here's keith morrison. ♪ >> narrator: it was late, past midnight, when the farmhouse loomed up in their headlights. no sign of life. not to them, anyway. he hit the brakes. this was the place. they grabbed their weapons, headed for the house. a window unlocked. pay dirt. the prairie takes on a sweet, rolling pitch as it tucks into a nebraska corner an hour south of omaha. here the rich black soil has grown solid and faithful american.