Chapter 2 - The Seal She Remembered
The painted mare carried them three miles before the woman stopped beneath an overhanging wall of stone.
The hiding place was invisible from the wash unless someone knew exactly where to look.
She dismounted first.
Caden tried to follow.
His knees folded.
She caught him by the vest.
“Sit.”
“I was planning to.”
“No. You were planning to fall.”
“Difference?”
“One breaks fewer bones.”
Caden lowered himself against the rock.
The woman opened his shirt enough to examine the wound.
He hissed.
The bullet had carved a shallow groove across the ribs.
No hole into the chest.
No bubbling blood.
She nodded.
“You told truth. Lung is good.”
“I try to make a habit of it.”
She gave him a look suggesting she doubted that.
From her saddlebag she removed water, clean cloth and a small tin of salve.
Caden watched her clean the wound.
“You carry half a doctor’s office?”
“I ride where doctors do not.”
“Fair.”
She wrapped cloth tightly around his ribs.
“What do I call you?”
She hesitated.
“Mara.”
“Caden.”
“I heard.”
“You know me?”
“No.”
“But my name?”
“You said it when you cursed yourself after falling.”
Caden thought back.
Maybe he had.
Pain did strange things.
He reached inside his coat.
Mara’s eyes immediately followed his hand.
Caden removed the federal envelope.
“You knew this.”
Her expression hardened.
“I knew the seal.”
“How?”
“Put it away.”
“Four men killed my horse over it.”
“Then putting it away seems wise.”
“Mara.”
Her eyes lifted.
“You saved me before you saw the seal.”
“Yes.”
“Then you saw it and looked afraid.”
“I did not look afraid.”
“Concerned.”
“No.”
“Angry?”
“Yes.”
That was closer.
Caden held the envelope between them.
“What did this seal do to you?”
Mara sat back.
For several moments, only wind moved through the wash.
Then she spoke.
“Six years ago men came north of the Gila with papers.”
“Federal men?”
“They said so.”
“What kind of papers?”
“Survey notices.”
Caden’s attention sharpened.
“My father kept copies. The seal looked like that.”
“The exact federal eagle?”
Mara pointed.
“Left wing.”
Caden looked.
One feather in the eagle’s left wing was imperfect.
Flattened at the edge.
“You remember that?”
“My father remembered.”
“What were the papers for?”
“They said land around three springs had been claimed.”
“By who?”
Mara’s face changed.
“Gault Land and Cattle.”
Caden became very still.
Everyone in southern Arizona knew Horace Gault.
Cattle.
Freight.
Loans.
Land.
And once, years ago, partner to Caleb Roark.
Caden’s father.
Mara noticed.
“You know Gault.”
“My father did business with him.”
“I know.”
Caden stared.
“How?”
“Your father’s name was on the paper.”
The words hit harder than the bullet.
“No.”
“Caleb Roark.”
“You’re sure?”
“I remember.”
“Caleb signed hundreds of contracts.”
“This one took our water.”
Caden stood despite the pain.
“My father wasn’t a federal surveyor.”
“No.”
“Then his signature could have been as witness.”
“It was.”
Caden’s relief lasted only a second.
Witness was bad enough.
“What happened?”
Mara looked toward the sunlit wash.
“My father challenged the claim. Men fenced the first spring. He cut the fence.”
“Then?”
“He was arrested for trespass.”
“On disputed land?”
“Yes.”
“Who arrested him?”
“A territorial deputy.”
“Name?”
“I was sixteen. I remember one man called Bell.”
Caden’s stomach tightened.
“Bell?”
“Yes.”
“First name?”
“I do not know.”
Deputy U.S. Marshal Edwin Bell had been in Arizona for more than twenty years.
Coincidence was possible.
Caden no longer believed in coincidence.
“What happened to your father?”
“Three months in jail. When he came home, another spring was fenced.”
“And Caleb?”
“My father went to the Roark ranch.”
Caden’s jaw tightened.
“To confront him?”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“They fought.”
Caden almost smiled despite himself.
“That sounds like my father.”
“Your father hit him first.”
The smile disappeared.
“My father hit him back.”
“That also sounds like someone who met Caleb.”
Mara looked at him carefully.
“You defend him less than I expected.”
“I left home at seventeen.”
“Why?”
“Because defending Caleb Roark was becoming a full-time occupation.”
Before Mara could answer, hoofbeats sounded faintly from the north.
She rose immediately.
“They found the lower wash.”
Caden tucked the envelope away.
“Where now?”
“There is a line shack before dark.”
“And then?”
“Maricopa Wells, if you still want to go.”
“I have to.”
“Why?”
“Because Bell told me to deliver this to federal examiner Amos Reeve.”
Mara stopped.
“Reeve?”
“You know him?”
“No.”
“But?”
“My father wrote that name once.”
Caden stared.
“When?”
“After he got out of jail.”
“What did he write?”
Mara closed her saddlebag.
“I do not remember all of it.”
“What part?”
She looked directly at him.
“Reeve knows the maps are false.”
Caden felt the desert shift beneath him.
The man waiting for his envelope apparently knew the old surveys were fraudulent.
Which meant Bell had sent Caden directly into a dispute involving Gault, Caleb Roark, Mara’s father and falsified federal land records.
Caden climbed painfully onto the mare.
Mara mounted behind him.
As they rode away, Caden looked at the envelope again.
“They’re killing me over paper,” he said quietly.
Mara heard him.
“No.”
“What?”
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“They are killing you over what the paper can prove.”
That answer stayed with him all the way to the line shack.
