Voss smiled.
"Truth is a remarkably fragile thing, Daniel. A courthouse burns. A witness dies. A survey disappears. Suddenly the truth becomes whatever the surviving paperwork says it is."
Daniel gripped the bars.
"You murdered those people."
Voss's smile faded.
"Careful."
"You murdered them at Black Mesa."
"I was nowhere near Black Mesa."
"That's another lie."
Voss stepped closer.
"Your grandfather should have accepted the agreement."
"He knew what you were doing."
"He knew nothing."
"He knew about the water."
The sheriff went still.
Daniel noticed.
For the first time in months, he smiled.
"There it is."
Voss's eyes narrowed.
"What?"
"The one thing you can't bear anyone mentioning."
Voss reached through the bars and seized Daniel by the collar.
"Listen to me."
Daniel did not flinch.
"The water rights belong to the company."
"No," Daniel whispered. "They belong to the families whose names you erased."
Voss shoved him backward.
Daniel stumbled onto the cot.
The sheriff stepped away, breathing hard.
For several seconds, the only sound was the faint drip of water somewhere behind the stone wall.
Then Voss spoke.
"You have forty-eight hours."
Daniel looked up.
"For what?"
"To tell me where the original ledger is hidden."
"And if I refuse?"
Voss picked up the lantern.
"Then your sister will join you."
He turned toward the staircase.
Daniel rose.
"Voss!"
The sheriff stopped.
Daniel gripped the bars.
"You can burn houses. You can forge documents. You can bury men in unmarked graves."
His voice grew stronger.
"But you can't change what happened."
Voss looked back.
Daniel continued.
"One day, somebody will find the truth."
The sheriff regarded him for a long moment.
Then he said, "Truth doesn't matter much to a dead man."
He climbed the stairs.
The iron door slammed shut.
Daniel stood in darkness.
For a while, he listened to the silence.
Then he knelt beside the cot and lifted a loose stone from the floor.
Beneath it was a narrow cavity.
Inside lay a piece of charcoal and a strip of cloth torn from his shirt.
He had been making marks on the stone wall for months.
Not counting days.
Not counting meals.
Counting the intervals between the sounds of the town above him.
Wagon wheels.
Church bells.
Footsteps.
The distant whistle of the evening train.
He had discovered that the underground chamber connected to an abandoned drainage tunnel.
A tunnel that ran beneath the old courthouse and toward the dry riverbed.
He had spent months trying to loosen the stones.
And now, with Mara in danger, he could no longer afford patience.
Daniel pulled the loose stone free.
Behind it was darkness.
Cold air touched his face.
He smiled.
The opening was still too small.
But not by much.
Above him, the church bell began to strike one.
Daniel picked up a broken spoon.
Then he began digging.
Far beyond Red Hollow, as dawn touched the eastern mountains, Mara awoke to find Caleb standing beside his horse.
He was studying the horizon.
She sat up.
"What is it?"
He did not answer immediately.
Then he pointed toward a distant ridge.
Three riders moved along the skyline.
Too far away to identify.
But close enough to be searching.
Mara rose.
"Voss?"
"Probably."
"Can they see us?"
"Not yet."
Caleb tightened the saddle.
"Then we should leave."
Mara gathered the satchel.
"Where are we going?"
He looked west.
"Saint Agnes."
"The mission?"
"Yes."
She climbed onto the horse behind him.
Caleb glanced back.
"Hold on."
Mara placed her hands lightly against his coat.
The horse began moving.
They descended through the canyon as the first sunlight spread across the desert.
Behind them, the three riders reached the ridge.
One dismounted.
He examined the ground.
Then he smiled.
Fresh hoofprints.
Two sets of footprints.
And the ashes of a small fire.
Silas Rook straightened.
"Found you."
He mounted his horse.
Then he and the others rode west.
Toward Saint Agnes.
Toward the buried secrets of Black Mesa.
And toward a confrontation that had been waiting seventeen years to happen.
The desert did not forgive mistakes.
Caleb Mercer had learned that lesson long before he learned how to trust a man, how to fire a rifle, or how to recognize the particular silence that came before violence.
By noon, the sun had turned the mountains into shimmering walls of copper and gold. Heat rose from the ground in trembling waves, distorting the distant horizon until rocks resembled buildings and dry washes looked like rivers.
Mara Tolan rode behind him, her arms loosely wrapped around his waist.
They had spoken little since leaving the canyon.
Every mile carried them farther from Red Hollow, but neither believed distance alone could protect them.
Somewhere behind them, Silas Rook and his men were following.
Somewhere beneath the jail, Daniel Tolan was fighting to survive.
And somewhere ahead lay the abandoned mission of Saint Agnes, a place connected to a tragedy neither Caleb nor Mara fully understood.
"How much farther?" Mara asked.
Caleb studied the western mountains.
"Six hours if we keep this pace."
"And if the horse needs rest?"
"Then eight."
She looked at the animal beneath them.
The black gelding had carried them faithfully since dawn, but sweat darkened its neck and its breathing had grown heavier.
"He needs water."
"I know."
"There's a spring beyond that ridge."
Caleb glanced back.
"You're certain?"
"My grandfather used to take us through this country."
"How long ago?"
"Before the valley was fenced."
Caleb considered the landscape.
"Can you find it?"
Mara pointed toward a narrow break between two sandstone formations.
"Follow that wash."
He turned the horse.
They descended into a dry streambed where the ground grew softer and pale cottonwood roots twisted through the sand.
Twenty minutes later, they reached a shallow pool sheltered beneath a wall of rock.
Caleb dismounted.
He examined the water, then let the horse drink.
Mara knelt beside the pool and washed the dust from her hands.
For the first time since the fire, she saw her reflection clearly.
Her hair had come loose.
A bruise darkened her cheek.
Her eyes looked older than they had three days earlier.
She touched the bruise.
Caleb noticed.
"Rook?"
She nodded.
"He'll answer for it."
Mara looked up.
"Is that a promise?"
Caleb hesitated.
"It's an intention."
"There's a difference."
"Usually a painful one."
She almost smiled.
Then her expression became serious.
"Caleb, what happens if we find the original ledger?"
"We take it somewhere Voss can't destroy it."
"Where?"
"Tucson. Perhaps the territorial attorney."
"You think he'll believe us?"
"With enough evidence."
"And if he doesn't?"
Caleb crouched beside her.
"Then we find someone who will."
Mara looked toward the pool.