Marty Bredthauer’s aim is true. His marksmanship skills come in handy on his family’s Custer County ranch, but not for hunting or to keep predators at bay. His Remington .30-06 rifle will bring a 2,000-pound bison down with one well-placed shot – right behind the ear. The precision strike is part of getting his animals’ lean, nutritious meat to consumers and his own kitchen table.

Custer County’s undulating carpet of lush, green prairie grass is a haven for livestock. Long before cattle dominated Central Nebraska’s protein scene, bison topped the vegetarian food chain. Much to the delight of modern-day meat eaters, on this ranch, they still do.

Marty and Karen Bredthauer make a living selling grass-fed bison meat from animals nurtured on their ranch southeast of Broken Bow.

Getting to the Bredthauers’ Straight Arrow Bison Ranch isn’t a straight shot. First, head south out of Broken Bow on Nebraska Highway 21. Then, turn east onto Sumner Road (If you reach the behemoth Adams Land & Cattle Company feedlot you’ve gone too far). When the pavement ends, slow down but keep going. Drive past the prairie dog town and the ranch is on the left. The bison crossing sign on the Bredthauers’ gate is hard to miss.

Field harvest takes place in mid-October. Marty grabs his rifle and ammunition and climbs into his John Deere model 4050 to find the herd. Despite their size, the bison – often incorrectly called buffalo – disappear easily into the grassy hills and draws of the 320-acre ranch. He slowly drives up close when he finally locates the burly herd. The inquisitive animals are used to the roar and coming and going of the farm machine. Finding his target in the scope, the rancher fires. The bison falls straight to the ground from which it was raised. The quick kill results in better quality meat according to Marty, no raucous roundups or trailer rides to stress the herd. 

The Bredthauers were feeling the pressure after a big bull made its escape early in their bison ranching experience. Neighbors kept calling but the animal would vanish into the Custer County hillside by the time they got there. The cat and mouse game continued for two weeks until the bull was spotted in open range after covering 25 miles. “We put him down and put him into one-pound packages,” Karen said.

Butchering takes place at the Bredthauers’ state-inspected abattoir on the family ranch. Twelve animals will be processed over two days, and then another dozen the following week. Anselmo butcher Steve Burnett makes quick work of each one, needing only about 90 minutes to gut, skin, trim and split each carcass.

“Within two hours of when it was grazing, the animal is processed and hanging in the refrigerated trailer,” Burnett said. “That is a beautiful thing.”

Like the stealthy bands of Native American hunters who explored these hills long ago, the Bredthauers endeavor to make use of every bison bit. The spleens and cheek meat are used to make dog snacks. Before the skulls are cleaned and bleached, Marty puts them outside, covers them with dirt and lets the bugs do the work. From a commercial kitchen attached to the custom pack facility, Karen roasts the bones into broth. She places homemade bars of her bison fat soap upstairs in the family’s one-bedroom Airbnb.

As Burnett systematically dismantles each harvested animal, Marty spreads the fleshy hides out on the ground, sticky side up. He spreads handfuls of coarse salt from edge to edge. The mineral preserves the flesh as each hide is shipped to a tannery.

The pliable pelts, bison rugs and other products are available at the ranch and online. The Bredthauers also load up their mobile cabin and hit the road for sales. The trailer with log siding, and freezers and shelves inside, makes regular stops in Grand Island, Kearney, McCook and North Platte.

Customers line up for the healthy homegrown burgers, roasts and bison steaks. Some have been buying from the Bredthauers for 20 years. They enjoy the sweet, rich flavor of the meat. Marty said it is like real good beef without the fat, “but better.” The Bredthauers live on a steady diet of bison meat, only buying beef or pork if dining in a restaurant.

Before he ever flipped a bison burger, Marty worked in a mess hall serving military personnel while enlisted in the U.S. Army. When his time was up, he marched up the aisle with his sweetheart from McCook. The newlyweds moved to the corn and cattle farm near Arcadia where he grew up. There, they farmed with Marty’s parents. After six years they bought a farm of their own north of Broken Bow on the fertile East Merna Table. “That was not a good time to strike out on our own,” said Karen, who was working as a nurse at the time. “Just in time for the 1980s farm crisis,” Marty said.

Financially, it didn’t pan out. Marty felt like a failure even though they were able to keep renting the land. “We survived on her hospital wage,” he said. Things began looking up when he took a job with an irrigation company to help make ends meet.

For a year and a half, Marty worked 5,500 miles from home, drilling 4,000-foot-deep irrigation wells in the Sahara Desert in Algeria. This was no cool rush like what Marty was used to from tapping into the Ogallala Aquifer under Custer County. The African desert deluge gurgled to the surface at a more than tepid temperature of 140 degrees.  

After he returned to Central Nebraska, the Bredthauers drilled down on their improved financial situation and bought this land. They planned to raise cattle. Farmers and ranchers know that plans change.

The family was taking a rare vacation, exploring Fort Robinson State Park in Northwest Nebraska, when Marty and sons Lance and Troy became enamored with the park’s bison herd. Alternative agriculture was in the news, with some Nebraskans diversifying their operations to farm fish or raise ostriches and emus.  Weeks later, Marty was hooked by an ad in the local Custer County Chief newspaper offering two bison cows and a pair of bulls for sale in nearby Callaway. He visited the seller and paid the buffalo bill. Straight Arrow Bison Ranch was born.

An open house in 1995 drew 300 people. “We had $1,000 in sales that day and had meat leftover for us,” Marty said. “Boy, we thought we had a gold mine.”

Business was so good that they sold off their cattle herd two years later to focus solely on bison. When the price of corn skyrocketed, the Bredthauers made the switch to entirely grass-fed animals – just like the first bison herds that thundered across what would become Custer County.

Some evenings as the sun is setting, the Bredthauers get in their pickup and drive through pastures to check the herd. Not that they need it: the animals take care of themselves. Coming from a background in cattle, the Bredthauers learned their hands-off, low pressure technique the hard way.

One of their sons having to run for their life once was a daily occurrence when rounding up the herd. Marty remembers one big bison cow staring him down and stomping her feet. “She was close enough that she could have got me,” he said. “They are nervous, wild animals when you push them,” Karen said. “That’s why we don’t. We are much better at this now.”

Through breeding and buying, including purchasing surplus animals from the Crane Trust, Marty and Karen, their two sons, and adopted daughters Brooke and Kelsey, have built up the herd to around 100 animals. Marty has a deep respect for the animals that returned from the brink of extinction to ultimately save his family.

“I’ve seen them clear a five-foot-tall fence and even on the hottest days they don’t have to head for shade. They face into the fiercest Nebraska blizzards and no matter what is in their way they just keep going,” Marty said while surveying the surrounding Custer County hills. “Bison are perfectly adapted for this land. They belong here.”