He looked toward the frightened young man.
His voice was rough.
"Did you see Thomas afterward?"
Peter nodded.
"Yes."
Caleb swallowed.
"Was he still alive when you reached him?"
The question seemed to cost him more than any other.
Peter closed his eyes.
"I don't know."
For a moment, Caleb looked toward the ceiling.
His hands trembled.
Then he asked, "Why didn't you tell me?"
Peter began sobbing.
"Because I was scared."
He wiped his face.
"They said they knew where my mother lived. They said they'd make it look like another accident."
Caleb looked toward him.
The young man had been twenty-two.
Poor.
Frightened.
Standing against powerful men who had just watched Thomas fall into a ravine.
Caleb wanted to hate him.
Part of him did.
But he also recognized the fear.
The same fear that had driven Clara across the territory.
The same fear Voss's men tried to create whenever someone asked questions.
He took a breath.
Then stepped backward.
For several seconds, he couldn't speak.
Finally, he whispered, "You should've told someone."
Peter nodded through tears.
"I know."
Caleb looked toward the sheriff.
Then toward Clara.
For a moment, grief overwhelmed him.
He walked to the window.
Rested one hand against the frame.
And stared outside.
The town moved quietly beyond the glass.
People walked.
Wagons passed.
A child laughed somewhere near the general store.
Life continued as though Thomas Hart's death had been an ordinary event long forgotten.
Caleb closed his eyes.
For five years, he had carried the question of what happened to his brother.
Now he had an answer.
And somehow, it hurt even more than not knowing.
Peter identified the stranger from the quarry as a man later seen working for Gideon Voss.
His name was Nathaniel Briggs.
He managed acquisitions and security arrangements for the Granite Valley Land and Improvement Company.
Briggs had a reputation for solving difficult problems quietly.
He rarely appeared in public negotiations.
Instead, he traveled between work camps, land offices, and ranches whose owners resisted selling.
Several people described him as efficient.
Others described him as frightening.
Caleb recognized the name immediately.
He had crossed paths with Briggs twice during his years pursuing rustlers.
The man always seemed to appear near disputed property.
Once, after a small rancher claimed cattle were being driven across his land without permission, Briggs arrived offering to purchase the property.
Another time, a family complained that someone had damaged their irrigation ditch.
Within a week, Briggs offered them an agreement granting the company access to the creek.
Caleb had disliked him then.
Now the dislike became something darker.
Amos listened to Peter's account carefully.
He understood the significance.
But he also knew the passage of five years would complicate the investigation.
Memories could fade.
Witnesses could disagree.
Physical evidence might have been destroyed.
And Peter's previous statement contradicted what he was saying now.
The sheriff didn't dismiss him.