The wounded visitor explained that, seven years earlier, a railroad company had hired a survey team to examine routes through the mountains.
The project appeared legitimate.
A proposed freight line would connect timber settlements and mining districts with larger markets farther east.
But the construction superintendent overseeing the work had developed another plan.
He wanted control of the springs, creeks, and timberland surrounding the proposed rail corridor.
Those resources were valuable.
Railroads needed water.
Mining operations needed water.
Sawmills needed water.
And whoever controlled the key supply points could influence the future of entire settlements.
The superintendent began purchasing land through intermediaries.
Some purchases were legitimate.
Others were questionable.
Certain homesteaders were pressured to sell.
Others received misleading descriptions of where new railroad boundaries would run.
A few were told their property had little value because the rail line would bypass them.
Then survey drawings appeared showing the railroad corridor crossing land whose owners had never approved an easement.
The mountain man had worked on those surveys.
Not under the name he used now.
Under the former name shouted outside his cabin.
He was younger then.
Ambitious.
Recently married.
Proud of his work.
And convinced that accurate surveys could prevent disputes between settlers and powerful companies.
When he discovered that several maps had been altered after leaving his possession, he objected.
The superintendent dismissed his concerns.
Then offered him money to remain silent.
He refused.
The stranger looked toward the mountain man.
"That's when everything began."
The woman turned toward her husband.
"Is that true?"
He nodded.
"Yes."
His voice was strained.
"I thought it was just a dispute over dishonest maps."
He looked toward the fireplace.
"I didn't understand what those men were willing to do."
The stranger continued.
A county records custodian had helped compare the altered maps with original field notes.
Together, they found inconsistencies.
Measurements had been changed.
Boundary markers moved on paper.
Signatures copied.
And several documents dated earlier than the actual surveys they claimed to describe.
The custodian agreed to preserve copies.
A hearing was being arranged.
Then the railroad depot's records annex caught fire.
The custodian died inside.
Several important documents disappeared.
And the mountain man was accused of starting the blaze.
The woman turned sharply toward her husband.
"You were accused of murder?"
He stared at the table.
"Yes."
The word struck her harder than she expected.
She took a slow breath.
"Did you?"
His head lifted immediately.
"No."