PART 2 — THE SECRET THE DYING COWBOY CARRIED

Emma stopped polishing the Winchester.

“What else would he want?”

Samuel Whitaker did not answer immediately.

He pushed the blanket away and slowly swung his legs over the side of the bed. His face was still pale, and his hands trembled slightly, but his eyes had become remarkably alert.

“Miss Hale, how long has Mercer been trying to buy your ranch?”

“Since my father died.”

“And before that?”

“He offered my father money twice. Dad refused both times.”

“Did your father ever tell you why?”

Emma frowned.

“He said the ranch wasn’t for sale.”

Samuel gave a quiet nod.

“That sounds like Daniel.”

Emma lowered the rifle.

“You really did know him.”

Samuel looked at the old hat hanging beside the door.

“I knew your father a long time ago.”

“Then why did you pretend you didn’t?”

“Because I wasn’t sure who I was dealing with.”

Emma’s expression hardened.

“You were lying to me?”

“I was being careful.”

“You were dying in the desert. I don’t think you had much room to be particular about your manners.”

Samuel laughed, then winced.

“You have your father’s temper.”

“And apparently his habit of rescuing strangers.”

The old cowboy studied her.

“Your father once saved my life. Not with water, though. With a horse, a rope, and a decision that cost him nearly everything he owned.”

Emma stared.

“What happened?”

“Another day.”

“That’s a convenient answer.”

Samuel reached for the glᴀss of water on the table.

“First, tell me about the mortgage.”

Emma hesitated.

Then she told him everything.

Her father’s illness. The unpaid installments. The cattle that had wandered off after a broken section of fence. The bank’s refusal to extend the ᴅᴇᴀᴅline. And Grant Mercer’s sudden appearance with a mortgage note he claimed to have purchased legally.

When she finished, Samuel looked toward the window.

“Four hundred dollars.”

“Four hundred and seventeen, if you count the late fee.”

“How much money do you have?”

“Seventeen dollars.”

Samuel shook his head.

“That’s not enough.”

“I had already noticed.”

He almost smiled.

“Do you have any other land?”

“Only the ranch.”

“Water rights?”

Emma looked at him sharply.

“The creek behind the north pasture. It runs most of the year.”

“Does Mercer have access to it?”

“No. The creek crosses our property, then turns toward the eastern valley.”

Samuel closed his eyes.

For a moment, he seemed to be remembering something unpleasant.

Then he asked, “Has anyone offered to buy the creek rights?”

“Mercer did. My father refused.”

Samuel’s expression darkened.

“Then he doesn’t want your cattle pasture.”

Emma leaned forward.

“What does he want?”

“The water.”

A gust of wind rattled the window.

Samuel continued.

“There’s a dry stretch of land east of here. Most people consider it worthless. But if somebody controls the creek, they can decide which ranches survive and which ones don’t.”

Emma felt a chill.

“Mercer already owns land over there.”

“He owns more than land. He owns the supply company, half the cattle contracts, and a controlling interest in the local bank.”

Emma stared at him.

“Then why hasn’t he simply bought the creek?”

“Because your father refused to sell. And because the old water agreement may not allow him to take it.”

“What agreement?”

Samuel looked at her.

“Your father never showed you the papers?”

Emma shook her head.

“He kept most of his important documents in a locked box. After he died, I searched everywhere, but I never found the key.”

Samuel’s eyes moved toward the wooden cabinet beside the stove.

“Was the box iron?”

Emma nodded slowly.

“You know about it?”

“I helped your father bury it.”

She stood so quickly her chair scraped the floor.

“Where?”

Samuel lifted one hand.

“Not tonight.”

“Mr. Whitaker—”

“You’ve been riding and walking all day. You’ve barely eaten. And I’m not strong enough to go digging through your father’s property.”

Emma stared at him.

“You expect me to sleep while you tell me my father hid something that could save my ranch?”

“I expect you to stay alive long enough to find it.”

She looked away.

For the first time in weeks, hope had appeared.

And she was afraid to trust it.

The next morning, Emma woke to the sound of a horse outside.

She reached for the Winchester.

Samuel was already awake.

“Stay inside,” he said.

Emma looked at him.

“You can barely walk.”

“Then I’ll make a poor impression.”

She stepped onto the porch anyway.

A young rider sat outside the gate. He wore a brown coat and carried a leather satchel.

“Morning, Miss Hale.”

“Who are you?”

“Eli Turner. I work for the county land office.”

Emma lowered the rifle slightly.

“What do you want?”

He held up a folded document.

“Notice of foreclosure. Mr. Mercer asked me to deliver it personally.”

Emma took the paper.

The date was clear.

Friday. Noon.

But something else caught her attention.

The notice stated that the ranch would be transferred to Mercer immediately if payment was not received.

“Where is the county seal?” she asked.

Eli blinked.

“What?”

“This notice needs the county seal.”

He glanced down.

Then he frowned.

“I was told it was valid.”

“By whom?”

“Mr. Mercer.”

Emma folded the document.

“Tell him I expect to see a properly recorded notice.”

Eli shifted in his saddle.

“I wouldn’t recommend making him angry.”

Emma looked him directly in the eye.

“Then he should stop sending people to my door.”

The young man rode away.

Samuel had watched from the doorway.

“Your father taught you well.”

“He taught me not to sign anything I couldn’t read.”

“Good.”

Samuel took the notice from her.

He examined it carefully.

Then he pointed to the bottom corner.

“Look here.”

Emma leaned closer.

The document carried a stamp from the Dry Creek Land Office.

But the stamp had been placed over a faint handwritten number.

Samuel rubbed the corner with his thumb.

The number became clearer.

It was a reference to another document.

A document recorded twelve years earlier.

“Your father knew this day would come,” Samuel whispered.

Emma looked at him.

“How?”

Samuel folded the notice.

“Because he helped write the agreement that made Mercer afraid of this ranch.”

That afternoon, Samuel finally told her where to look.

The old cottonwood hill stood behind the house, where Emma’s parents were buried.

A crooked fence separated the graves from a patch of rocky ground.

Her father had always told her never to dig near the largest cottonwood.

She had ᴀssumed he simply wanted to protect the roots.

Now she understood.

They worked until the sun began to fall.

Samuel could only manage short stretches, so Emma did most of the digging.

At first, she found nothing.

Then her shovel struck metal.

She dropped to her knees and cleared away the dirt.

A small iron box lay beneath the roots.

Its surface was rusted, but the lock was intact.

Emma stared at it.

“That’s it?”

Samuel nodded.

“Your father trusted me to keep the location secret. He said the box should only be opened if somebody tried to take the ranch.”

Emma looked toward the two graves.

“Why didn’t he tell me?”

“Because he wanted you to have a life that didn’t revolve around fighting men like Mercer.”

She ran her fingers over the rusty lid.

“Unfortunately, he didn’t get what he wanted.”

Samuel looked at her gently.

“No. But he left you something.”

Emma carried the box inside.

The lock opened with a small key Samuel had kept sewn into the lining of his old coat.

Inside were several folded maps, two legal documents, a bundle of letters, and a pH๏τograph.

Emma picked up the pH๏τograph first.

Her father stood beside a much younger Samuel.

Between them was a third man.

A tall, clean-shaven stranger wearing a black suit.

Emma recognized him immediately.

Grant Mercer.

But the pH๏τograph had been taken more than twenty years earlier.

On the back, her father had written:

The three men who agreed that no one would ever own the water alone.

Emma looked up.

“Samuel?”

The old cowboy nodded.

“Your father, Mercer, and I helped establish the original water agreement. We believed every ranch in this valley deserved access to the creek.”

“Then why is Mercer trying to take it?”

Samuel looked toward the pH๏τograph.

“Because people change when enough money is placed in front of them.”

Emma opened the first document.

It was a copy of the original agreement, signed by all three men.

But beneath their signatures was another name.

Elias Whitaker.

Emma looked at Samuel.

“Who is Elias Whitaker?”

The old cowboy’s face changed.

For several seconds, he seemed unable to speak.

Then he answered.

“My brother.”

Emma looked down at the paper again.

There was a second signature beside his.

Daniel Hale.

And a third, belonging to Grant Mercer.

But someone had crossed out one paragraph in dark ink.

A paragraph that appeared to grant Emma’s father permanent control over the creek crossing.

Samuel leaned closer.

“That’s not the original.”

“What?”

“Your father would never have crossed out that clause.”

He turned the document over.

On the back was a handwritten note.

If this copy is found, the original is in the place where the first promise was made.

Emma frowned.

“Where is that?”

Samuel looked at the pH๏τograph.

Then his eyes moved toward the northern hills.

“The old water tower.”

Before Emma could ask another question, three riders appeared at the far end of the ranch road.

The one in front wore a black hat.

Emma recognized the horse.

Grant Mercer had come himself.

And this time, he wasn’t smiling.