No. Something quiet passed between them. Then Everett mounted. Rebecca did the same. They turned north instead of east, away from Mercer's ranch toward the first homestead above the ridge.
Behind them, stolen water continued slipping through the new ditch. Ahead, the mountains had begun gathering clouds. Everett saw them, too. We've got maybe 2 hours. Rebecca studied the dark line building above the Wind River Peaks.
Then we'd better not waste them. The first homestead belonged to Amos and Ruth Bell, an older couple living in a cottonwood cabin above the creek. Amos remembered seeing a wagon after dark three nights earlier, but his eyesight was poor and he could not identify the men. The second place gave them more. A young homesteader named Thomas Reed had heard axes after midnight.
Thought somebody was clearing deadfall, he said. Didn't seem my business. Which direction? Everett asked. Thomas pointed southeast toward the diversion.
Rebecca noticed Everett's jaw tighten. He said only,” Thank you. “They rode farther north. At an abandoned fence line, Everett dismounted and scraped dirt from a weathered post. An old mark had been cut into the wood.
Rebecca crouched beside him.” What is it? “” Original boundary mark. “He traced it with his thumb.” My father used these before the newer survey. “Rebecca looked toward the creek. Then don't pull it. Everett glanced at her.
I wasn't going to. Good. You've started assuming I'm about to destroy evidence. You did want to ride into Mercer's yard. One time.
One time today. His mouth moved. They continued. Near 4:00 they reached the last occupied cabin before the mountain trail narrowed into timber. The owner, a widowerower named Elias Ward, had lived there 23 years.
He listened while Everett explained. Then Elias walked inside and returned carrying a rolled sheet of yellowed paper tied with string. County irrigation sketch, he said. Old one. Before half these ranches had names.
He spread it across a rough table. Rebecca leaned over. The drawing was simple, but the creek was clear. It followed the same western course Everett remembered. No southeastern branch, no ditch toward Barm land.
Elias tapped one finger against the paper. Creek's been running that way since before Hail Creek Ranch existed. Can we borrow this? Everett asked. Elias shook his head.
My wife's father drew it. Doesn't leave this house. Rebecca nodded. Would you tell that to a water commissioner? Elias looked at her.
If somebody asks me under oath, I'll tell them what I know. Everett straightened. That's enough. Thunder rolled outside. Rebecca turned toward the window.
The mountains had disappeared. Rain struck the roof less than 10 minutes later, not gently. The sky opened. Everett stood on Elias's porch, watching water pour from the eaves.” We stay. We'll be sleeping on his floor.