3 o’clock, and we have
business of our own. Let’s attend to it.”
He got himself erect and turned to give the folding chair
a dirty look, and we departed. Outside it was simpler to
navigate than formerly, because instead of moving criss-
cross and every other way the crowd was mostly moving fast
in a straight line, toward the end of the grounds where the
cattle sheds were, in the opposite direction from the one we
took. They looked excited and purposeful, as if they had