"Because it tells people where the land ends."
"Can we prove it belongs here?"
Samuel examined the marks.
"Not by itself. We need the original survey notes."
Clara remembered the courthouse ledger.
"And the letter from Thomas Avery."
Samuel looked at her.
"Who?"
"The missing surveyor."
She explained what Cole had told her.
When she finished, Samuel's expression darkened.
"If Avery found something, Rourke would have a reason to keep him quiet."
"Do you think he is dead?"
"I think we should find out before deciding what happened."
Clara looked across the river.
The water was low, but it still moved steadily around the bend. On the opposite bank, a line of fresh stakes marked the proposed route of the company's canal.
The stakes crossed the land enclosed by the old survey.
If the boundary belonged to the Whitmore ranch, the company could not build there without permission.
And if the company could not build there, its entire irrigation plan might be in danger.
Clara stood.
"We need a surveyor."
Samuel nodded.
"And someone who can testify that those stones were here before Rourke started buying land."
"Would Nathaniel Cole know?"
"Perhaps."
"I don't trust him."
"That makes two of us."
Clara mounted her horse.
As they rode back toward the ranch, she looked once more at the cottonwood.
The tree had stood beside the river for generations. It had survived floods, droughts, and storms. Its roots had held the earth while the water carved a new path around it.
Now it guarded the only evidence that might save her family's land.
Clara had spent months believing that the ranch was slowly disappearing.
For the first time, she began to wonder whether something valuable had been hidden in plain sight all along.
The Letter in the Courthouse
The following morning, Clara returned to Red Hollow.
This time, she did not go directly to the courthouse.
She stopped at the telegraph office and sent a message to a lawyer in Denver whose name appeared on the back of her father's old correspondence.
The message was brief.
Need advice regarding original land grant, river boundary, and water rights. Please respond urgently.
The operator counted the words and told her the cost.
Clara paid without hesitation.
Whatever money remained in her purse, she could not afford to proceed blindly.
At the courthouse, Amos Bell was arranging papers behind his desk.
"I need to see Thomas Avery's letter," Clara said.
Bell's hands stopped moving.
"I am afraid I cannot help you."
"Yesterday, you told me you would examine the records."
"And I have."
"Then you know whether the letter exists."
Bell looked toward the open doorway.
"Miss Whitmore, this is not a simple matter."
"It becomes simple when you answer a simple question."
He lowered his voice.
"The letter is not in the public file."
"Where is it?"
"I cannot say."
"Why?"
"Because I was instructed not to release it."
"By whom?"
Bell did not answer.
Clara placed her father's deed on the desk.
"This is a recorded document. The survey it refers to is a public record. If the company is challenging my property boundary, I have a right to examine the evidence."
"That is not the issue."
"Then what is?"
Bell removed his spectacles.
For a moment, he looked older than he had the previous day.
"Rourke has friends on the county board. The company has promised to finance a new school, repair the road, and bring jobs to the town. People are afraid that if the project fails, the money will disappear."
"So you are protecting him?"
"I am trying to protect the town."
"By hiding a letter from a missing man?"
Bell flinched.
Clara immediately regretted the sharpness of her words, but she did not withdraw them.
The clerk opened a drawer and removed a folded sheet of paper.
"I should not be showing you this."
He placed it on the desk.
"Read it here. Then return it to me."
Clara unfolded the letter.
The handwriting was hurried, the ink uneven.
Mr. Bell,
The survey submitted by the Red Hollow Land and Water Company does not match the original field notes of Elias Mercer. The eastern boundary has been shifted northward, and the channel marked on the company's map crosses land that remains within the Whitmore grant.
I have compared the measurements twice. The discrepancy is not the result of the river's movement. Someone has altered the survey.
I intend to make a formal report.
Thomas Avery
The letter was dated May 14, 1884.
Clara read it again.
"Did Avery submit the report?"
Bell shook his head.
"He was supposed to return the following week."
"Did anyone investigate his disappearance?"
"The sheriff asked a few questions."
"And?"
"Nothing came of it."
Clara folded the letter.
"Who gave you instructions to keep this hidden?"
Bell looked at the floor.
"Mr. Rourke."
Clara felt a coldness that had nothing to do with the weather.
"Did he threaten you?"
"No. Not directly."
"Then why obey him?"
Bell's face reddened.
"Because my position depends on the county board. Because I have a family. Because I am not a brave man, Miss Whitmore."
His honesty disarmed her.
Clara returned the letter.
"I cannot promise that I understand your position. But I hope you understand mine."
She left the courthouse.
Outside, the street was crowded with people. A wagon loaded with lumber stood beside the new company office. Two men were discussing the construction of a hotel. A group of laborers carried tools toward the southern road.
Red Hollow was growing.
And the company's money was spreading through the town like water through dry soil.
Clara crossed the street to the general store.
Inside, she found a man sitting near the stove, although the day was already hot.
He wore a brown coat and a battered hat. His beard was untrimmed, and his left hand rested awkwardly on the table.
When Clara entered, he looked up.
"Miss Whitmore?"
She stopped.
"Yes."
"My name is Thomas Avery."
For several seconds, Clara could not speak.
The missing surveyor rose unsteadily.
"I believe you have been looking for me."
The Man Who Came Back
Thomas Avery looked as though he had aged ten years in a month.
His coat hung loosely from his shoulders. A bruise darkened the side of his jaw, and one of his hands trembled when he reached for his coffee.
Clara pulled out the chair opposite him.
"Where have you been?"
"South of here. At a farm near the territorial line."
"Why didn't you return?"
Avery glanced toward the windows.
"Because the last time I tried, two men followed me from the station."
"Rourke's men?"
"I cannot prove it."
Clara was beginning to dislike those words.
Avery continued.
"I found the original survey notes in a private archive in Santa Fe. Mercer had recorded the old river boundary carefully. The company map does not match his measurements."
"How was it changed?"
"Several points were shifted. Not enough to look suspicious to someone unfamiliar with the land, but enough to move the boundary northward by nearly half a mile in places."
Clara thought of the stones beneath the cottonwood.
"Can you prove it?"
"I have copies of the original notes. I also have my own measurements."
"Where are they?"
Avery reached inside his coat and produced a small leather folder.
"I kept them with me."
Clara opened it.
Inside were several pages of calculations, a hand-drawn map, and a copy of Mercer's original field book.
The figures were precise.
The measurements matched the boundary stones.
They also confirmed that the proposed canal would cross the Whitmore property.
Clara looked up.
"Why would Rourke risk falsifying a survey?"
"Because the water company has already sold shares based on the land it claims to control. If the boundary is challenged, the company could lose its principal construction route."
"And the investors?"
"They could lose a great deal of money."
"Would Rourke be ruined?"
Avery considered the question.
"Not necessarily. But his reputation would be damaged, and he would have difficulty securing further investment."
Clara closed the folder.
"Then we take the evidence to the sheriff."
Avery's expression changed.
"I tried that."
"What happened?"
"He said the matter was a civil dispute. He advised me to take it to court."
"That sounds reasonable."
"Until you consider that I had been followed, threatened, and forced to leave town."
Clara leaned forward.
"Did you see who threatened you?"
"One man. I recognized him as a former employee of Rourke's. He told me I had misunderstood the survey and that I should leave the matter alone."
"Did he touch you?"
Avery hesitated.
"He struck me when I refused."
Clara looked at the bruises on his face.
"And you came back anyway."
"I came back because I could not allow the report to disappear. I have spent my life measuring land. If a surveyor's work can be altered whenever a wealthy man dislikes the result, then the work means nothing."
He pushed the folder toward her.
"These copies are yours."
Clara did not take them immediately.
"Why me?"
"Because your father was an honest man. Because the land belongs to you. And because I have no reason to believe anyone else will fight for it."
She accepted the folder.
For the first time since her father's death, Clara felt that she was not standing alone against the entire valley.
But the relief lasted only a moment.
Outside the store, a horse snorted.
A shadow passed across the window.
Avery stiffened.
"They have found me."
Clara turned.
Through the glass, she saw two riders approaching the store.
One was Silas Rourke.
The other carried a rifle across his saddle.
Avery pushed his chair back.
"There's a rear door."
Clara gathered the papers.
"Then we use it."
They slipped through the storeroom and emerged into the narrow alley behind the building.
Avery moved slowly, favoring his injured hand.
At the end of the alley, Clara stopped.
"Where can you go?"
"To the telegraph office. I have a friend there."
"Then go. Send copies of the report to Denver, Santa Fe, and the territorial land office."
Avery nodded.
"And you?"
"I am going to have a conversation with Mr. Rourke."
"That is unwise."
"Perhaps."
She tucked the folder beneath her coat.
"But I am beginning to understand that being sensible has not protected me very well."
The Offer of Mercy
Clara found Silas Rourke waiting outside the general store.
He stood beside his horse, speaking with the owner. When he saw her, he dismissed the man and approached.
"Miss Whitmore. I was hoping we might talk."
"You seem to be hoping that rather often."
Rourke glanced toward the alley.
"Was that Thomas Avery?"
Clara said nothing.
"So he has returned."
"Perhaps you should ask him yourself."
"I would, but he appears to have developed an unfortunate habit of disappearing."
Clara felt anger rising.
"Why are you interested in a surveyor who has done nothing but his job?"
"Because he is spreading false information."
"His measurements agree with the original survey."
"Measurements can be interpreted in many ways."
"Can a boundary stone be interpreted in many ways?"
Rourke's eyes narrowed.
For the first time, Clara saw something behind his practiced composure.
Not fear exactly.
Concern.
"You have been speaking to people who do not understand the consequences of what they are doing," he said.
"I understand that you want my land."
"I want to build something that will benefit this entire valley."
"Then build it somewhere else."
"The river does not run where I need it to run."
"That sounds like your problem."
Rourke stepped closer.
"Your father understood business. He knew when a fight was worth having."
"My father understood that some things were not for sale."
"Your father died with debts he could not pay."
The words struck harder than Clara expected.
She held his gaze.
"And yet he left me something you cannot buy."