McCall nodded, intent on listening, then he took the envelopes, read the odd poetry, and switched to reading Rachel’s notes.

Before he was done, Wyatt came charging into the house.

When he saw Molly and Kevin sitting at the table with Agent McCall, he stopped so suddenly he skidded.

McCall whirled around. A man ready for trouble, it seemed.

“This is the agent the Pinkertons sent out, John McCall,” Molly said. “Agent McCall, this is Wyatt Hunt. He was living at the Hawkins Ranch, working foreman while I worked as Hawkins’s housekeeper.”

Wyatt blinked. “You got here that fast?”

“Wyatt Hunt.” McCall nodded brusquely. “I was told the Hunt family was at the root of this. I live in Nevada, and I work very select jobs out near Virginia City. And I get sent to cases that are near me. The code Rachel had you include in her telegram to the Pinkerton Agency was something an agent would only send through someone else. And only if they were dying. Or too badly hurt to send the wire themselves. They wired me instructions, and I came here afraid I’d find Rachel had died. She’s an old friend and a solid agent. It’s not like her to run into this kind of trouble.”

“It came from a very unexpected direction.” Wyatt stepped back into the entry, hung up his coat and hat, tossed his gloves on the floor under them, and came back in.

Molly was up pouring him coffee. He always came in deeply chilled after long hours riding his land, working his herd.

“Have you shown McCall your arm?” Wyatt asked.

McCall’s blue eyes went sharp. “What’s this?”

“Hawkins hurt her and Win. He grabbed Molly’s arm bad enough it was swollen and bruised. After a week, I’d reckon it still looks bad.”

Molly refilled everyone’s coffee cup as Wyatt told about Hawkins’s treatment of her and the connection between Hawkins, Clovis Hunt, and Randall Kingston.

“Your telegram to the agency mentioned that connection and the school. The Pinkertons notified me that the Jeffers House of Refuge for Young Men is a prison.”

“What?” Molly almost dropped the boiling hot coffeepot on Wyatt’s lap.

He dodged the pot, took it from her, and set it firmly on the stove.

“Tennessee, like a lot of states, started opening special prisons to keep the younger criminals separated from the adults. The rule had been to just toss them all in together, but it’s an ugly business putting youngsters in with adult men. Often boys who might be reformed end up as hardened criminals before they’ve served their sentences.”

“Do you know what they did? How they ended up there?” Kevin asked.

“The details are supposed to reach me in a letter. I had a whole packet of information waiting for me in Bear Claw Pass, and they’ll send more as they find it.”