Chapter 20 - The Company Without Mercer
Arthur Crane arrived in Benson wearing a lighter coat than Silas and a kinder face.
That made James trust him less.
Crane called a public meeting.
He began with apologies.
“Mr. Mercer’s alleged conduct shocked every honest investor.”
James sat beside Eleanor.
She whispered, “Observe the word alleged.”
Crane promised reform.
Independent oversight.
Repair funding.
Respect for the cooperative.
Then came the proposal.
Mercer Water Development would change its name.
Arizona Valley Water Company.
It would donate ten percent of profits to local infrastructure.
In exchange, it wanted a fifty-year contract to pump a limited quantity from the northern channel.
Some ranchers applauded.
James understood.
Crane offered the same monopoly with cleaner language.
During questions, James stood.
“How much water?”
Crane smiled.
“A sustainable amount determined by engineers.”
“Whose engineers?”
“Independent professionals.”
“Paid by whom?”
A few people laughed.
Crane’s smile tightened.
“The company.”
James nodded.
“And if pumping lowers the spring?”
“We reduce extraction.”
“Who decides?”
“The oversight board.”
“Appointed by?”
“Investors and local representatives.”
“How many investors?”
“Five.”
“Local representatives?”
“Two.”
More murmurs.
Crane changed approach.
“Mr. Carter, this valley needs capital.”
“It needs water first.”
“Without investment, the damaged system cannot be repaired.”
“We’re suing your company for the repair cost.”
“You may spend five years in court.”
That landed.
Crane was good.
He did not threaten.
He described reality until surrender sounded responsible.
Afterward, ranchers argued.
Tom Avery admitted he was tempted.
James did not condemn him.
“We need another source of money.”
Eleanor nodded.
“Federal reclamation funding does not exist in the form we need.”
“Territorial bonds?”
“Possible. Slow.”
Samuel suggested shared cattle levies.
Insufficient.
Then Ruth, visiting with Lena for the council, pointed at something everyone had overlooked.
The map showed not only water channels.
It marked mineral deposits.
Not gold.
Limestone.
High-quality building stone.
James frowned.
“So?”
Tom Avery understood first.
“Railroad.”
A spur line planned twenty miles east required stone for bridges and culverts.
Mercer had focused so completely on water that nobody considered other resources.
The cooperative could lease a surface quarry far from sensitive channels.
Revenue could fund repairs.
Eleanor smiled.
“Without selling water.”
James looked at Ruth.
“You just saved us from fifty years of lawyers.”
Eleanor objected.
“No one is ever saved from lawyers.”
They negotiated carefully.
Within two months, the cooperative secured a modest railroad stone contract.
Money began flowing.
Not fortune.
Enough.
Crane responded by suing.
Then by lobbying.
Then by purchasing newspaper advertisements accusing the cooperative of “blocking regional development.”
James became a public figure unwillingly.
Reporters asked whether he opposed progress.
He answered, “No. I oppose stealing water and calling it progress.”
That line traveled.
So did another story.
The story of the last canteen.
James hated how newspapers romanticized it.
ONE RANCHER’S MERCY SAVES VALLEY.
He corrected reporters.
“My canteen didn’t save anyone.”
They ignored him.
Heroes sold papers better than committees.
The Apache families became supporting characters in versions where they should have been central.
James publicly objected.
Some editors corrected.
Others did not.
He learned control over storytelling resembled control over water.
People wanted ownership.
The spring slowly recovered.
Engineers stabilized the north shaft.
The underground lake remained protected.
No commercial pumping began.
Then Silas resurfaced.
Not in Arizona.
In New Mexico.
A telegram reported him arrested while trying to cross under another name.
James felt relief.
It lasted one day.
Silas requested a meeting before extradition.
Again.
James almost refused.
Then a second telegram came.
MERCER CLAIMS EVIDENCE THOMAS CARTER DEATH WAS MURDER.
James went.
The New Mexico jail was smaller than Tucson’s.
Silas looked tired.
“You came.”
“Stop sounding surprised.”
Silas slid a folded paper across the table.
A letter from Dr. Harold Crane.
Dated nine years earlier.
Thomas knows too much. His lungs are weak. A stronger dose will appear natural.
James’s vision narrowed.
He looked at Silas.
“You ordered this?”
Silas said nothing.
James grabbed the bars.
“Did you kill my father?”
Silas’s face remained calm.
“Read the bottom.”
James did.
Do not contact me again. I will not participate.
Signed Harold Crane.
James looked up.
“So Crane refused.”
“Yes.”
“Then what happened?”
Silas leaned back.
“Thomas died of pneumonia.”
James stared.
“You dragged me here to tell me you considered murdering him?”
“I dragged you here because Arthur Crane has the rest of the correspondence.”
“Why?”
“He inherited his father’s papers.”
James felt disgust.
“Why would that matter now?”
Silas smiled faintly.
“Because Harold Crane did not write that letter to me.”
James looked again.
“To whom?”
Silas’s expression darkened.
“Thomas.”
James froze.
He reread the wording.
Thomas knows too much.
A stronger dose will appear natural.
If addressed to Thomas, then “Thomas” could not be the subject.
Unless the first Thomas referred to someone else.
James noticed the full line had been folded.
He opened it completely.
Thomas Bell knows too much.
Judge Henry Bell’s younger brother.
James looked at Silas.
“What is this?”
“A murder conspiracy from 1879.”
“Against Bell?”
Silas nodded.
“Thomas Carter found out.”
James felt cold.
“Who wanted Thomas Bell dead?”
Silas smiled without humor.
“My father.”
“Gideon was alive in 1879?”
“Barely.”
James stared.
“And your role?”
“I carried messages.”
“You helped?”
“I was twenty-three.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“No.”
Silas’s face changed.
For the first time, shame appeared.
“I helped.”
James sat back.
“Why tell me?”
“Because Arthur Crane has spent years cleaning his family’s name by protecting mine.”
“And now?”
“Now he intends to let me take every crime with me.”
James understood.
Silas Mercer was finally betrayed by the system he built.
He leaned forward.
“What do you want?”
Silas smiled bitterly.
“The same thing everyone wants when the water runs out.”
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James waited.
“A fair share.”
