A man wasn't measured by what he did when helping was easy.
He was measured by what he did when helping was dangerous.
Ethan climbed into his saddle.
"I'm going home."
Tomas's expression hardened.
Ethan held up a hand.
"I'm going home to get the survey."
Then he turned Boone toward Cedar Ridge.
"And I'm coming back."
The False Lease
Ethan reached Cedar Ridge after dark.
The ranch house stood beneath a line of cottonwoods, its windows glowing amber against the blackness.
His younger sister, Mara, was waiting on the porch.
She had a rifle across her lap.
"You were supposed to be home before noon."
"I found the horses."
"That's not what I asked."
Ethan dismounted.
Mara looked beyond him.
"You rode west."
"Yes."
"Dry River?"
He nodded.
She sighed.
"I knew it."
"You knew?"
"I know you."
Ethan walked inside.
His boots struck the wooden floor.
"Where's Father's survey?"
Mara stared at him.
"The old map?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because the Frontier Water and Cattle Company is claiming Dry River."
Mara's face went still.
"They can't."
"They say they can."
"And you believe them?"
"No."
Ethan walked toward the study.
Their father's desk remained almost exactly as Samuel had left it.
Mara followed.
"You think this is about the railroad."
"It is."
She crossed her arms.
"How do you know?"
"Tomas told me."
Mara looked at him sharply.
"You spoke with Tomas?"
"Yes."
"Then this is bigger than I thought."
Ethan opened the desk.
The old papers were still there.
He searched beneath land deeds, cattle records, tax receipts, and letters.
Nothing.
"Maybe he moved it," Mara said.
"He never moved anything."
"Except the whiskey."
Ethan smiled despite himself.
Then he remembered.
The attic.
They climbed the narrow stairs.
Dust covered everything.
Ethan opened an old trunk.
Inside were his father's survey instruments, notebooks, photographs, and rolled maps.
He pulled out a long sheet of parchment.
The seal was faded.
He opened it across the floor.
Mara knelt beside him.
There it was.
Dry River.
The valley was marked as common grazing land.
A note along the waterway specified protected access for "settlers, livestock, and indigenous inhabitants traditionally using the watershed."
Mara stared at it.
"That's enough."
"It should be."
"But?"
Ethan pointed to the bottom.
The document had never been entered into the latest territorial registry.
"That's why they think they can win."
Mara understood.
The company had filed a newer claim.
Even if the old survey was legitimate, a corrupt judge could declare it irrelevant.
"We need witnesses," she said.
"Or someone inside the company."
Mara looked at him.
"Be careful."
"I'm always careful."
She laughed.
"No. You're stubborn. That's different."
The next morning Ethan rode to Mercy Creek.
The town was already buzzing.
Frontier Water and Cattle Company had arrived before sunrise.
Their wagons stood near the courthouse.
Their horses were fresh.
Their men were armed.
At the center of them stood Silas Vane.
Ethan knew the man by reputation.
Vane was not a gunfighter.
He didn't need to be.
He was a businessman who understood that money could hire gunfighters.
He was tall, thin, and perfectly dressed despite the dust.
When he saw Ethan, he smiled.
"Mr. Cole."
"Ethan is fine."
"I've heard your ranch borders Dry River."
"It does."
"Then perhaps we should talk."
"I doubt it."
Vane chuckled.
"You've always been your father's son."
Ethan stiffened.
"You knew him?"
"Everyone knew Samuel Cole."
"What did you do with him?"
The smile disappeared.
"I respected him."
"My father didn't respect you."
"No."
Vane stepped closer.
"Your father had principles."
"And you don't?"
"I have investors."
Ethan said nothing.
Vane glanced toward the courthouse.
"Dry River is going to become important."
"Because of the railroad."
"Because of progress."
"That's what men call greed when they put it in a suit."
Several company riders laughed.
Vane didn't.
"You should sell Cedar Ridge."
"No."
"You haven't heard the offer."
"I don't need to."
"We could make you wealthy."
"I already have everything I need."
Vane leaned closer.
"Everyone has a price."