Spencerville

Baxter’s own men, such as Officer Schenley. They knew something, and they wanted to see how the boss was going to deal with it. Keith suspected that unless they were corrupt to the core, they secretly hated their chief. But they also feared him, and, unless and until somebody bigger and badder came along to deal with the chief, they were going to follow orders. Loyalty toward a bad leader was conditional, but you couldn’t count on the troops mutinying or running away. Men were profoundly stupid and sheeplike in the face of rank and authority, especially soldiers, cops, and men in government service. That’s what had almost happened to him in Washington.
    Keith saw the porch lights of his house ahead and turned into the dark driveway. Well, he thought, tonight was a draw. But somewhere down the road, one of them was going to score a point, and as far as Keith was concerned, the game was already in sudden-death overtime.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN
    T he next several days passed uneventfully, despite the schoolyard incident. No police cars passed by, the phone didn’t ring in the middle of the night, Baxter did not call to reschedule their showdown, and all was quiet. This was meant to be unnerving, the calm before the storm. But Keith was not unnerved.
    At seven o’clock one morning, Keith walked across the road to the Jenkins house and found the family at breakfast, where he knew they’d be at that hour. Seated at the kitchen table were Martin and Sue Jenkins, a couple in their late thirties, and a teenage boy and girl, Martin Jr. and Sandra, both in high school.
    Sue invited Keith to have breakfast, but he said coffee would be fine. They talked about the weather, which was definitely cool now, the coming harvest, the possibility of rain, and the
Farmer’s Almanac
prediction of a harsh winter. Sue thought the almanac was idiotic, but Martin put great faith in it.
    The two kids excused themselves to do their chores before school and left.
    Keith said to the Jenkinses, “I know you’ve got chores, too, so I won’t be long.”
    “What can we do for you?” Martin asked.
    “Well, I just wanted to let you know about that horn honking a few nights back.”
    “Heard it. Saw it.”
    “I got into a little scrape with the Spencerville police, and they were doing some payback.”
    Martin nodded.
    Sue said, “They have no business out here. I called them that night, but the desk sergeant said he didn’t know anything about it, so I called Don Finney, the sheriff, and he said he’d check it out. He didn’t call back, so I called him again, and he said nobody at police headquarters knew anything about it.”
    Martin added, “We were going to call you and see if you knew anything, but I figured you didn’t.”
    “Well, as I said, they got themselves riled up about something.”
    The Jenkinses didn’t ask what, nor would they ever ask, but Sue added, “Don is some sort of kin to Cliff Baxter, and they’re two peas in a pod, as far as I’m concerned.”
    Keith said, “I’ll try to see that it doesn’t happen again.”
    “Not your fault,” Sue said. She added, “Those people are getting out of control. Citizens ought to do something about it.”
    “Probably. Hey, the corn looks good.”
    “Real good,” Martin agreed. “Good all over the damned state. Gonna be a glut again. Lucky to get two dollars a bushel.”
    And that, in a nutshell, Keith thought, was the problem with farming. Supply always outstripped demand and prices fell. When he was a boy, about ten percent of the American population were farmers. Now it was about two percent, and farmers were a rare species. Yet production kept rising. It was sort of a miracle, but if you had four hundred acres, like the Jenkinses and most family farms did, your overhead ate up your sales. In a bumper year when the prices were down, you broke even, and in a bad crop year when the prices were up, the yield was down, and you broke even. It was the kind of job you had to save up for. Keith said, “Sometimes I think I’d like to give farming a try.”
    Sue laughed, and nothing more had to be said.
    Keith asked, “Do you want to sell or rent one of your horses?”
    Martin replied, “Never thought about it. You need a horse?”
    I think I’d like to ride. Pass the time.”
    “Hell, you don’t want to own one of them things. They’re more trouble than a hay baler. You just take one out and ride it when you want. The kids only ride on weekends and