After Cross left, the sheriff sat alone in his office as the shadows of sunset lengthened across the floor.
The puzzle pieces were beginning to fit together, but the image they formed was one he hesitated to fully imagine.
A young man arrives at an isolated farm and disappears.
Years later, one of the women gives birth under circumstances of extraordinary secrecy.
The chronology was suggestive, but not conclusive.
Without a body, without witnesses, without any physical evidence, Galloway had nothing to justify a more thorough investigation.
The 1896 law required more than suspicion, and the culture of the Ozarks made it virtually impossible to obtain information from people determined to remain silent.
The case might have remained in this limbo indefinitely, a collection of troubling facts that never amounted to solid evidence, had fate not intervened in the form of a rattlesnake.
In early September, Forsyth learned that Silas Barrow, the older, reclusive brother who lived alone deep in the woods, had been found dead in his cabin by a trapper who occasionally traded with him.
The death appeared to be due to a snake bite, a fairly common danger in the Ozarks, where timber rattlesnakes grow to an impressive size and nest in rocky outcrops.
As sheriff, Galloway was obligated to investigate any death without witnesses, even one that seemed simple.
He organized a small group, himself and an assistant, and they rode to Silas Barrow's property, following the directions of the trapper who had made the discovery.
The cabin was even more primitive than Galloway had anticipated, a structure that barely seemed capable of protecting from the rain, let alone offering comfort.
Inside, they found Silas's body, which was already beginning to decompose due to the late summer heat.
The snake bite on his leg was clearly visible, swollen and discolored.
There were no signs of foul play, nor any indication that anyone else was present.
He appeared to be exactly what he seemed: a man who lived alone in nature, who had encountered one of its many dangers and succumbed.
They wrapped the body and prepared to transport it back to the city for burial.
It was while Galloway's assistant was walking around the perimeter of the small property, making sure everything was in order, that he noticed the well.
The well was located 20 yards from the cabin, its wooden cover crooked as if it had been hastily replaced.
The congressman called Galloway, noting that the displacement was recent.
The wood showed signs of recent scraping, as a result of having been moved.
Wells in the Ozarks were essential for survival, so they were carefully maintained and protected from contamination.
Leaving the lid improperly closed was more than just an oversight.
It was dangerous.
As Galloway approached, he was reached by a smell, faint but unmistakable, even in the open air.
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