Chapter 3 - The Brother in the Dust
Ethan left the village before noon.
Isaac rode with him.
The chief had insisted.
“I don’t need a guard,” Ethan said.
“I am not your guard.”
“What are you?”
Isaac considered.
“Someone who wants to know whether your brother tried to kill my people.”
Ethan had no answer.
They followed the cattle trail north.
Six miles beyond the blocked spring, hoofprints converged with wagon tracks.
Ethan found ashes from an abandoned camp.
Coffee grounds.
A broken bottle.
Boot marks.
He crouched over one print.
Square heel.
A diagonal nail pattern.
Caleb’s boots had been made by a Tucson cobbler who used that pattern.
Ethan rubbed dust between his fingers.
Isaac watched him.
“You keep hoping you are wrong.”
“He’s my brother.”
“That does not answer me.”
“No.”
Ethan stood.
“I’m hoping I’m wrong.”
Near the camp they found the remains of a temporary cattle pen.
No animals.
Only manure, rope fibers and a crude brand burned into a fencepost.
V.
Vale.
Ethan’s jaw tightened.
“My cattle were delivered to Vale.”
“Why?”
“They may have needed a herd moving through here so tracks wouldn’t look suspicious.”
Isaac frowned.
“Many men rode with them.”
“Exactly.”
A legitimate cattle drive gave armed riders a reason to be in the canyon.
It gave wagons a reason to carry supplies.
Dynamite could be hidden beneath feed.
The theft had been camouflage.
Ethan suddenly understood why the thieves had taken exactly thirty-seven animals instead of his whole herd.
Enough to create tracks.
Not enough to attract territorial authorities immediately.
Caleb knew Ethan would search.
That bothered him most.
Had his brother expected him to give up?
Or expected the desert to finish him?
By late afternoon they reached a freight road.
A rider appeared.
Ethan recognized the posture before the face.
Caleb Cole rode a gray gelding toward them.
Forty years old, broad-shouldered, clean-shaven, wearing a black vest despite the heat.
He stopped twenty yards away.
For a moment neither brother spoke.
Then Caleb smiled.
“Hell, Ethan. Half of Benson thinks you’re dead.”
“Disappointed?”
The smile vanished.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Ethan held up the cartridge casing.
Caleb looked at it.
Only for a second.
But Ethan saw recognition.
“Found this near my cattle.”
Caleb shrugged.
“I’ve fired a thousand cartridges.”
“Near an Apache village.”
Silence.
Isaac remained still beside Ethan.
Caleb’s eyes moved toward him.
“You making new friends?”
“He speaks English.”
“That so?”
“Yes,” Isaac said.
Caleb blinked.
Isaac smiled without warmth.
“That usually disappoints men who prefer speaking freely.”
Ethan almost smiled.
Caleb did not.
“What are you doing out here?” Ethan asked.
“Vale sent me checking survey crews.”
“Near the canyon?”
“Yes.”
“Where someone dynamited a spring?”
Caleb’s face became unreadable.
“What spring?”
Ethan watched him carefully.
Too fast.
Too clean.
Not confusion.
Preparation.
“I never told you there was a spring.”
Caleb said nothing.
Ethan continued.
“You asked what spring before I told you where it was.”
Caleb’s jaw flexed.
“You’re exhausted. Go home.”
“My cattle came through here.”
“Rustlers.”
“They ended up in a Vale pen.”
Now Caleb’s horse shifted.
“You don’t know that.”
“I saw the brand.”
Caleb leaned forward.
“Listen to me. Ride back to your ranch. Forget the cattle. I’ll have Vale reimburse you.”
Ethan stared.
“You’re offering money for cattle you say he never had?”
Caleb closed his eyes.
A mistake.
When he reopened them, the brother Ethan remembered was gone.
In his place stood Vale’s employee.
“I’m trying to protect you.”
“From what?”
Caleb glanced toward Isaac.
“Things you don’t understand.”
“Then explain them.”
“I can’t.”
“You mean you won’t.”
“Same result.”
Ethan dismounted.
Caleb’s hand moved toward his revolver.
Not drawing.
Preparing.
Ethan noticed.
So did Isaac.
Ethan stopped.
“Did you bury their spring?”
Caleb’s face hardened.
“I never touched it.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
“No.”
“Were you there?”
Caleb’s silence answered.
Ethan felt something inside him crack.
Their father had died believing Caleb was the dependable son.
Ethan had spent years believing the same.
Caleb spoke quietly.
“You need to leave.”
“Why?”
“Because you found something Vale will kill to keep buried.”
Ethan stared at him.
Caleb turned his horse.
“Wait.”
Caleb looked back.
“What’s under that canyon?”
Caleb’s expression changed.
Fear.
Not guilt.
Fear.
“I told Vale the same thing you told the chief.”
Ethan frowned.
“What?”
Caleb swallowed.
“That nobody should be payment for water.”
Then he rode away.
Isaac waited until the dust settled.
“He is afraid.”
“Yes.”
“Of Vale?”
Ethan looked toward the northern mountains.
“No.”
Caleb had worked for dangerous men before.
Ethan had never seen him look like that.
“He’s afraid of whatever Vale found beneath the canyon.”
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And in the fading light, Ethan realized the buried spring might not be the conspiracy.
It might only be the lock on something much larger.
