He remembered it for years.
The water question took longer.
Nathaniel's documents demonstrated that Ward Ranch had never been intended to block traditional emergency use of the well.
Other records supported long-established access throughout the valley.
No court declared that every person could use every well whenever they pleased.
Reality was more complicated.
Ranchers needed water for households and cattle.
Apache families needed access along established dry-season routes.
Wells could be damaged.
Herds could overwhelm small springs.
Fences mattered.
So did survival.
They negotiated.
For months.
They argued over routes.
Numbers.
Dates.
Herd sizes.
Emergency conditions.
Elias argued with Mara more than anyone else.
"You can't bring two hundred horses through my east pasture."
"We do not need east pasture."
"You did last year."
"Because your north fence was closed."
"It was broken."
"Broken fence is still closed when wire lies across trail."
"Then tell me."
"I am telling you now."
"Nine months later."
"Do you want information or do you want information delivered at a time pleasing to you?"
Elias stared at her.
"Both."
"No."
Eventually they created a written agreement.
Specific routes.
Specific wells.
Shared maintenance.
Emergency rules during drought.
Notice when large groups expected to travel.
Compensation when unusual stock use damaged ranch improvements.
Copies were kept in three places.
The county courthouse.
Ward Ranch.
And with Dosela's people.
Elias insisted on duplicates.
Mara understood immediately.
"Because one paper disappears."
"Exactly."
Three years passed.
Mara continued visiting.
Sometimes for water meetings.
Sometimes with relatives.
Sometimes, Elias eventually realized, because she wanted to.
He never asked too early.
She never explained too quickly.
Elias learned that Mara had been married once.
Her husband died during a winter illness eight years before they met.
She had no children.
Mara learned that Elias had nearly married a schoolteacher named Anna Bell.
Anna left Arizona after her younger sister became ill in Missouri.
For years, Elias had described the relationship as something taken from him.
Talking to Mara forced him to admit a harder truth.
Anna had asked him to go east with her.
He chose the ranch.
She chose her family.
Nobody betrayed anyone.
Sometimes two lives simply separated.
One evening, Mara sat on his porch watching lightning in distant mountains.
"You regret?"
Elias considered.
"Sometimes."
"Would you choose different?"
"I don't know."
"Then regret is not answer."
He looked at her.
"What is?"
"Memory."