The air smelled faintly of wet stone.
Beside the lower bench, a narrow archway disappeared behind a thick curtain of steam.
Harlon guided her toward it.
“This part stays dry.”
Amily looked beyond the arch.
A second chamber opened inside the rock.
It was small, barely large enough for a worktable, a pair of storage shelves, and a narrow stone passage leading farther into the mountain.
But the walls were carefully reinforced.
A wooden cabinet stood against one side.
And beneath the worktable rested a heavy iron strongbox.
Amily stared.
“You built this?”
Harlon shook his head.
“Part of it was here when my father bought the original claim. The spring hollow is natural. He widened the passage and reinforced the storage room.”
She looked toward the strongbox.
“For the survey book?”
Harlon nodded.
“And the papers.”
He set the lantern on the table.
Then knelt beside the box.
For several seconds, he remained still.
Amily watched his expression change.
The rugged mountain man who had faced three armed strangers with almost terrifying calm now looked reluctant to touch a simple iron lid.
Finally, he opened it.
Inside were documents wrapped in oiled cloth, several leather notebooks, a folded map, and a small wooden frame containing a faded photograph.
Harlon lifted the photograph first.
He held it beneath the lantern.
Amily leaned closer.
Two men stood beside a surveying instrument.
The older one had a thick beard, a broad forehead, and serious eyes.
The younger one was unmistakably Harlon, though his hair was shorter and his face less weathered.
Beside them stood a smiling boy of perhaps seventeen.
The boy had pale eyes and a lively expression.
Amily looked toward him.
“Your brother?”
Harlon's fingers tightened around the frame.
“Yes.”
She hesitated.
“What was his name?”
“Thomas.”
The name seemed to hurt him.
He set the photograph carefully on the table.
Then unfolded the map.
“This was surveyed before Blackstone Consolidated began expanding north of Silverpine.”
Amily leaned forward.
The parchment showed a section of mountain valley divided by streams, ridges, and old property boundaries.
Several areas were labeled with names she'd never heard.
Coldwater Creek.
Morrow Ridge.
Bellwether Meadow.
And a place called Mercy Spring.
Harlon pointed toward the last name.
“That's where we are.”
Amily stared.
The cabin lay above a natural spring-fed channel that descended through the mountain toward the settlement.