Chapter 6: THIRTY-TWO LETTERS THAT NEVER ARRIVED
They bound Geller and the other men in the barn.
Eli wanted to question him immediately.
Waya insisted they search every prisoner first.
Waya won the argument.
On Geller they found two letters, thirty dollars, a pocketknife, ammunition, a match case, and a brass token stamped with the same hawk-over-water symbol as Serina’s silver seal.
That discovery changed everything.
Serina placed the brass copy beside her half of the original.
“They duplicated the mark.”
Chaska looked at Geller.
“How many did they make?”
“Enough.”
“For what purpose?”
“To certify transfers.”
Eli stared.
“Fraudulent transfers.”
Geller shrugged against the rope.
“Use whatever word makes you comfortable.”
Eli moved forward.
Chaska grabbed his arm.
“Not yet.”
Eli pulled free.
“He just told me my father survived another fifteen years.”
“And if he wants you angry, then you are giving him what he wants.”
Geller smiled.
“She always was clever.”
Chaska’s attention snapped toward him.
“You knew who I was?”
“No.”
“You knew about us.”
His silence answered.
Serina knelt in front of him.
“You said Samuel Mercer died on property belonging to Voss.”
Geller looked at her.
“Old Samuel survived longer than anybody expected him to.”
Eli’s hands clenched.
“Why was he alive?”
Geller studied him.
Then gave a soft laugh.
“Because Samuel Mercer was very good at disappearing.”
Eli stepped closer.
Chaska did not stop him.
He crouched until their faces were level.
“Tell me everything.”
Geller’s amusement weakened.
Perhaps he saw something in Eli’s expression.
Perhaps he finally decided the truth was safer.
“Your father was shot in 1858. That much was true.”
Eli waited.
“The wound did not kill him.”
“Who shot him?”
“My father was not present.”
“Who did it?”
“Men employed by Elias Voss.”
Eli frowned.
“Harlan’s father.”
“Yes.”
The name meant almost nothing to Eli.
Geller continued.
“Elias wanted the original trust documents. Samuel refused. Someone shot him. Someone else got him away.”
“Gideon.”
Geller smiled.
“Could be.”
Eli felt his stomach turn.
“My mother?”
The amusement vanished from Geller’s face.
“She did die.”
“How?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do not lie to me.”
“I said I do not know.”
Eli watched him.
Geller looked away first.
That frightened Eli more than if he had invented an answer.
“If my father survived, why did he never come for me?”
Geller remained silent.
Eli seized his collar.
“Why?”
“Because you were being watched.”
The answer came quickly.
Eli froze.
Geller continued.
“Voss’s people believed Samuel would eventually return for his son. So they watched you. The widow who took you in. The ranches where you worked. Cattle crews. Towns.”
Eli released him.
“No.”
“They followed you for years.”
“No.”
“Samuel knew.”
Eli stepped backward.
“So he stayed away.”
Geller’s voice became almost sympathetic.
“Then eventually he stopped hiding.”
“Why?”
Geller looked toward Serina’s seal.
“Because three Apache girls escaped with the thing he had been trying to protect for more than a decade.”
Everyone stopped.
“The canyon,” Chaska said.
Geller nodded.
“Your families moved the silver half. Voss learned about it. Men were sent after it.”
“And Eli got in their way,” Waya said.
“Yes.”
Old images began rearranging themselves in Eli’s mind.
The American boots.
The saddle.
The voice shouting English.
“What happened after that?”
“Samuel learned somebody had helped the women escape.”
Geller looked at Eli.
“He knew the rider was you.”
Eli’s throat tightened.
“How?”
“You had the same gray mare you had ridden for years. Word travels.”
Calico.
Eli turned his eyes toward the barn wall as though he could see her outside.
“What did he do?”
“He tried to contact you.”
Eli’s face became hard.
“He never contacted me.”
“He tried.”
“No.”
“Letters.”
Eli looked at Chaska.
She shook her head.
“We knew nothing of letters.”
“Where were they sent?” Eli asked.
“Ranches where you worked. Freight offices. Las Vegas. Taos. Cimarron.”
Eli had been in every one of those places.
He had never stayed long.
“I never received anything.”
“No.”
“Why?”
Geller glanced toward the barn doors.
“You should ask the old man next door.”
Eli’s chest tightened.
“Gideon.”
Geller smiled.
“Now you are beginning to understand.”
Eli left the barn before anybody could stop him.
Chaska followed.
Waya and Serina were close behind.
They found Eli saddling Calico.
“You cannot ride over there like this,” Chaska said.
“Watch me.”
“You are furious.”
“My father was alive.”
“Yes.”
“Gideon knew.”
“Probably.”
“He may have hidden letters from me.”
“Yes.”
“He has eaten breakfast at my table for years.”
“Yes.”
Eli pulled the cinch tight.
Chaska stepped between him and the saddle.
“You deserve the truth.”
“I am going to get it.”
“Not while holding a gun.”
Eli looked down.
Only then did he realize his revolver was already in his hand.
He stared at it.
Slowly, he returned it to the holster.
“Fine.”
Chaska moved.
Eli mounted.
The others followed.
Gideon’s small place stood less than a mile away.
Nell was outside hanging strips of cloth from a line stretched between two trees.
She saw Eli first.
“Uncle Eli!”
He slowed Calico.
The nine-year-old ran toward the fence, then stopped when she noticed his expression.
“What happened?”
Eli dismounted.
“Where is your grandfather?”
She pointed.
“In the workshop. He broke the chair while he was repairing the chair.”
That sounded exactly like Gideon.
For a second, the absurd familiarity almost softened Eli.
Almost.
He crossed the yard.
Before he reached the workshop, the door opened.
Gideon Pratt stepped outside.
Sixty-eight years old.
White beard.
Bent shoulders.
Suspenders.
The same worn hat he had owned forever.
His gaze went from Eli to Chaska.
Then to Serina.
Then to the silver seal she held.
Every bit of color left Gideon’s face.
He whispered one name.
“Oh, Samuel.”
Eli stopped.
Gideon shut his eyes.
Not confusion.
Not denial.
Recognition.
Eli’s voice trembled.
“You knew.”
Nell looked between them.
“Knew what?”
Gideon removed his hat.
“Nell, go inside.”
“But Grandpa—”
“Please.”
Something in his tone convinced her.
She left.
When the door shut, Eli stepped forward.
“My father did not die in 1858.”
Gideon’s shoulders dropped.
“No.”
“You told me he did.”
“Yes.”
“He survived.”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
Gideon swallowed.
“Until 1873.”
Eli’s eyes burned.
“You knew where he was.”
“Not all the time.”
“But you knew he was alive.”
“Yes.”
“Did he write to me?”
Gideon looked at the ground.
Eli stepped closer.
“Did my father write to me?”
“Yes.”
“How many letters?”
Gideon barely managed the answer.
“Thirty-two.”
Eli stared at him.
Chaska lowered her gaze.
Serina covered her mouth.
Even Waya turned away.
“Thirty-two,” Eli repeated.
“Yes.”
“And I received none.”
“No.”
“Because you kept them.”
“Yes.”
Eli struck him.
His fist hit Gideon’s face before anyone reacted.
The old man fell against the workshop door.
Waya started forward.
Chaska stopped her.
Gideon remained on the ground.
Blood appeared at his lip.
He did not fight back.
Eli’s breathing shook.
“Why?”
Gideon looked up.
“Because every letter could reveal where Samuel was.”
Eli stood frozen.
“He moved constantly. Every letter created another trail. Voss’s men were still looking for him. Samuel understood the danger.”
“Then why write them?”
“Because he was your father.”
Gideon’s voice broke.
“He missed his son.”
Eli turned away.
Gideon slowly stood.
“He asked me to keep them until it became safe.”
“When was that supposed to happen?”
“I did not know.”
“He died.”
“I know.”
“And you still kept them.”
Gideon shut his eyes.
“Yes.”
Eli turned back.
“Why?”
For a long moment Gideon said nothing.
Then he answered.
“Because his final letter told you the truth.”
Eli stared at him.
“What truth?”
Gideon’s eyes moved toward Eli’s ranch in the distance.
Then he looked back.
“The truth about what Samuel hid beneath the place where you built your house.”
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