“Who else was on the search party?”
Gideon named several men.
Some had moved away.
Two were dead.
One was the retired postmaster.
And one was a ranch foreman who still worked for Elias Rusk.
Elena listened.
Then asked whether anyone had questioned the search records.
Gideon shook his head.
“We didn't have much reason.”
He looked toward the photograph above the mantel.
“Not until now.”
He reached for his coat again.
Elena caught his hand.
“The storm is still dangerous.”
Gideon's jaw tightened.
“My brother could be out there.”
“I know.”
“He could've come all this way only to disappear again.”
She rose carefully from the bench.
Her full figure filled the narrow space beside the table, and she rested one hand against the chair for balance.
Then she looked directly into his eyes.
“Running into a flooded mountain road won't bring him home.”
Gideon looked away.
She continued.
“If Matthew spent ten years trying to find you, do you think he wants you dying in the first storm after learning he's alive?”
The words struck him.
He looked back.
Elena's eyes were filled with concern.
Not judgment.
She wasn't telling him he shouldn't act.
She was asking him to act wisely.
Gideon slowly removed his coat.
Then returned to the chair.
For several minutes, neither spoke.
Finally, he asked whether the stranger had left anything else.
Elena hesitated.
“There was one thing.”
His head lifted.
She reached into the large leather handbag beside the bench.
From a small inner pocket, she withdrew a folded piece of paper.
“I wasn't sure it mattered.”
Gideon took it.
The paper held a rough sketch of three mountain ridges and a narrow road.
Near the center was a small square.
Beside it, Matthew had written:
Where the freight road crosses the frozen creek, ask for the man who doesn't use his name.
Gideon stared.
Then he noticed the drawing beneath the road.
A cattle brand.
An inverted horseshoe surrounding the letter R.
His expression became grave.
“Rusk.”
Elena nodded.
“He told me you would understand.”
Gideon examined the map.
Then shook his head slowly.
“Not quite.”
He had seen that brand before.
Not on Rusk's ordinary cattle.
On animals moved through the northern winter holding grounds, where the company maintained a remote freight station.
The station stood near an abandoned timber camp called Crow's Landing.
It had been closed for years.