Chapter 6 - The Water Beneath
The first surge lasted less than a minute.
Water rose almost to the lip of James’s well, trembled there, then slowly dropped.
Nobody spoke until the rope stopped swaying.
James knelt and touched the wet stones.
Cold.
Fresh.
Impossible.
His well had never produced more than a modest column even after heavy winter rain.
“What did Silas open?”
Samuel asked the elder.
The answer came with obvious concern.
“An old passage Gideon Mercer cut into the northern limestone.”
James looked at the map.
“You said these were natural channels.”
“Mostly.”
“Mostly is doing a great deal of work.”
Samuel translated.
The elder explained that Gideon had learned enough about the underground system to attempt diversion. He employed miners secretly, carving into a natural fissure north of the Carter parcel.
The work destabilized sections of limestone.
Elias stopped him before the channel was completed.
“How?”
The elder’s gaze moved toward Whitcomb’s grave.
James understood there were parts of that story still missing.
“Silas reopened it.”
“Yes.”
“Why now?”
Caleb answered.
“Because you refused to sell.”
James turned.
Caleb pointed toward the northern land.
“Mercer has had crews working out there for months. He told everyone they were digging stock wells.”
James felt anger sharpen.
“If he breaks into the channel?”
Samuel translated the elder’s response.
“Water may shift north.”
“Leaving the spring dry.”
“Possibly.”
“And my ranch?”
The elder looked toward the house foundation.
“Possibly worse.”
James’s expression changed.
“Worse how?”
The elder spoke.
Samuel hesitated.
“Some cavities are large.”
James stared.
“You mean the ground could collapse.”
“Yes.”
James swore.
He immediately ordered everyone away from the house.
The Apache families moved toward higher ground with disciplined speed. James brought out documents, ammunition, blankets, food, and anything difficult to replace.
His first impulse was to save furniture.
Then the ground shuddered again.
He abandoned the chair.
By late afternoon, cracks appeared near the well.
Thin at first.
Then wider.
James crouched beside one.
Moist air breathed upward.
His ranch had always felt solid to him.
Now it seemed to float above darkness.
Lena joined him.
She said something Samuel translated.
“The land is telling you where it is weak.”
James looked at the crack.
“My land talks more than my father ever did.”
Lena smiled faintly.
Then she became serious.
“She asks why you are angry with him if he was afraid.”
James stared across the yard.
“Because fear doesn’t excuse lying to your son for thirty years.”
Samuel translated.
Lena answered.
“He may have believed silence was protection.”
“That makes it worse.”
“Why?”
James considered.
“Because he decided what truth I could survive.”
Lena nodded slowly.
She understood that.
Perhaps more than he realized.
Ruth called from the porch.
James hurried over.
She had been examining the leather map beside the survey.
The younger woman pointed to a symbol near the north channel.
Three small marks.
Then she pointed at the same symbol beside another route south.
Samuel spoke with her.
“She says these marks indicate closing points.”
“Gates?”
“Stone barriers. Maybe timber reinforcement later.”
James studied the map.
“If Silas opened the north shaft, can we close it?”
The elder answered.
“Yes.”
“How?”
Another pause.
Samuel said, “From inside.”
James stared at him.
“Inside what?”
“The passage.”
Caleb laughed nervously.
“No.”
Everyone ignored him.
James traced the line.
The entrance appeared to begin near the hidden spring.
“We go underground?”
The elder shook his head.
“He says not yet.”
“Why?”
“Because we do not know which channel Mercer disturbed.”
James pointed toward the rising well.
“I have a clue.”
“He says a wrong closure could force water somewhere else.”
James leaned back.
Hydrology was not a word most Arizona ranchers used, but every farmer understood pressure.
Block one path.
Water found another.
Sometimes violently.
They needed the original notes.
Whitcomb’s field book.
Buried under the grave.
James looked toward Samuel.
“Truth.”
Samuel knew what he meant.
The elder considered.
Then nodded once.
They would open the grave at dawn.
Before they could prepare, a rider arrived from the south.
Not Apache.
A white teenage boy on a lathered horse.
James recognized him as Ben Holloway, son of a neighboring rancher.
Ben nearly fell dismounting.
“Mr. Carter.”
“What happened?”
“My father sent me.”
The boy looked nervously at the Apache riders.
James stepped between them.
“Say it.”
“Mercer’s men came to our place.”
“When?”
“Hour ago.”
“What did they want?”
“Our deed.”
James frowned.
“Why?”
“They said the county recorder found mistakes.”
James’s stomach tightened.
“Did your father give it to them?”
“No. They took copies.”
Ben swallowed.
“They offered to buy the ranch.”
“How much?”
“Double what it’s worth.”
James looked toward Samuel.
Silas was not only after Carter land.
He wanted every parcel above the underground system.
Ben continued.
“My father said no.”
“What happened?”
“They poisoned our stock trough.”
James went still.
“Poisoned?”
“Put kerosene in it.”
Not deadly in the way arsenic would be, but enough to make cattle refuse the water and ruin a limited supply.
James clenched his jaw.
“Your family safe?”
“Yes.”
“Tell your father to move the herd south and use my lower pasture.”
Ben stared.
“But your water—”
“Go.”
The boy mounted.
James called after him.
“And tell every ranch between here and Tucson not to sign anything Mercer gives them.”
Ben rode away.
Caleb watched.
“You’re starting a war.”
James turned.
“No.”
He looked toward the hidden spring.
“I’m telling people someone already started one.”
Night came.
No one slept deeply.
Near midnight, James saw lantern light on the northern ridge.
Three flashes.
Pause.
Two flashes.
Someone signaling.
Samuel joined him.
“Mercer?”
“Probably.”
A second signal answered from much closer.
James turned.
The response had come from inside the Apache camp.
He looked toward the dark clusters of bedrolls and horses.
Samuel’s expression changed.
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Silas Mercer did not merely have hired gunmen.
He had someone among the seven hundred riders.
