Anna said it proved bad carpentry.
They never settled the theological issue.
Bluewater survived droughts.
Some terrible.
The council failed occasionally.
People cheated.
Night diversions.
Unrecorded cattle.
Broken gates.
Nothing became perfect.
But no single rancher again claimed the spring.
That mattered.
In 1924, a mining company offered to purchase surrounding parcels and pump groundwater near Bluewater.
The company’s attorneys argued old reserved-use rights applied only to surface flow.
Another legal battle.
Anna was sixty-one and tired.
Mara said:
“Again.”
Anna said:
“Apparently forever.”
They fought with documents this time before anyone moved stones.
Progress.
The company withdrew after state engineers found pumping would likely reduce spring output and trigger litigation.
No riders.
No dramatic public showdown.
Just letters.
Hearings.
Maps.
Sometimes success looked boring.
Anna preferred it.
Mara died in 1931.
Her niece Ruth brought Anna a small bundle afterward.
Inside was Thomas Kase’s copy of the 1877 field map.
Anna stared.
“She wanted you to keep?”
Ruth shook her head.
“Read note.”
A paper was folded inside.
Mara’s handwriting.
Better than when Anna first met her.
Still uneven.
Anna,
Make copy.
Original goes my family.
You already know better.
Anna laughed through tears.
Of course.
She made two copies.
Returned the original.
At seventy-three, Anna visited Bluewater with her eldest granddaughter, Clara.
The girl was fourteen and impatient.
She had heard the story too many times.
“Is this the famous rock?”
Anna looked offended.
“Federal monument.”
“It’s a rock.”
“Both.”
Clara rolled her eyes.
The stone stood where it had been reset nearly fifty years earlier.
Weather had softened the letters.
Still readable.
FEDERAL.
ARID LANDS SURVEY.
LINE 187.
Clara touched the carving.
“So this proved everything?”
Anna smiled.
“No.”
Her granddaughter frowned.
“But everybody says—”
“I know.”
Anna sat carefully on a flat rock nearby.
“This proved where someone wanted people to look.”
“What?”
“The stone mattered.”
“But not alone.”
She explained.
The map.
Her father’s notebook.
Thomas’s memory.
Rainfall.
Creel.
Rusk.
Federal bearings.
Clara looked disappointed.
“That’s a lot.”
“Yes.”
“The short version is better.”
Anna laughed.