Bring a wagon. Monday. Tuesday morning. Copper Ridge filled early. Ranchers tied horses along Main Street.
The county water commissioner had taken the upstairs meeting room above the land office because the courthouse was too small. Everett arrived with Franklin shortly before 9. He had statements from Amos Bell, Thomas Reed, and Elias Ward. He had the old boundary information. He did not have proof Mercer ordered the ditch.
Edwin entered with Claudia and a lawyer from Lander. Everett watched them cross the room. Then he looked toward the empty chair beside Franklin. At 9:10, the commissioner opened his ledger. At 9:12, footsteps sounded on the stairs.
Everett did not turn immediately. Franklin did. His eyebrows rose. Everett. Everett looked.
Rebecca stood in the doorway. Dust marked the hem of her dress. Her hair had loosened beneath her hat from the long ride. Beside her stood Walter Briggs. Under Rebecca's arm was an old survey ledger.
Everett rose slowly. Rebecca's eyes found his across the room. She did not smile. Neither did he. But something in Everett's face loosened for the first time in more than a week.
“Walter walked toward the commissioner.” “My name is Walter Briggs,” he said. Edwin Mercer went pale. Rebecca placed the ledger on the table. “I believe Mr. Briggs can explain when that ditch was dug.” Everett looked at her.
Rebecca met his eyes. No apology, no request to be forgiven. Just the truth standing between them. She had left Hail Creek. She had never left the fight.
For several seconds, Everett simply stood there. The hearing room above the Copper Ridge land office was crowded enough that men had taken places along the walls. Wet coats hung from pegs near the stairwell. Mud had dried in pale streaks across the floorboards. Somewhere below, a wagon rolled along Main Street.
Its iron rims grinding over packed earth. Yet Everett heard almost none of it. He saw Rebecca, dust on her skirt, a loose strand of brown hair against her cheek, both hands resting on the old ledger she had placed before the commissioner. Rebecca looked back at him. Everett gave one small nod.
She returned it. That was all. The county water commissioner, Mr. Samuel Dyer adjusted his spectacles and opened the ledger. Mr.
Briggs, he said, “You understand that what you tell this hearing will become part of the territorial record?” Walter swallowed. “Yes, sir.” Edwin Mercer shifted beside his lawyer. Walter saw it. His fingers began trembling against the brim of his hat. Rebecca noticed.
She did not touch him. She simply pulled out the chair beside hers. Walter sat. Then he began. He described the night work, the lanterns covered with cloth, the shovels and maddox carried upstream after dark, the two barm hands who helped cut through the bank.
He described Mercer's order to scatter limbs and loose stone around the opening so the diversion might resemble damage left by heavy rain. Mercer's lawyer rose twice to object. Dyer let Walter continue. Then came the ledger. Dates matched the weak Hail Creek began dropping.