"Nobody has given me anything," said Garrity, from the top of the slope. "I'd take it if they offered. I've got a girl to feed. Nobody's offered."
"A piece of iron," said Whitcombe. "A piece of iron any blacksmith could cut in a minute. A stone in a sandbank. An old woman's memory of a summer twenty years gone. And on the other side, sworn field notes, an approved plat, a patent from the United States, a deed under seal—"
"Under seal," said Amos Red Willow, and he said it so evenly that Whitcombe stopped.
"You'll answer to the special agent tomorrow," Whitcombe said to Garrity. "You'll answer for perjury. You swore to those notes."
"I know I did," said Garrity. "I'll answer."
Whitcombe's eyes landed on Cora. "Miss Lindqvist," he said. "You have been ill used this morning. I'm sorry for it. I'll drive you back to town."
She looked down at the link on the paper. She did not pick it up. She found she did not want to touch it.
"I'll walk, thank you," she said. "I have the schoolhouse to lock."
He went down to his hired buggy and drove across the ford without looking back, and his dust hung in the still air long after he had gone over the bench.
The two young men had dismounted. One of them, Amos's cousin Lucas, went down to crouch beside the old woman. The girl, Amos's niece Mary, led her mare into the shade of the woodshed and stood with her arms folded, watching Garrity.
Amos lifted his son down. The boy stood in the dust, small and solemn, looking at the schoolhouse door.
"This is Eli," said Amos. He said it to Cora.