Chapter 9 - The Courthouse Records
They had not literally seized the courthouse with guns.
Silas was smarter than that.
He had purchased influence.
When James reached Benson the next afternoon, he found the county recorder’s office closed for “inventory review.”
Two Mercer guards stood outside.
That told James everything.
He dismounted.
One guard raised his palm.
“Office is closed.”
“I can read.”
“Then keep riding.”
James looked at the courthouse door.
“I need certified copies of survey filings.”
“Come next week.”
“I need them today.”
The guard rested his hand near his revolver.
James smiled without humor.
“That supposed to improve the customer service?”
A voice behind him said, “Mr. Carter.”
James turned.
A woman in a gray traveling dress approached carrying a leather document case.
She was perhaps thirty-five, with sharp eyes and the impatient posture of someone accustomed to men underestimating her.
“My name is Eleanor Price.”
James removed his hat.
“Ma’am.”
“I represent the Tucson office of Hollis and Price.”
He had heard of the law firm.
“You’re an attorney?”
“My father is an attorney. Territorial courts currently prefer to call me his clerk.”
Her expression suggested she had opinions about that.
“What do you want?”
“To stop Silas Mercer from stealing half the county.”
James looked toward the guards.
“That sounds expensive.”
“My father says the same thing about Mercer.”
Eleanor had been contacted by Tom Avery and three other ranchers. She had already obtained affidavits describing threats, poisoned troughs, and purchase offers.
What she lacked was historical evidence.
James had it.
They moved to the hotel dining room.
Samuel joined them carrying copies of Whitcomb’s pages.
The Apache elder remained outside town with most riders to avoid giving Silas the confrontation he wanted.
Eleanor read for nearly an hour.
She asked precise questions.
“Who witnessed the excavation?”
“A physician. Four others.”
“Was the notebook removed permanently?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“Why?”
“Chain of custody.”
James appreciated her mind immediately.
She examined the survey copy.
“This is not enough.”
“I know.”
“We need the official territorial filing and preferably federal field records.”
“The recorder is closed.”
Eleanor smiled.
“The front door is closed.”
James stared.
She continued.
“The deputy recorder owes my father forty dollars.”
Within twenty minutes, a nervous young clerk led them through the rear entrance.
The records room smelled of dust and leather.
They found the Carter parcel volume.
The page was gone.
Cut cleanly from the binding.
James stared at the gap.
“Mercer.”
The clerk whispered, “I didn’t see anything.”
Eleanor rounded on him.
“You are looking at destruction of public records.”
“I have children.”
“So do the ranchers whose deeds are being altered.”
The clerk looked ashamed.
Samuel searched nearby indexes.
He found something.
“Here.”
An entry referenced the missing page.
Carter, Elias—water access memorandum attached.
Eleanor leaned closer.
“Attached?”
The memorandum was also gone.
James cursed.
Silas had moved before them.
Then the clerk spoke quietly.
“There’s another set.”
Everyone looked at him.
“Monthly copies used to be sent to Tucson.”
Eleanor’s eyes sharpened.
“Territorial archive?”
“Yes.”
“Still intact?”
“I don’t know.”
James stood.
“How long to Tucson?”
“Two days hard riding.”
Eleanor shook her head.
“Mercer will expect that.”
Samuel asked, “Another copy?”
The clerk thought.
“Federal survey office in California, maybe.”
Too far.
Eleanor closed the ledger.
“We need a temporary court order before Mercer drains the system.”
“Without the records?”
“With affidavits, Whitcomb’s notes, and evidence of immediate harm.”
James looked at her.
“Will it work?”
“Depends on the judge.”
“Who is he?”
“Henry Bell.”
James knew the name.
More importantly, he knew Silas had hosted Judge Bell at his ranch twice that year.
Eleanor read his expression.
“Yes.”
James sat back.
“So the judge is Mercer’s friend.”
“I said depends on the judge. I did not say I liked our odds.”
By evening they filed an emergency petition.
Judge Bell agreed to hear it the following morning.
Silas arrived before sunrise.
He walked into court wearing black.
No gunmen.
No visible threat.
Only two lawyers and a smile.
The hearing lasted three hours.
Eleanor argued that Mercer’s excavation risked irreparable damage to neighboring wells and an historically documented spring.
Silas’s attorney called the claims superstition.
Then they produced their weapon.
A signed agreement.
Dated 1848.
Elias Carter and Gideon Mercer.
James felt his blood turn cold.
The document granted Mercer “exclusive commercial right to develop subterranean waters discovered during the survey.”
Silas looked directly at James.
His father’s seal appeared at the bottom.
So did Elias Carter’s signature.
Eleanor requested examination.
The judge allowed it.
James studied the page.
Old paper.
Old ink.
Convincing handwriting.
Samuel stood behind him.
His face was unreadable.
Silas’s attorney said, “The Carter family has known for decades that Mercer commercial rights are valid.”
Then he produced Thomas’s payment ledger.
Full pages.
Not fragments.
James’s father had received money.
A great deal of money.
The courtroom murmured.
Silas said nothing.
He did not need to.
Judge Bell denied the injunction.
Mercer could continue excavation.
James walked outside feeling as though someone had removed the ground beneath him.
Eleanor followed.
“That agreement may be genuine.”
James stared toward the street.
“You sound surprised.”
“I’m surprised by its wording.”
Samuel joined them.
James asked, “What does that mean?”
Eleanor opened her document case.
“The signature may be Elias Carter’s.”
James felt sick.
“But?”
She pointed to the phrase exclusive commercial right.
“But the ink on those five words is darker.”
James leaned closer.
Barely.
But yes.
Eleanor continued.
“And the sentence spacing changes.”
James looked at her.
“You think someone altered it.”
“I think someone inserted language into an old agreement.”
“Can we prove it?”
“Possibly.”
Samuel studied the document from memory.
“There was another problem.”
“What?”
He looked at James.
“The Apache witnesses.”
James frowned.
“What about them?”
“There should have been three marks beside Elias’s signature.”
“Maybe Mercer’s copy left them off.”
Samuel shook his head.
“No.”
His expression hardened.
“The agreement Silas showed is not merely altered.”
“It is incomplete.”
Before James could ask more, the courthouse door opened.
A deputy ran outside.
“Fire!”
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Smoke poured from a rear window.
The records room was burning.
