“Then he told you the truth about the survey.”
“He found the altered map. We need the original notes.”
Price led them inside. The shed smelled of grease, damp canvas, and old wood. He moved a crate away from the wall and pulled out a flat metal case. Inside were survey sheets, field measurements, and a small brass instrument used to establish elevation. Price laid the documents on a workbench and pointed to the valley’s spring.
“The company’s map places the spring on land they purchased from a rancher who never owned it. The original boundary follows the ridge and leaves the water source under a shared-use agreement. Meridian shifted the line six hundred yards. That makes their reservoir legal on paper and theft in practice.”
“Can you testify?” Jack asked.
“I can. But my word alone won’t hold up before Voss. The judge will say I was dismissed for incompetence or paid to lie. We need the original agreement, with the territorial seal and the signatures of the people who witnessed it.”
“Where is it?”
“Daniel believed it had been moved to the courthouse archive in Santa Fe. I believe it was stolen from there two years ago. The company has been building this case for a long time.”
Jack studied the field notes. The marks were precise, the measurements consistent. This was not a careless error. Someone had deliberately altered the boundary, then used the altered copy to support a claim.
“Why did Daniel go alone?”
“He thought he could get a clerk to compare the copies without drawing attention. He was right about the clerk and wrong about the attention.” Price’s face darkened.
“Rourke’s men took him at the freight camp after he sent word that the meeting was compromised. I tried to follow, but they caught me and broke two fingers. I escaped only because a storm knocked down part of the fence.”
“Where is the camp?”
“An abandoned cattle station west of the old quarry. They call it the Dry Fork depot. It has a water tower, two bunkhouses, and a cellar under the storehouse. Daniel is probably in the cellar. They use it when they need someone to disappear from the road without leaving the territory.”
Jack’s anger became a clear, hard thing.
“Then we get him out tonight.”
Price shook his head.
“Not with three men. There are at least eight guards, perhaps ten. The tower overlooks the road. If you ride up openly, they’ll shoot before you reach the gate.”
“We can’t leave him there.”
“I didn’t say leave him. I said think.” Price spread a rough sketch of the depot on the bench. A drainage channel ran behind the storehouse, leading to an old culvert beneath the fence.
“The cellar has a coal hatch near the channel. If the hatch is still there, you can reach it without crossing the yard. But you’ll need a distraction at the tower.”
Mateo volunteered to create one by driving a herd of borrowed mules across the northern ridge, where their silhouettes would look like a larger party. Price would stay at the crossing and send a telegraph message to Ruth Bell, asking her to bring the field notes to a trusted attorney in Red Hollow. Jack objected to leaving Finch with Price, but Finch insisted he could do more by guiding Ruth than by carrying a rifle. His guilt had begun to turn into purpose.
Before they separated, Price handed Jack a small folded sheet.
“Daniel gave me this before they took him. He said if you came, I should tell you that he was sorry for something he did when you were boys.”
Jack frowned.
“What did he do?”
“I don’t know. He wouldn’t explain. He only said he had let you take blame for a broken fence and had carried the shame ever since.”
Jack remembered the incident. Their father had beaten him with a belt for letting the neighbor’s bull into the orchard. Daniel had been eleven, Jack fourteen. The younger boy had stood silent while their father accused Jack of carelessness. Jack had always thought Daniel was afraid to speak. Perhaps he had been. Perhaps shame could last longer than fear.
“Tell him he can apologize himself,” Jack said, folding the note.
“I’m not done with him.”