Chapter 8 - The Price of Thirst
By noon, the spring had dropped six inches.
By evening, nearly a foot.
The change terrified everyone more than gunfire would have.
Bullets announced an enemy.
Disappearing water announced a future.
Families gathered beneath the cottonwoods and watched the exposed ring of wet stone widen around the basin.
James knelt beside the spring.
He remembered giving away his canteen here.
The place had seemed eternal then.
Now it looked fragile.
Samuel stood beside him.
“Mercer wants us afraid.”
“He’s succeeding.”
“That does not mean he wins.”
James looked at the fading water.
“People can survive insults. They can survive bad newspapers. They cannot negotiate with thirst.”
Samuel nodded.
“That is why men like Mercer want water more than cattle.”
The next morning, three neighboring ranchers arrived.
Then five more.
All carried offers from Silas.
He was buying land at two and three times market value.
Some owners had refused.
Others were considering.
James could not blame them.
A rancher named Tom Avery said, “I’ve got four children. Mercer’s offering enough to move to California.”
James replied, “And after he owns every spring?”
“I’ll be in California.”
The blunt answer silenced everyone.
James understood the temptation.
He had no right to demand that families risk ruin for principles they had only recently learned existed.
So he showed them Whitcomb’s field notes.
He explained the underground system.
The proposed exclusive canal.
The falsified newspaper stories.
The risk that Mercer’s excavation could drain wells throughout the valley.
Tom read quietly.
“You can prove this?”
“Some of it.”
“Some won’t stop a judge.”
“No.”
“Then what are you asking?”
James thought carefully.
“Seven days.”
“For what?”
“To get certified copies of the original federal survey and file for an injunction against further excavation.”
Tom laughed without humor.
“Seven days without dependable water can kill half my herd.”
James knew.
“I’ll share mine.”
Tom looked toward the sinking spring.
“You might not have any.”
James said nothing.
That evening, James counted his cattle.
Three hundred twelve head.
Too many for his current water.
He made a decision that hurt physically.
He would sell half immediately.
Not to Silas.
To a buyer in New Mexico, even at a loss.
Caleb stared when James told him.
“You’ll lose thousands.”
“I know.”
“This ranch took your father thirty years to build.”
James looked at him.
“My father spent part of those thirty years taking Mercer’s money.”
Caleb had no answer.
The herd began moving south the following morning.
James watched dust swallow years of work.
Lena joined him.
Her sister rested nearby.
“You are sad,” Samuel translated when Lena spoke.
James nodded.
“My father taught me a rancher’s worth was measured in healthy cattle.”
Lena answered.
Samuel smiled slightly.
“She says perhaps fathers can be wrong twice.”
James laughed.
The sound helped.
That night Ruth’s fever rose.
The injured ankle had become hot and painfully swollen.
James immediately sent for the physician.
The scrape itself was small, but infection could turn small injuries deadly.
The doctor cleaned the wound, changed the dressing, and ordered rest.
James felt guilty.
“She walked too much.”
The physician shrugged.
“Maybe. Maybe not. You did the right thing with the bandage.”
Ruth heard Samuel translate and interrupted.
She pointed at James.
Then made a drinking gesture.
Samuel said, “She says if you had not stopped, the ankle would not matter.”
James looked away.
Gratitude still made him uncomfortable.
Near midnight, Silas arrived alone.
James found him at the fence.
“No gunmen?” James asked.
Silas smiled.
“They make you nervous.”
“They make everyone nervous.”
“That is their purpose.”
James did not invite him inside.
Silas looked toward the Apache camp.
“Quite a sight.”
“What do you want?”
“To give you a final opportunity.”
“Thirty thousand?”
“Fifty.”
James’s expression did not change.
Silas continued.
“Your herd is leaving. Your spring is failing. Neighboring ranchers are selling.”
“You caused all three.”
“I caused one.”
Silas smiled.
“The others are consequences.”
James stepped closer.
“You reopened a dangerous excavation.”
“Prove it.”
“I have Whitcomb’s notes.”
That was a calculated gamble.
Silas’s eyes changed.
Only slightly.
Enough.
James knew the notebook frightened him.
Silas recovered.
“Whitcomb was a thief.”
“So was your father.”
“My father became the wealthiest cattleman in southern Arizona.”
“That doesn’t answer me.”
“It answers history.”
James felt disgust.
Silas leaned on the fence.
“Do you know why Thomas took my money?”
James said nothing.
“Ask me.”
James hated giving him the satisfaction.
Silas waited.
Finally James said, “Why?”
“Because your father understood the truth.”
“What truth?”
“That Elias did not protect Apache water.”
Silas paused.
“He protected Carter water.”
James shook his head.
“I’ve read the agreement.”
“You read a field note.”
Silas’s voice dropped.
“The signed agreement says something different.”
James froze.
“Where is it?”
Silas smiled.
“My safe.”
James’s hand curled around the fence rail.
“You’re lying.”
“Thomas saw it.”
James remembered the payments.
Silas continued.
“He spent six years helping me search for the underground entrance because he knew your family’s legal claim was stronger than mine.”
“Then why didn’t he sell?”
“Because Thomas wanted more.”
James felt anger.
“More money?”
“Control.”
Silas stepped closer.
“Your father was not my victim, James.”
He let the silence deepen.
“He was my partner.”
James stared at him.
Silas mounted.
Before leaving, he looked toward the weakened spring.
“Fifty thousand expires tomorrow.”
James asked, “And after tomorrow?”
Silas smiled.
“After tomorrow, you will sell me a dry ranch for five.”
He rode north.
James remained at the fence.
Behind him, a soft voice spoke.
Ruth.
She stood with Samuel supporting her.
She had heard enough.
Samuel translated her words.
“She says Silas wants you to believe your father became him.”
James looked at the darkness.
“What if he did?”
Ruth answered.
Samuel’s voice softened.
“She says then you must decide whether being his son requires becoming him too.”
Before James could respond, a rider galloped into camp.
The man shouted urgently.
Samuel listened.
His face changed.
“What?”
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Samuel turned toward James.
“Mercer’s men have taken the county courthouse.”
