Mateo’s gaze returned to him. “If you stand with us, the company will call you a thief and a traitor. They will try to take your land. If you stand aside, they may still take it, but you will have no witnesses when they do.”
“That’s a fine choice.”
“It is the one your valley has been offered.”
Raina stepped between them. “The cylinder is hidden. No one gets it until we read the contents together.”
Mateo considered her, then nodded once. “Agreed.”
Elias disliked agreements made over objects he had never seen, but the company riders were nearing the fence, and there was no time to demand a full explanation. He set the rifle against the porch post and walked toward the gate. He would meet the newcomers in daylight, where lies had to stand in front of witnesses.
The company wagon stopped at the road. Silas Rook’s chief agent, a narrow man named Warren Pike, climbed down in a coat too fine for the dust. A deputy followed, one hand resting on his revolver. Behind them rode a dozen armed guards wearing the company’s copper-colored neckerchiefs.
Pike smiled when he saw Elias.
“Mercer. I hope you’ve been enjoying the view.”
“I prefer my visitors to use the road.”
“We’re here on official business. A dangerous thief passed this way last night. We have reason to believe you’re harboring her.”
“Then you have reason to believe wrong.”
Pike’s smile thinned. “I have a warrant.”
He held up a paper, careful to keep it visible to the men behind him. Elias did not take it.
“For whom?”
“Raina Vale. Theft of company property, assault, and conspiracy.”
Raina flinched at the surname. Elias noticed, as did Mateo.
“Her name is Raina?” Elias asked quietly.
She did not look at him.
Pike pointed toward the house. “Bring her out.”
“No,” Elias said.
The deputy moved his hand to his holster. Mateo’s riders tightened their formation, but Mateo raised two fingers and they held. The air seemed to draw taut between the fence and the road.
Pike looked around at the hundreds of riders. For one moment, his practiced confidence faltered.
“You’re making a mistake, Mercer.”
“Maybe. But I’ll make it in front of everyone.”
Raina stepped into the yard and faced Pike. “Tell Silas Rook I still have the cylinder.”
The agent’s smile vanished.
Then, from the back of the wagon, a man bound at the wrists lifted his head. His face was bruised, his shirt torn, and one eye swollen shut. He looked at Raina and tried to speak.
Pike struck him across the mouth with the back of his hand.
“Keep quiet.”
The prisoner staggered, and Elias saw something that changed the whole morning: the man’s belt bore the old silver buckle of the county survey office, a place that had closed fifteen years ago. Elias knew the buckle. His father had worn one just like it before he died.
The stranger met Elias’s eyes.
“Mercer,” he rasped. “Your father was right. The water was never theirs.”
No one moved for several seconds after the prisoner spoke.
Elias had not heard his father’s name spoken by a stranger in years. Abram Mercer had died with a cough in his chest and a stack of unpaid bills on his desk. The county record said he had been a survey assistant, a competent man who spent too much time arguing over boundaries. Elias remembered a father who came home with ink on his fingers and dust on his boots, who taught him to read a map before he taught him to shoot, and who grew silent whenever anyone mentioned Cinder Basin’s first water company.
“What did you say?” Elias asked.
The prisoner swallowed blood. “Your father was right. The water was never theirs.”
Warren Pike stepped in front of the wagon. “This man is delirious. He stole company papers and assaulted an officer.”
“Then you won’t mind if the sheriff questions him,” Elias said.
“The sheriff has already signed the warrant.”
“Then we can ask him why a county surveyor is tied up in your wagon.”
Pike’s face tightened. “He is a former employee. He has no authority.”
Mateo rode closer, still keeping his hands away from his weapons. “Untie him.”
“That is not your decision.”
“It is now,” Mateo replied.
The deputy drew his revolver halfway. From the ridge, dozens of rifles rose, not all at once but with such coordination that the movement seemed like a single shadow spreading across the valley. Pike glanced at the line of barrels and reconsidered his courage.
Elias stepped between the two sides. “No one fires on my land. If you want a hearing, we’ll have one. If you want a killing, you can start by shooting me.”
He was not sure he believed his own words until he heard them. The deputy stared at him, then eased the revolver back into its holster. Mateo’s riders lowered their weapons by inches.
Raina crossed the yard and stood beside the wagon. “His name is Amos Bell,” she said. “He helped copy the old water records. Rook’s men took him because he refused to sign a false statement.”
Pike laughed once. “A story invented by thieves.”
“Then open the wagon,” Raina said. “Let him speak without your hand on his throat.”
Pike did not move. Elias took that as an answer.
The standoff might have lasted until noon, but the prisoner began to sway. His knees buckled, and he would have fallen from the wagon if Elias had not caught him. The deputy objected when Elias cut the rope, but Mateo’s riders had already moved close enough to make further argument dangerous. Amos collapsed onto the ground, breathing in short, painful gasps.
They carried him into the house.
Once the door closed, the outside world became a low murmur of men waiting and horses stamping. Elias cleaned the split in Amos’s lip while Raina brought water. The prisoner drank greedily, then coughed until his shoulders shook.
“Where is the cylinder?” he whispered.
“Hidden,” Raina said. “For now.”
“Good. It has to be read by people who can understand what it means.”