He crouched lower and shone a flashlight into the cavity.
The cable was rusted but intact.
Old grease had hardened into black wax around the upper pulley.
The pulley itself still moved slightly when Thomas pressed it.
He followed the line visually until it vanished into the ground.
He stood again.
For several minutes, he simply looked at the post.
Thirty acres.
Dry creek.
Concrete channels.
Hydraulic and drainage.
The pieces began arranging themselves.
Not yet into an answer.
Into a possibility.
Thomas opened his notebook.
He drew the post.
Plate.
Bolt positions.
Cable.
Lever.
Rail hinge.
He measured everything.
Then he walked fifty yards downslope.
The line from the post pointed toward the dry creek bed.
Thomas returned.
He sprayed the exposed pulley.
Worked it gently.
Nothing snapped.
That encouraged him.
The lever had probably not moved in decades.
Pulling it carelessly could break whatever system remained underground.
He spent nearly an hour freeing the cable.
Only after he was satisfied that the upper mechanism could move without tearing itself apart did he wrap both hands around the steel handle.
He pulled.
Nothing happened.
He reset his feet.
Pulled harder.
The lever moved half an inch.
From somewhere beneath him came a dull metallic knock.
Thomas stopped immediately.
His heart began beating faster.
He released the pressure slowly.
The lever returned partway.
Counterweight.
He tried again.
This time he leaned his full weight into the handle.
The pulley turned.
Cable moved.
Deep beneath the ground, something answered.
Not one sound.
Several.
A slow sequence.
Metal under tension.
A dragging groan.
Then a heavy thump from downslope.
Thomas released the lever and listened.
Silence.
Then another thump.
Forty yards away.
The creek.
He grabbed his flashlight and ran.
The western bank was almost impassable.
He cut through briars with his pruning saw, tore one sleeve on thorn, slid twice in wet clay, and reached the creek bed breathing hard.
At first he saw nothing.
Then the ground beneath a tangle of honeysuckle moved.
Not earth.
Vegetation lying over metal.
Thomas pulled vines aside.
Behind them stood a structure nearly twelve feet wide built directly into the narrowest part of the ravine.
Stone abutments.
Concrete.
Heavy iron guide rails.
A rectangular gate plate black with age.
Thomas stepped backward.
It was a sluice.
Not a small farm ditch gate.
A serious one.
The gate had lifted perhaps six inches from its bed.
Water hissed beneath it.
Clear water.
At first only a sheet.
Then a stream.
Then enough flow that Thomas had to step away as the dry channel began filling.
The water came from behind the structure, where the ravine wall rose toward the western ridge.
He had assumed the slope was simply wet ground.