A Two Thousand Dollar Nebraska Land Purchase Leads to a Federal Fraud Case
The wind carrying the distant sound of neighborly laughter from the next farm over, clean and clear.
Mr. Duca held the wire stretcher steady against the corner cedar post while I pulled the line tight with the iron pliers. The cold steel of the wire bit into my leather work gloves, a heavy, clean resistance that had nothing to do with courtrooms or lawyers.
“Give it another half inch, Arthur,” Mr. Duca said, his voice carrying clearly across the dry grass.
I leaned my shoulder back, using my weight against the stretcher lever until the wire gave a high, sharp ping. I set the first staple against the cedar and drove it home with three clean strikes of the hammer.
The post took the blow without a single vibration.
“That will hold the fence for twenty years,” Mr. Duca said, releasing the clamp.
We moved down the line to the next post, five yards to the west, where the dry grass brushed against our work boots with a sound like paper. My shoulders were stiff from the physical labor, but it was a familiar ache, the kind that went away with a hot meal and an early night.
