She Arrived as a Mail-Order Bride—Before She Could Leave, a Cowboy Said, “She’s Mine.”
Chapter 7
Reverend Hale lived in a small cabin beside the river.
He was nearly eighty.
His hands shook.
His memory wandered.
But when Eleanor said her father’s name, his eyes sharpened.
“Jonathan Whitmore.”
“Yes.”
Hale stared at her.
“You have his eyes.”
Eleanor sat beside him.
“Did my father own land here?”
“Yes.”
“Was it stolen?”
The old preacher closed his eyes.
“Yes.”
Samuel leaned forward.
“By Carter?”
Hale nodded.
“Henry’s father began it. Henry continued it.”
“Why didn’t anyone stop them?”
“People were afraid.”
Hale walked to a shelf.
He removed a small wooden box.
Inside was a bundle of letters.
“I kept these because your father asked me to.”
Eleanor opened the first.
It was written by Jonathan Whitmore.
He described discovering forged land boundaries.
He named witnesses.
He named Carter.
And he mentioned one man who had agreed to testify.
Samuel read the name.
“Thomas Carter.”
Henry’s brother.
“The witness?”
Hale nodded.
“Thomas changed his mind.”
“Why?”
“Henry threatened his family.”
Eleanor found another letter.
Her father had planned to take the matter to court.
But before he could, he disappeared.
She looked at Hale.
“What happened to him?”
The old preacher lowered his gaze.
“He was attacked on the road.”
Samuel’s jaw tightened.
“Was he murdered?”
“I don’t know.”
Eleanor’s hand shook.
“But he died.”
“Yes.”
The room became very quiet.
Hale reached into the box again.
“There is one more thing.”
He handed Samuel a folded paper.
“The original survey.”
Samuel unfolded it.
It showed the land boundaries exactly as they had existed before Carter’s changes.
His property.
Eleanor’s father’s property.
And the creek boundary.
The evidence was enough.
Almost.
“We need witnesses,” Samuel said.
Hale nodded.
“Three men saw Carter’s surveyor move the markers.”
“Who?”
Hale named them.
Two had died.
One remained.
“Where?”
“Richmond.”
Samuel cursed softly.
The hearing was tomorrow morning.
They could not reach Richmond and return in time.
Then Eleanor noticed a notation on the survey.
A small mark.
Beside it was her father’s handwriting.
“Samuel.”
He looked.
“What?”
“This isn’t only a survey.”
She pointed.
“My father marked another location.”
A small cross lay beside the creek.
“What is there?”
Hale answered.
“An old stone boundary marker.”
Samuel stood.
“If we find it, the original line can be proven.”
They rode until sunset.
At the creek, they searched through thick brush.
Nothing.
Then Eleanor saw something beneath the roots of an old oak.
Stone.
They dug.
A carved marker emerged from the earth.
On it were the initials J.W.
Jonathan Whitmore.
And beneath them, the original boundary number.
Samuel stared.
“We have it.”
Then a shot struck the tree.
Eleanor screamed.
Samuel pulled her down.
Three riders appeared on the ridge.
Carter’s men.
Samuel fired once.
The riders scattered.
Jacob shouted from behind them.
“There’s more!”
Samuel looked toward the woods.
Five men were approaching.
They were surrounded.
He handed Eleanor the survey.
“Ride.”
“No.”
“Take the evidence.”
“No.”
“Eleanor!”
She looked at him.
“I am not leaving you.”
Samuel grabbed her shoulders.
“If they catch us, everything ends.”
She stared into his eyes.
Then she understood.
He wasn’t asking her to abandon him.
He was asking her to save what they had found.
She kissed him.
Then mounted.
“I’ll come back.”
Samuel smiled.
“I know.”
She rode.
Behind her came the sound of gunfire.
