And the first sentence made him feel as though someone had struck him in the chest.
If anything happens to me near the quarry, don't believe it was rustlers.
Caleb read the sentence three times.
He recognized every letter.
Thomas had always written his capitals slightly larger than necessary, and his final strokes leaned to the right when he was hurried.
There was no mistaking the hand.
Caleb swallowed.
Then continued.
I've found something wrong with the company survey. Some of the boundary descriptions don't match the ground, and somebody's been asking us to mark routes we never traveled. I don't know whether it's carelessness or something worse.
Caleb's vision blurred.
He gripped the edge of the desk.
Clara moved closer but didn't touch him.
The letter continued.
I spoke with the foreman. He told me to mind my own business. Later, I heard him arguing with a man from the land company. They said the old marker had to disappear before the new records were approved.
Caleb's hands trembled.
I've copied what I can. If I can get to the original stone above the creek, perhaps I can prove the route is being described falsely.
The final paragraph was shorter.
Amos, I'm leaving this with you because Caleb won't listen if I tell him I'm worried. He'll come after me, and I don't want him getting hurt. If I don't return, please make sure somebody checks the quarry.
Caleb lowered the page.
For a moment, there was no sound except the clock ticking beside the sheriff's window.
He looked toward Amos.
Then asked quietly, "Why didn't you tell me?"
The sheriff's face had gone pale.
He looked older than he had ten minutes earlier.
"Thomas gave me the letter before his last trip north."
Caleb waited.
Amos continued.
"He said he might be worrying over nothing."
"Then he died."
The sheriff nodded.
"Yes."
Caleb's voice tightened.
"And you never showed me?"
Amos looked down.
For a long moment, he didn't answer.
Then he said, "I went to the quarry."
Caleb froze.
The sheriff continued.
"Three days after they found him. I took a deputy and rode up there."
"What did you find?"
"Broken survey stakes. An abandoned camp. Tracks that had been disturbed by rain."
He swallowed.
"And a foreman who told me Thomas had been killed by rustlers."
Caleb stared.
Amos looked toward the letter.
"I asked about the marker. The foreman claimed he didn't know what Thomas meant."
"Did you believe him?"
"No."
The answer came immediately.
Caleb's jaw tightened.
The sheriff continued.
"But I couldn't establish who had moved anything. I didn't have the older records. The company produced documents showing a different route."
He looked toward Clara.
"Documents that may have been part of the problem."
For several seconds, the room remained still.
Then Caleb whispered, "You could've shown me the letter."
Amos closed his eyes.
"Yes."
"Even if you couldn't prove anything."
"Yes."
Caleb swallowed hard.
His anger was becoming difficult to control.
He remembered searching the hills alone.
Riding through winter storms.
Questioning men who knew nothing.
Dragging himself home half-frozen because he believed the answers lay somewhere beyond the next ridge.
And all that time, Amos Boone had kept a letter from the dead man Caleb loved more than anyone in the world.
The sheriff spoke softly.
"Your brother had asked me not to involve you unless something happened. After he died, you were already hunting the men blamed for it."
Caleb stared.
Amos continued.
"I thought showing you the letter would send you after the survey crew instead. I was afraid you'd get yourself killed before we could learn what happened."
Caleb gave a bitter laugh.