Eleanor looked toward him.
“But it proves the property wasn't originally part of the Whitmore claim.”
“Yes.”
For a moment, she stared at her mother's name.
Then whispered, “She wanted me to have something of my own.”
Caleb reached for her hand.
She took it.
Neither spoke for several seconds.
Then Abigail opened the old notebook.
It contained correspondence from people living around Blackwater Pass in the late 1860s.
Some entries described unusual changes to boundary markers.
Others referred to disagreements between Thomas Bell and Solomon Whitmore.
One note mentioned the deaths of the three miners.
And another recorded the names of men who had been present near the diversion channel shortly before the disaster.
Eleanor read carefully.
Then stopped.
A name appeared beneath Nathaniel Mercer's.
SAMUEL HARROW.
Caleb leaned forward.
For a moment, his expression changed.
Reverend Cross noticed.
“I thought you might recognize that.”
Caleb swallowed.
“My father believed Samuel died.”
The minister nodded slowly.
“So did many people.”
Eleanor looked toward him.
“Is he alive?”
The older man hesitated.
Then answered.
“I received a letter last autumn from a man who claimed to be Samuel Harrow.”
Caleb stared.
The minister continued.
“He said he had been living under another name for years and wanted to set the record straight before he died.”
Eleanor's heart began pounding.
“Where is he?”
Reverend Cross reached into the box.
Then removed a second envelope.
The address was in Denver.
For several seconds, Caleb couldn't speak.
He looked toward Eleanor.
She squeezed his hand.
The man his father had mourned might still be alive.
And if Samuel Harrow truly possessed the original claim books, Solomon Whitmore's influence might finally be challenged by evidence he couldn't dismiss as the invention of one frightened child.
But the minister's next words changed their plans.
“I wrote back.”
Caleb looked toward him.
“And?”
Reverend Cross swallowed.
“The letter was returned.”
Eleanor frowned.
“Why?”
The older man looked down.
“Because someone had already removed Mr. Harrow from the boardinghouse.”
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Then Abigail took a breath.
“There was a woman who came asking about him afterward.”
Caleb turned.
“Who?”
The minister looked toward the old letter.
“His daughter.”
Eleanor leaned forward.
“Do you know where she went?”
Abigail nodded slowly.
“She gave us an address in Denver. Said if anybody came looking for Samuel, we should contact her before speaking to anyone else.”