Ellen held a rifle.
Vale dismounted.
"You destroyed company property."
Jacob smiled.
"I opened a gate."
"You stole water."
Jacob laughed.
"That's an interesting choice of words."
Vale's face turned red.
"You have no idea what you've done."
"I know exactly what I did."
Vale looked toward the well.
"You think this changes anything?"
"It changes the price of water."
Vale stepped closer.
"The entire valley is mine."
"No."
"I own the deeds."
"You own paper."
"And courts."
"Maybe."
"And lawmen."
Jacob smiled.
"That part worries me less."
Vale glanced toward Ellen.
"Mrs. Harper. Your debt is called."
"I won't pay."
"Then your ranch is mine."
Jacob stepped between them.
"No."
Vale looked at him.
"You cannot stop this."
"Watch me."
Vale's men raised rifles.
Then something unexpected happened.
Riders appeared behind Jacob.
Five ranchers.
Then eight.
Then twelve.
Men who had spent years paying Vale.
One spoke.
"My well came back this morning."
Another said:
"Mine too."
Vale looked around.
More riders approached.
By the time the sun touched the mesa, nearly thirty ranchers stood behind Jacob.
Vale mounted his horse.
"This is rebellion."
Jacob shook his head.
"No."
He looked toward the water.
"This is a bill coming due."
Vale rode away.
Daniel, standing painfully in the doorway, watched him go.
"He'll come back."
Jacob nodded.
"Yes."
"With more men."
"Yes."
Daniel looked at the ranchers.
"What do we do?"
Jacob turned toward town.
"We stop being afraid."
The Sheriff Who Looked Away
Red Mesa had a sheriff.
His name was Walter Boone.
People rarely mentioned him.
There was a reason.
Walter had spent five years pretending not to see what Vale was doing.
He ignored illegal fencing.
Ignored threats.
Ignored missing cattle.
Ignored burned barns.
Ignored two suspicious deaths.
When Jacob entered the sheriff's office, Walter was cleaning his revolver.
"You Reed?"
"Yes."
"I heard about Black Canyon."
"Good."
"You damaged private property."
"Bad."
Walter sighed.
"Vale wants you arrested."
"Are you going to?"
Walter looked at him.
"No."
Jacob was surprised.
"Why?"
"Because I read Thomas Harper's notebook."
Jacob froze.
"How?"
"Ellen brought it."
Walter stood.
"I'm a coward, Reed. Not a fool."
Jacob said nothing.
Walter walked toward the window.
"Three years ago, Tom Harper came here. He told me Vale was stealing water."
"What did you do?"
"Nothing."
"Why?"
"My son worked on Vale's ranch."
Jacob understood.
"Vale threatened him."
Walter nodded.
"My son left the territory last year. I still did nothing."
"Why?"
Walter stared at his reflection in the window.
"Because fear becomes habit."
Jacob leaned against the wall.
"Habits can change."
Walter smiled sadly.
"Sometimes."
He opened a drawer.
Inside were files.
Complaints.
Deeds.
Witness statements.
"Vale forged several property transfers."
Jacob picked up one.
"Why keep these?"
"I suppose part of me hoped one day I'd become the man who used them."
"Today's good."
Walter looked at him.
Then he pinned on his badge.
The next step was dangerous.
They needed a territorial judge.
The nearest one was in Silver Junction.
Fifty miles east.
Walter wrote a formal request for emergency review of Vale's water rights and property claims.
Jacob volunteered to carry it.
Ellen objected.
"Vale will know."
"Probably."
"He'll send men."
"Probably."
"Stop saying that."
Jacob smiled.
"You want me to lie?"
"I want you to stop acting like dying is funny."
That silenced him.
She stepped closer.
"Tom used to do that."
Jacob looked away.
"Do what?"
"Make jokes when he was afraid."
"I don't get afraid."
"That's exactly what he used to say."
Jacob smiled faintly.
Ellen touched his arm.
"Come back."
Jacob looked at her.
Something passed between them.
Not love.
Not yet.
But perhaps the beginning of possibility.
"I'll try."
"Try harder."
Jacob left before dawn.
Crane followed him.
Jacob knew within five miles.
Three riders.
He saw dust behind him.
He increased his pace.
The road entered rough country near Eagle Pass.
Jacob dismounted and led his mare into rocks.
He waited.
Crane rode into the pass.
Jacob called:
"You follow everyone this badly?"
Crane stopped.
"Come out."
"No."
"We only want the letter."
"Then come get it."
Crane signaled.
His men spread out.
Jacob climbed higher.
Shots echoed.
A bullet struck rock near his face.
Jacob fired.
One rider went down.
Not dead.
The second retreated.
Crane continued upward.
Jacob moved through narrow stone.
He knew Crane was better with a gun.
So he chose not to make it a gunfight.
He waited behind a bend.
Crane appeared.
Jacob hit him with a rock.
Crane fell.
His revolver slid away.
Jacob kicked it over the edge.
Crane looked up.
"You should kill me."
"Why?"
"Because I'll kill you."
Jacob smiled.
"You're not very persuasive."
He tied Crane to a cedar tree.
Then rode on.
The second surviving rider watched from a distance but did not attack.
Jacob reached Silver Junction after dark.
Judge Miriam Foster read the documents.
She was sixty, sharp-eyed, and unimpressed by intimidation.
"These allegations are serious."
"So are the graves."
She looked at Tom's notebook.
"Where is the original Avery survey?"
Jacob hesitated.
"Vale may have it."
"Then I need it."
"Why?"
"Because your case proves manipulation, extortion, and perhaps murder. But the ownership question is older."
Jacob understood.
"If Vale possesses the original survey, it could prove the water was never private."
"Exactly."
Jacob stood.
"So I need to steal the same map twice."
Judge Foster frowned.
"What?"
"Nothing."
She signed a temporary injunction.
"This prevents Vale from collecting water debt until a hearing."
"When?"
"Three days."
Jacob took the paper.
"Can you come to Red Mesa?"
"I can."
He smiled.
"You may want armed company."
She smiled back.
"I have been a territorial judge for twenty-two years, Mr. Reed."
She opened a cabinet.
Inside stood a shotgun.
"I always travel with company."
A Grave Without a Name
While Jacob was away, Ellen found something beneath Tom's grave.
It happened because Ben noticed the stone had shifted.
Heavy rain years earlier had eroded the ground.
When Ellen straightened it, she saw a small metal tube buried beside the marker.
Inside was a rolled piece of paper wrapped in oilcloth.