He could pretend he had never seen Dry River.
That would be the sensible thing.
But Ethan had learned something from his father long before Samuel Cole died.
Water was never just water.
In dry country, it was life.
And anyone willing to steal it was willing to steal almost anything.
Ethan looked at Tomas.
"How long until they arrive?"
"Tomorrow morning."
"Then we'd better get ready."
Tomas smiled.
"I hoped you would say that."
Ethan looked down at the valley.
Three horses had brought him here.
Now he had a feeling they had saved more than themselves.
They had led him to a secret that powerful men were willing to kill for.
And Ethan Cole had just stepped into the middle of it.
The Secret Beneath the Stone
Ethan spent the afternoon examining the spring.
He did not begin with the people.
He began with the land.
That was how his father had taught him.
"People lie," Samuel Cole used to say. "The ground doesn't."
Ethan knelt beside the stream.
The water came from beneath a shelf of red sandstone at the far end of the valley. It emerged from a narrow crack, flowed through a shallow basin, and then disappeared into the dry country eastward.
He tasted it.
Cold.
Clean.
There was enough water to support a small settlement.
Maybe more.
Much more.
He followed the stream downstream.
Tomas rode beside him.
"Your father came here often," the old man said.
Ethan glanced at him.
"When?"
"Many years ago."
"Why?"
"He was surveying."
Ethan stopped.
"My father never told me."
"He didn't tell many people."
Tomas dismounted.
They walked beside the water.
"He believed this valley was important."
"Because of the spring?"
"Because of what was beneath it."
Ethan frowned.
Tomas pointed toward the cliffs.
"Look carefully."
Ethan studied the rock.
At first he saw nothing.
Then he noticed the old cut marks.
Straight lines.
Almost invisible beneath layers of dust.
"Survey markers."
Tomas nodded.
"Your father placed them."
Ethan crouched.
He brushed away dirt.
A small iron spike appeared.
Stamped into its top were two letters:
S.C.
Samuel Cole.
Ethan's heart tightened.
"My father surveyed this valley."
"Yes."
"Why?"
Tomas looked toward the mountains.
"Because men were already fighting over it."
Ethan stood.
"Who?"
"Men who knew what would happen if the railroad came."
The railroad.
Again.
Tomas explained that nearly twenty years earlier, railroad surveyors had explored the region. They had concluded that a line through the valley would be difficult but possible.
The problem was water.
A railroad required water stations.
Cattle required water.
Settlements required water.
And Dry River had the only reliable spring for miles.
"Why was the railroad never built?"
"Money."
"Then why now?"
Tomas looked at him.
"Because money has returned."
That evening, Ethan returned to Cedar Ridge.
He had no intention of staying away for long.
His ranch was modest.
Two hundred acres.
A weathered house.
A barn.
A corral.
A windmill.
His father had built most of it with his own hands.
Samuel Cole had died eight years earlier, leaving Ethan the ranch and a lifetime of unfinished questions.
Ethan went directly to the study.
He opened an old wooden trunk.
Inside were his father's survey instruments, notebooks, maps, letters, and photographs.
Ethan searched for the Dry River survey.
Nothing.
He searched again.
Then he noticed a false bottom.
His father had been hiding something.
Ethan removed the wooden panel.
Beneath it was a rolled map.
His hands trembled as he opened it.
There was Dry River.
The spring.
The valley.
The surrounding ranches.
And a red territorial seal.
Across the bottom were Samuel Cole's handwritten notes.
WATER RIGHTS RESERVED FOR COMMON USE.
Ethan read the next line.
NO PRIVATE LEASE SHALL OVERRIDE ORIGINAL TERRITORIAL SURVEY.
Then another.
SPRING MAY CONNECT TO DEEP AQUIFER. ESTIMATED YIELD UNKNOWN.
Ethan sat down.
An aquifer.
That changed everything.
If the spring was connected to a large underground water source, then whoever controlled it could potentially control water for miles.
He continued reading.
Samuel had recorded pressure changes.
Underground channels.
Rock formations.
And one final note:
If railroad returns, Dry River becomes worth killing for.
Ethan stared at the words.
His father had known.
He had known for years.
A knock came at the door.
Ethan grabbed his revolver.
"Who is it?"
A voice answered.
"Jonah Reed."
Ethan opened the door.
Jonah was his closest neighbor.
Forty-five.
Broad shoulders.
Gray beard.
He owned a small cattle operation five miles away.
Jonah looked at the map.
"You found it."
"You knew?"
Jonah nodded.
"Your father told me."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because Samuel asked me not to."
Ethan stepped aside.
Jonah entered.
"Frontier Water and Cattle has been buying land."
"I know."
"They bought the Holloway ranch."
"I heard."
"They offered me three times what my land is worth."
"Did you sell?"
"No."
"Why?"
Jonah looked toward the window.
"Because my father is buried on that land."
Ethan nodded.
He understood.
Jonah placed a folded document on the table.
"I got this yesterday."
It was an official notice.
Frontier Water and Cattle claimed legal rights to the Dry River spring.
Ethan looked at the seal.
"Forgery?"
"Maybe."
"I have the original survey."
Jonah's eyes widened.
"Then you've got trouble."
Ethan looked at him.
"Tomorrow."
Jonah nodded.
"Tomorrow."
The next morning, twenty armed riders appeared on the western ridge.
At their center rode a tall man in a black coat.
His name was Silas Mercer.
He was the regional director of Frontier Water and Cattle.
Unlike Trevor Vance or other loud men Ethan had known, Mercer rarely raised his voice.
He didn't need to.
He believed money spoke loudly enough.
The riders entered Dry River just after sunrise.
Tomas's people were waiting.
Ethan stood beside them.
Mercer stopped his horse.
"Mr. Cole."
Ethan stared at him.
"Do I know you?"
"No."
"But I know your father."
Ethan's eyes hardened.
"What about him?"
"Samuel was a practical man."
"He was."