"No, you're not."
I laughed.
Then went outside.
When I returned, the moment had passed.
And she said nothing more about the Calders.
Slade's visit unsettled me for reasons I couldn't entirely explain.
I remembered a man named Roland Calder from Red Willow.
He had operated a freight company that supplied several mining camps and claimed ownership of land other settlers believed belonged to them.
He was wealthy.
Well dressed.
And remarkably persuasive.
He also had a talent for making other people's misfortunes appear profitable.
The summer Eliza disappeared, Calder was involved in a dispute over a stream crossing and a stretch of land used by freight wagons.
Several settlers accused him of altering boundary records.
Others claimed his men were pressuring families to surrender their property.
I didn't know the truth.
I was a young husband more concerned with horses and wages than land law.
But Eliza cared.
She taught children in a small schoolhouse near the settlement and frequently helped families read contracts they didn't understand.
She believed Calder's claims were wrong.
I told her to stay out of the argument.
Not because I thought she was foolish.
Because I was afraid.
Men with money could make life difficult for people who challenged them.
Eliza refused to remain silent.
Then, one night, the schoolhouse burned.
A storm washed out the lower crossing.
And she vanished.
I spent years believing I'd failed her by not taking her concerns seriously.
Now Calder's son was asking for my land.
And Josephine seemed to know more than she wanted to say.
I began wondering whether the mountains had brought those old troubles back to my door.
The next morning, I found fresh horse tracks near the lower timber line.
They weren't mine.
Copper had been in the stable.
Belle was still recovering from her winter ordeal.
And no ordinary traveler had reason to approach that part of the property.
I followed the tracks as far as the frozen creek.
They turned south toward the trail Slade had used.
I examined the ground carefully.
Two horses.
Possibly three.
One rider had dismounted near the boundary marker.
Someone had disturbed the snow around the old survey stone.
I crouched beside it.
The marker was weathered but intact.
I brushed away the snow and checked the surrounding ground.
A fresh shovel impression lay beside the stone.
That was enough to trouble me.
Boundary markers weren't moved by accident.
I returned to the cabin.