The man lifted his rifle. Jack moved between him and Isabel, but Naya had already found a second path behind the marker. She signaled them toward a narrow ledge that led down the far side of the mesa. The riders tried to follow, but the route forced them to dismount and move single file. Jack and Isabel escaped with the oilskin, though Naya’s horse took a grazing bullet and had to be led. The company had confirmed its interest in the pendant. More importantly, it had shown that the secret could be found only by following a trail that began with Isabel’s own history. The next step would take them to the Red Teeth, where the ground might hold the evidence that the courthouse had refused to seek.
The Red Teeth were three narrow pillars of stone that rose above a dry river bend. From a distance they looked like broken teeth pushing through the earth. The river had not flowed in years, but after rare storms water still ran beneath the sand, carving hidden channels that could swallow a horse’s leg. Isabel led the way, reading the terrain by the color of the soil and the plants that grew in small clusters along the bank. Jack followed, carrying the oilskin note in an inside pocket. Naya rode behind them with her injured horse moving carefully.
They arrived near midday and searched the base of the three pillars. The phrase on the oilskin—where the river bends beneath the three red teeth—could refer to any part of the bend. Isabel found a second star carved into a low rock, then another on a slab that had fallen from the bank. The marks formed a line toward a cottonwood stump at the water’s edge. Jack used his knife to clear the sand around its roots. Beneath a flat stone lay a wooden box sealed with pitch.
The box had swollen from years of heat and damp. Jack worked a blade under the lid until it cracked. Inside was a bundle of papers wrapped in oilskin, along with a small book containing names, dates, and witness marks. The first page bore the territorial seal and a statement that the spring and its surrounding watershed were to remain under shared protection, not subject to private sale without the consent of every family named in the agreement. Several signatures belonged to officials whose descendants still held positions in the territory. One signature was that of Isabel’s father.
She did not touch the document at first. She stared at her father’s name as if the ink could speak.
“He knew they would come after it.”
“Maybe he knew they would come after anyone who could prove it,” Jack said.
Naya lifted the book and scanned the entries.
“These are the people who witnessed the agreement. Some names belong to families still living in the valley. Others moved away. If we find their descendants, the company cannot say the document appeared from nowhere.”
Jack studied the paper. The seal was real, but the agreement would need verification by someone outside Voss’s influence. Owen Price could authenticate the measurements. Ruth Bell could compare the handwriting with the mission ledger. A federal land office might verify the seal, but getting the papers there would be dangerous.
A shadow crossed the sand. Jack looked up and saw dust rising from the southern approach. Riders were coming, at least five. The group had followed their tracks from the mesa. Isabel wrapped the documents and slid them into a leather case, then tucked it beneath her coat.
“We can reach the north ravine,” Naya said.
“But the horses will have to climb a steep slope.”
“Then we climb it,” Jack replied.
The riders spread out to cut off the river bend. Their leader called for them to surrender the papers. Jack recognized Deputy Hask’s voice, though Hask himself was not visible. A second man shouted that the judge had authorized the seizure of stolen company records. Jack laughed once, without humor. They were calling a territorial agreement stolen because it contradicted a company deed.
Isabel rode to the center of the bend, where the sand was pale and smooth.
“You are trespassing on land you claim does not belong to us,” she called.
“Which version of your story should we believe?”
The leader answered by raising his rifle. Jack fired into the ground several feet in front of the horses, forcing them to shy away from the soft sand. The shot was a warning, not an attempt to kill. Mateo’s cousin had taught Jack that a frightened horse could be more dangerous than a man with a gun, and he had no wish to send a rider tumbling into the dry channel.
The delay gave Naya time to lead her injured horse toward the ravine. Jack rode beside Isabel, covering the retreat. A bullet struck a stone near his saddle. He felt the sharp sting of a splinter across his cheek, but kept moving. At the ravine, they dismounted and led the horses up the narrow slope, where the riders could not follow in a group. One attacker tried to climb after them on foot, but the loose rock gave way under his boots and sent him sliding backward. He was not badly hurt, though his curses echoed across the bend.
At the top, they paused behind a ridge. Isabel’s breathing was fast, but her hands were steady as she checked the case.
“The papers are safe.”
“For now,” Jack said.
“For now is enough to keep going.”
They returned to the valley by a northern route and delivered the documents to Chief Samuel. The chief’s face changed when he saw the original agreement. He touched the territorial seal with one finger, then bowed his head. For years he had defended the spring with oral histories, old markers, and the testimony of elders. Now the written proof had returned, carried by the daughter of the man who had risked his life to preserve it.
That evening, the community gathered in the council lodge. Price confirmed that the measurements matched the original terrain. Ruth compared the signatures and the mission ledger. Daniel found a note in the book showing that the company had tried to purchase the agreement from a courthouse clerk before the archive fire. The evidence was strong, but Chief Samuel insisted they not celebrate too soon.