By Todd Epp
Len Gunderson wore oxblood loafers to the Hutchinson County Courthouse in April.
First Dakota wanted forty-three cattle back, or the money Cal Wipf got selling them to buy hay.
The parking lot had gone soft. Gunderson scraped one shoe, then the other, but still tracked mud across the tile.
“If it pleases the court—”
“It does not,” the judge said. “Counselor, you’re carrying half the county into my courtroom.”
Wipf stood at the other table. Alone.
The judge pointed to the mop bucket near the clerk’s desk.
“Clean my floor. Then argue.”
Outside, the boot scraper stood silently in the rain.
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