Raina knelt. “The company has tried to pull it out.”
Elias brushed dirt from the brass. His father had stamped a small crescent beside the number. It matched the map exactly.
Then a voice called from the dark. “Step away from the stone.”
Six men emerged from behind the rocks. Their leader wore the copper neckerchief of the company guards. He carried a shotgun, and the others held rifles. They had positioned themselves above the narrow trail, leaving little room to retreat.
“We’re here to examine a survey marker under court order,” Elias said.
“Court order starts tomorrow morning.”
“The marker will still be here tomorrow if you leave it alone.”
The guard leader smiled. “Mr. Rook says the marker is company property.”
“Mr. Rook says many things.”
The smile disappeared. “Hand over the map and the notebook. Then you can ride home.”
Mateo’s riders moved into view behind the guards, but Mateo raised a hand to keep them back. No one wanted a gunfight on the shelf. One shot could send a man tumbling down the ravine, and the whole case could be lost in blood.
Raina took a step toward the marker. “This stone was placed before your company existed.”
The guard leader aimed the shotgun at her. “I said step away.”
Elias moved between them. “If you shoot her, you’ll have to explain it in front of a judge.”
“Judges can be persuaded.”
“Not when there are witnesses.”
For a moment, the guard seemed uncertain. Then a second man behind him shifted his rifle toward Mateo. The tension broke with a sudden crack—not a gunshot, but the sharp sound of a lantern dropped onto dry brush. Flame ran along the grass at the edge of the shelf. Someone had set a small fire as a distraction, and the wind was carrying it toward the horses.
The guards turned instinctively. Mateo shouted for everyone to move away from the brush. Elias grabbed the survey pin’s exposed ring and pulled a rubbing cloth from his pocket. He pressed it over the stamped surface, taking an impression before the men could stop him. Raina scooped a handful of loose soil into a small sack, preserving the layers around the marker.
“Go!” Mateo shouted.
They retreated down the trail while the fire crawled across the grass. One guard fired into the air. The sound rolled through the ravine, followed by another shot that struck rock above Elias’s head. He stumbled, caught himself, and kept moving.
By the time they reached the lower path, the flames had consumed the dry brush near the shelf but had not reached the horses. Mateo’s riders drove the animals away from the smoke. The company guards did not pursue them beyond the ridge. They had failed to seize the map, but they had shown their willingness to interfere with court evidence.
Raina’s face was gray with exhaustion. Elias helped her down from the saddle and checked the bandage on her arm. It had loosened, but the wound had not reopened.
“You took the impression?” she asked.
He showed her the cloth. The crescent and survey number appeared in dark lines.
“Good,” she said. “Now the marker cannot disappear without leaving a record.”
Mateo looked toward the smoke rising over the shelf. “They will say we started the fire.”
“Then we bring the witnesses who saw them,” Elias replied.
One of the riders, a young man named Tomas Bell, stepped forward. “I saw the guard drop the lantern. I can testify.”
Elias recognized the surname. “Are you related to Recorder Bell?”
Tomas’s jaw tightened. “He is my uncle. He told me to stay out of this.”
“Will you still testify?”
The young man looked back at the ridge. “My family has a well that ran dry last summer. My mother carried water from the church pump. If the company wins, we will pay for every bucket. I’m tired of staying out of it.”
The admission gave Elias a glimpse of how the valley might change. Fear had kept people silent, but the company’s actions were making silence more expensive than speaking.
They rode toward Mercy Crossing as the eastern horizon began to pale. The smoke behind them rose in a dark column visible from the town. By breakfast, everyone would know that someone had tried to destroy the survey marker. Rook would accuse them of trespass. The court would have to decide whether the impression and soil samples were enough to justify a closer examination.
Elias looked at the cloth in his hand. It was only a rubbing, a thin record of a small mark on a stone. Yet the entire valley seemed to depend on it. He thought of his father, who had measured the land carefully and believed that accurate lines could restrain dishonest men. Now Elias understood that measurements mattered only when people were willing to defend what they proved.
At the edge of town, Sheriff Pike was waiting with two deputies.
“I heard the shots,” he said. “Tell me nobody is dead.”
“No one,” Mateo replied.
The sheriff looked at the smoke. “That may be the first good news I’ve had all week. Give me the names of everyone who was there.”
Elias handed him the rubbing and described the fire. Pike listened without interruption, then took the evidence in both hands as though it were fragile glass.
“Rook has gone too far,” the sheriff said.
“He went too far years ago,” Raina answered. “Now you can see it.”
The sheriff did not argue. He turned his horse toward the courthouse. “Then let’s make sure the judge sees it too.”
Recorder Bell arrived at the courthouse before the doors opened. He was a narrow, silver-haired man who wore his authority like a pressed collar. He had spent thirty years making records appear permanent, and he believed that what was written in an official book would outlast any witness who challenged it. When Sheriff Pike presented the survey rubbing, Bell dismissed it as a crude copy made by trespassers.