Some families challenged him.
Others were frightened into accepting unfavorable agreements.
Samuel believed that a crucial original document had been deliberately concealed.
One that recognized an older shared water arrangement and restricted later diversion of the stream.
He had once handled a copy.
But the copy was incomplete.
And the original vanished during a dispute over the records.
Clara listened carefully.
Then asked.
“Who has it?”
Samuel shook his head.
“I don't know.”
“Does Hawthorne?”
“Possibly.”
“Then why don't the ranchers demand it?”
Her father looked toward the rain.
“Because the people with the least money often have the hardest time proving what everyone once knew.”
The answer stayed with her.
Two years later, Samuel became ill.
His health declined gradually.
The workshop grew quiet.
Clara took over more of his accounts and continued working with the families who depended on him.
During his final months, Samuel asked her to bring the old Arizona box to his bedside.
He opened it.
Inside were maps, letters, names, and several incomplete property records.
He pointed toward one name.
CARTER.
“Remember that family,” he whispered.
Clara leaned closer.
“Why?”
Samuel took a breath.
“They tried to stand against Hawthorne.”
His fingers trembled.
“I couldn't protect them.”
Clara frowned.
“Protect them from what?”
Her father closed his eyes.
For a moment, he seemed exhausted.
Then he whispered.
“The water was never supposed to belong to one man.”
She held his hand.
He opened his eyes again.
“Clara, don't let anybody tell you that a document means nothing simply because the person holding it is poor.”
She nodded.
He swallowed.
“And don't let somebody else's confidence convince you that your own judgment is worthless.”
Those were among the last clear words he spoke.
Samuel died the following winter.
Clara buried him beneath a large elm tree near the church.
Then returned to the empty workshop.
For several weeks, she couldn't bear to touch his tools.
Eventually, she opened the Arizona box.
She began studying the maps.
The correspondence.
And the names.
Carter.
Hawthorne.
Red Hollow.
A stream recorded under an older local name.
A reference to a deed executed in 1861.
Then another reference, years later, describing a reservation of water rights for the benefit of existing ranching families.
The records were incomplete.
But one detail interested her.