“Coming with you.”
“You stay here.”
She looked at him.
“That is not an order I intend to obey.”
Griffin stared at her for one second.
Then he handed her the reins.
They rode toward the north pasture together.
What they found there was worse than a survey.
Caldwell’s men had begun pulling up the boundary markers.
And beside the fence stood a wooden sign bearing the words:
PROPERTY OF HARRISON CALDWELL.
Griffin rode toward the surveyors with his jaw clenched.
“Get away from that fence!”
The nearest man turned.
“We have authorization.”
“From whom?”
“Harrison Caldwell.”
“Then let him come explain it.”
The surveyor held up a document.
“We have been instructed to mark the boundary according to the revised deed.”
Martha dismounted.
“May I see that?”
The surveyor hesitated.
Griffin moved between them.
“Give it to her.”
The man handed over the paper.
Martha examined it.
The document described a new boundary line that placed nearly forty acres of the Broken Spur inside Caldwell’s claimed property.
It included the north pasture, the old spring, and the trail Griffin used to move his cattle.
But the original deed clearly showed those forty acres belonged to the Tucker homestead.
Martha folded the document.
“This survey is based on a disputed transfer.”
“We were told the transfer was valid.”
“By whom?”
“Mr. Caldwell.”
“Then you should ask him to provide the original recorded deed.”
The surveyor looked uncomfortable.
“We have our instructions.”
“And I have the original property description.”
Martha opened her ledger and removed a folded copy of the deed.
She showed him the boundary measurements.
The surveyor studied both documents.
After a moment, he turned toward his assistant.
“We’re not marking anything else until this is checked.”
Griffin felt a surge of relief.
Then he saw Caldwell approaching from the eastern trail.
The banker rode alone this time.
His horse was expensive, his boots polished, and his expression murderous.
“What is happening here?”
The surveyor explained that there was a dispute concerning the boundary.
Caldwell looked at Martha.
“You’re becoming a nuisance.”
“Your paperwork is becoming increasingly unreliable.”
He dismounted.
“You have no authority over this property.”
“Neither do you.”
Caldwell stepped closer.
“Do you understand what happens to people who interfere with my business?”
Martha did not retreat.
“Do you understand what happens when business becomes fraud?”
He laughed.
“Fraud? You have been reading a few columns in a book and now imagine yourself a lawyer.”
“No. I have been comparing your columns with the original records.”
Caldwell looked at Griffin.
“Control your wife.”
Griffin stepped beside her.
“She doesn’t need controlling.”
Caldwell’s eyes narrowed.
“You would do well to remember who holds your debt.”
“I remember exactly who holds it.”
Griffin looked him in the face.
“And I remember how much I actually owe.”
Caldwell’s expression changed.
For a moment, Griffin saw something behind the anger.
Fear.
It was small, but it was there.
Caldwell mounted his horse.
“This land will be mine before winter.”
He rode away.
The surveyors packed their equipment and left.
Martha watched them disappear.
“That was close,” Griffin said.
“Yes.”
“Do you think Caldwell knows we have the original shipping records?”
“I think he suspects we have found something.”
They returned to the cabin and prepared for Laramie.
Samuel Whitcomb received them in a modest office above a general store.
He was a thin man in his sixties with silver hair and a habit of examining every document twice.
He listened while Martha explained the discrepancies.
Then he reviewed the papers.
After nearly two hours, he leaned back.
“Mrs. Tucker, you have done an extraordinary amount of work.”
“Is it enough?”
“To challenge the foreclosure, yes. To prove criminal fraud, not yet.”
Griffin leaned forward.
“What do we need?”
“Original records. Independent witnesses. Evidence showing that the altered figures were not simple clerical mistakes.”
Martha opened the ledger.
“I have the names of the men who handled the cattle shipments.”
Whitcomb examined the list.
“Excellent.”
“One of them worked for Caldwell for nearly ten years. His name is Samuel Pike.”
The lawyer looked up.
“Samuel Pike?”
“Yes.”
Whitcomb removed his spectacles.
“He left Caldwell’s employment last spring.”
“Do you know where he is?”
“I believe he lives outside Cheyenne.”
Martha wrote the address down.
Whitcomb continued.
“There is another issue. If Caldwell has filed a fraudulent deed transfer, we need to prevent it from being recorded.”
“Can you do that?” Griffin asked.
“I can file a formal objection and request an injunction. But we must move quickly.”
The lawyer drafted the necessary papers.
Martha reviewed each page before signing.
Griffin signed after her.
As they prepared to leave, Whitcomb stopped them.
“One more thing. Do not underestimate this man. He may attempt to settle the matter privately. He may offer to forgive part of the debt in exchange for your silence.”
Martha nodded.
“He has already offered to take the ranch.”
“Then be prepared for him to offer something worse.”
The next morning, Martha and Griffin traveled to Cheyenne.
They found Samuel Pike working in a small feed warehouse.
He was a narrow man with tired eyes and a limp.
When Martha introduced herself, he looked frightened.
“I don’t know anything about Caldwell’s business.”
“We have not accused you of anything,” she replied.
“I left that place for a reason.”
“Then perhaps you understand why we are here.”
Pike looked at Griffin.
“You’re Tucker?”
“Yes.”
The man’s shoulders dropped.
“I remember your father.”
Griffin stiffened.
“What about him?”
Pike looked around the warehouse.
“Not here.”
They followed him to a small room behind the office.
Once the door was closed, Pike sat down.
“Caldwell used to say your father was too stubborn to survive.”
Griffin’s hands tightened.
“He said that?”
