At the front of the room, behind a raised bench of polished oak, sat Territorial Circuit Judge Horatio Vance. He was an elderly man with jowls like a bloodhound, iron-gray hair parted precisely in the middle, and spectacles that rested halfway down a prominent, whiskey-reddened nose.
To the right of the bench sat Silas Crowe and Thaddeus Crane at a long baize-covered table. Crane had already laid out three neat stacks of legal parchment, each topped with a heavy brass paperweight.
Elias, Clara, and Samuel Pike were led by Tom Bell to the left table. Margaret Hale was already there, her eyes ringed with dark circles, a massive leather-bound ledger open before her. When Clara sat down and placed her satchel on the table, Margaret reached over and squeezed her wrist with trembling, ink-stained fingers.
“The Chicago investors arrived on the early train,” Margaret whispered behind her hand. “Two men in bowler hats sitting in the front row. If the title passes to Crowe today, they wire fifty thousand dollars to the territorial treasury by telegraph at two o'clock.”
Clara glanced back. The two men from Chicago looked like undertakers—pale, slender, holding leather notebooks and gold pencil cases.
Judge Vance slammed his lignum vitae gavel down three times, the hollow cracks echoing through the rafters.
“Quiet in the hall!” the clerk droned. “Territorial District Court for the County of Sweetwater is now in session. Cause number forty-two: The First Territorial Bank and the Shoshone Ditch Company versus Elias Ward, Black Creek Homestead. Petition for immediate foreclosure, extinguishment of agricultural water easement, and public auction.”
Silas Crowe did not rise. His attorney, Crane, stood up smoothly, buttoning his frock coat with an easy, practiced grace.
“Your Honor,” Crane began, his voice like oil poured over marble. “This is a matter of simple arithmetic and public necessity. The defendant, Elias Ward, has defaulted on three consecutive quarterly obligations to the territorial bank. Furthermore, under Section Nine of the Territorial Water Act, his failure to maintain the primary diversion ditch along the upper fork constitutes statutory abandonment. Mr. Silas Crowe, as assignee of the mortgage and trustee of the ditch company, stands prepared to satisfy all outstanding public debts in gold coin and incorporate this neglected valley into a modern, productive agricultural development for the benefit of the entire territory.”
Crane produced a sheet of vellum bearing three scarlet wax seals.
“We have here the certified deed of conveyance and the notice of default. We ask the court to enter summary judgment and order the sheriff to conduct the auction upon the steps at the stroke of twelve.”
Judge Vance adjusted his spectacles, his dull eyes glancing toward Elias’s table.
“Mr. Ward,” Vance grunted, “you have appeared without counsel. Do you have the sum of seven hundred and eighty dollars in lawful coin of the United States to discharge the bank’s lien?”
Elias stood up. He was a head taller than the lawyer, his shoulders broad and square beneath the scarred sheepskin coat.
“I do not have the gold, Your Honor,” Elias said, his voice ringing through the room with deep, unhurried resonance.
A low murmur rippled through the spectators on the right. Silas Crowe leaned back in his leather chair, a thin, triumphant smile touching the corners of his mouth.
“Then under the rules of this court—” Judge Vance began, raising his wooden gavel.
“However,” Elias interrupted, his voice cutting through the judge’s pronouncement like an axe stroke, “my lawful wife, Clara Ward, has prepared a formal traverse of the accounting, and my witness, Samuel Pike, has an affidavit concerning the validity of the ditch charter.”
The gavel stopped in mid-air.
Judge Vance’s jowls quivered. He peered over his lenses at Clara, who had risen to her feet beside Elias.
Thaddeus Crane let out an exaggerated, theatrical chuckle. “Your Honor! This is an absurd delay. The defendant is not married. Elias Ward has lived as a recluse on Black Creek for five years. This woman is a stranger—an adventuress brought from New Mexico on the stagecoach not three days ago to mock the dignity of this tribunal!”
Silas Crowe spoke for the first time, his voice a low, gravelly baritone that commanded immediate silence.
“The woman is an impostor, Judge. My hands saw her arrive in town on Thursday. She carries no legal standing under the homestead statutes.”
Clara Reyes did not flinch. She did not raise her voice. She opened her black reticule, drew out a crisp, folded certificate embossed with the gold seal of the Territorial Probate Court of Laramie County, and laid it before Margaret Hale.
“Your Honor,” Clara said, her clear, crisp diction silencing every whisper in the hall. “I was legally wedded to Elias Ward by Circuit Justice Miller at the station stop in Chugwater on Wednesday afternoon, as certified by this document and witnessed by the territorial mail agent. Under Section Four of the Revised Homestead Statute, a lawful spouse who is a qualified accountant and co-tenant of an ancestral agricultural holding possesses the absolute right to audit all contested corporate claims prior to any decree of foreclosure.”