“What?”
“Maybe the bank note is not the only paper that matters.”
They rode to the county records office.
The original water deed from Tomás’s grandfather contained language neither Tomás nor his father had used in decades.
Dry Creek Ranch retained allocation rights over seasonal overflow diverted through constructed channels.
Silas’s eastern irrigation ditch was constructed.
Clara read the clause three times.
Then looked at Tomás.
“Your neighbor has been using contracted water.”
Tomás frowned.
“Without a current contract.”
“Yes.”
“How much could we charge?”
The clerk shrugged.
“Depends.”
Clara calculated.
At historical rates adjusted modestly, Silas could owe several hundred dollars in past use if the claim survived challenge.
Tomás smiled.
“That won’t save us.”
“No.”
Clara smiled back.
“But it may make him nervous.”
They sent notice.
Silas arrived the next morning furious.
Tomás met him at the gate.
Clara stood beside him.
“You’re billing me for water?”
Clara answered.
“Yes.”
Silas looked at Tomás.
“You hiding behind your wife now?”
Tomás almost reacted.
Clara touched his arm.
“No.”
She smiled.
“He’s standing beside me.”
Silas looked at her.
“This clause is obsolete.”
“Then prove it.”
“I have downstream rights.”
“Natural flow.”
Clara held the deed copy.
“Your ditch is constructed.”
Silas’s face tightened.
“You think this little trick changes the bank?”
“No.”
“Then what do you want?”
Clara studied him.
“Why do you want this ranch?”
Silas laughed.
“We’ve covered that.”
“No.”
She stepped closer.
“You want it too badly.”
Tomás watched.
Silas said nothing.
Clara continued.
“You offered four thousand for land worth perhaps nine.”
“During drought.”
“You poisoned cattle.”
His expression did not move.
“Careful.”
“Your foreman’s syringe was on our property.”
“Former foreman.”
“Convenient.”
“You should speak to him.”
“We would. He disappeared.”
Silas smiled.
“Not my problem.”
Clara held his gaze.
“Then why are you afraid?”
The smile faded.
Silas stepped close enough that Tomás moved between them.
Clara put one hand against Tomás’s arm.
Not to hide.
To stop him.
Silas lowered his voice.
“You have no idea what you married into.”
Clara answered, “I’m beginning to.”
He looked toward Tomás.
“Sell while there’s something left to sell.”
Then he rode away.
Clara watched.
Tomás said, “He knows something.”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“I don’t know.”
“That word again.”
“You married it.”
Tomás smiled.
Then Clara looked toward the north hills.
“Show me the spring.”
They rode two miles uphill.
Tomás had not visited the source in weeks.
There had been no reason.
The spring emerged between limestone shelves beneath a stand of pines.
Even in drought, water flowed clear and cold.
Clara dismounted.
Crouched.
Touched the water.
Then walked upstream along the rock.
“There is no upstream.”
“I know.”
She inspected the hillside.
“What?”
Tomás asked.
Clara pointed.
Iron stakes.
Three of them.
Driven into the soil above the spring.
Tomás frowned.