For a moment, he looked toward the darkened office.
He noticed something near the rear window.
A broken latch.
And fresh boot prints leading away from the building.
He said nothing immediately.
But he made sure the prints and damaged latch were documented before the snow erased them.
By dawn, the camp knew the Copper Pot had caught fire.
And by breakfast, several miners were asking the same question.
Why had the office burned while the kitchen stove remained properly contained?
The fire should have ended Loretta's resistance.
That, at least, was what Bram Kincaid seemed to believe.
When he arrived the following morning, he stood outside the damaged office wearing an expression of exaggerated concern. He asked whether anyone had been hurt, shook his head at the burned timber, and announced that the company would have to reconsider allowing the Copper Pot to continue operating.
Loretta was sitting beneath a blanket near the stove.
She had spent several hours in the cold after escaping the building, and her knees ached from the sudden exertion. Her blouse smelled of smoke, her throat was sore, and she was still frightened by how quickly the flames had spread.
But when Bram began talking about closing the kitchen, she looked up.
"Why?"
He seemed surprised.
"Because it's unsafe."
Loretta glanced toward Walter Boone.
The blacksmith had spent the morning inspecting the damaged area with men who understood timber framing and stove safety. They had blocked access to the office and determined that the main kitchen could remain unused until a proper inspection was completed.
No one was proposing to serve food in a dangerous building.
But Bram wasn't asking how to make the cookhouse safe.
He was already speaking as though the fire gave him ownership.
Loretta took a breath.
"The damaged rooms need inspection and repair. That doesn't give the company the right to take the building."
Bram stared.
Then he smiled thinly.
"Still arguing?"
She looked toward him.
"Still asking questions."
His expression hardened.
For a moment, he looked ready to shout.
Then Thomas Rusk approached carrying a small parcel.
He placed it on the table.
Inside was a piece of dark cloth torn near one edge.
Thomas looked toward Bram.
"Found this caught on the rear fence."
Bram's expression changed.
The cloth was similar to the heavy material used for company work coats.
It didn't prove who started the fire.
But it was worth preserving.
Thomas continued.
"There's something else."
Bram stared.