"Put the guns down," Silas said.
Noah raised his revolver.
"Where's the box?"
Silas looked at him sadly.
"Somewhere safe."
"You broke into my house?"
"I came to keep you alive."
"By stealing my father's things?"
Silas lowered the shotgun.
"You don't understand, boy. Your father was trying to protect you."
Noah stepped forward.
"Then tell me the truth."
Silas glanced at Hannah.
For a long moment, he seemed unable to speak.
Finally, he said, "Your grandfather didn't murder the surveyor. But he helped bury the body."
Hannah went pale.
Silas continued.
"And the man who killed him was not Crowley."
He looked directly at Noah.
"It was your father's brother."
Noah felt the room tilt beneath him.
His father had never mentioned having a brother.
Not once.
Not in all the years they had lived together.
"Who was he?" Noah whispered.
Silas swallowed.
"Benjamin Bennett. Your uncle. The man everyone believed died in a cattle accident thirty years ago."
Hannah gripped the edge of the desk.
"But if he died..."
Silas shook his head.
"He didn't."
A horse whinnied outside.
Silas turned toward the window.
His face drained of color.
"Dear God," he whispered.
Noah moved beside him.
Across the yard, a rider was approaching the house.
The man sat straight in the saddle, dressed in a black coat and a wide-brimmed hat. His face was hidden beneath the brim.
But the horse beneath him was unmistakable.
A black stallion.
With a white mark above its left eye.
And as the rider reached the gate, he raised his head and looked directly at the house.
Noah recognized the face.
It was the face in the old photograph.
The third man standing beside his father and Thomas Reed.
Benjamin Bennett had come home.
The man dismounted without hurry.
He tied the black stallion to the gatepost, removed his gloves, and walked toward the porch as though he had every right to be there. The years had changed his face, but they had not erased the resemblance. He had the same broad forehead as Noah's father, the same deep-set eyes, and the same habit of holding his shoulders as though the world had never given him a reason to bow.
Noah stood in the doorway with his revolver raised.
"Stop right there."
Benjamin Bennett stopped.
His eyes moved over Noah's face, searching for something familiar.
"You're James's boy."
"You're supposed to be dead."
A faint smile crossed Benjamin's lips.
"So I have been told."
Silas appeared behind Noah.
For a moment, the two older men stared at one another.
"Silas," Benjamin said. "You look terrible."
Silas tightened his grip on the shotgun.
"You should have stayed buried."
"Perhaps. But then I wouldn't have had the pleasure of meeting my nephew."
Noah kept the revolver trained on him.
"Where's the box?"
Benjamin's smile disappeared.
"Your father hid it well."
"Then how did you find it?"
"Because I helped him hide it."
Hannah stepped forward.
"You're Benjamin Bennett."
He turned toward her.
"And you're Thomas Reed's daughter."
"Did you kill my father?"
Benjamin's expression changed.
For the first time, he looked genuinely offended.
"No."
"Then who did?"
Benjamin glanced toward the road.
"That is a question we should discuss somewhere safer."
Noah laughed without humor.
"You've got a remarkable talent for avoiding answers."
"Your father had the same complaint."
The words struck Noah harder than he expected.
Benjamin looked at the photograph on the desk.