Holloway.
Garrison.
McClain.
Vance.
Pierce.
Road easements.
Spring access.
Timber boundaries.
Then, inside a rear pocket, his fingers touched folded material.
He pulled out a large sheet of heavy linen-backed paper secured with a faded blue ribbon.
Luke did not unfold it inside the cab.
He carried it to the hood.
The autumn wind had strengthened, so he used two sockets from his tool tray to hold the corners.
He untied the ribbon.
Slowly unrolled the map.
The paper covered almost the entire hood.
Luke forgot to breathe.
September 14, 1934.
MASTER RIDGE SURVEY
E. VANCE, SURVEYOR
Lines crossed the mountains.
Parcel boundaries.
Old wagon roads.
Springs.
Creeks.
Timber tracts.
Stone monuments.
Homesteads.
Several abandoned cabins.
Luke recognized the main road immediately.
Then the curve leading toward his own property.
He traced it with one finger without touching the ink.
There.
The five acres where his workshop now stood were part of a much larger parcel in 1934.
Eli’s map showed the original boundaries with extraordinary detail.
A stone marker on the north corner.
A seasonal creek.
An old wagon easement now overgrown.
A spring Luke knew still existed seventy yards into the woods.
Several annotations were written in red pencil.
Water use retained by four households.
Timber rights conveyed separately, see ledger 2.
Mineral reservation unresolved.
Luke frowned.
Four neighboring parcels had similar annotations.
He understood enough about property law to know old survey notes did not magically grant anyone ownership.
Rights could be transferred.
Extinguished.
Merged.
Abandoned.
Modified by later deeds.
But these notes were clues.
Clues the modern county records might not contain.
Luke remained beside the truck until nearly dark.
Eventually he carried everything into his workshop.
Not the chest itself.
That remained bolted behind the seat.
He set up a clean folding table away from grease and solvents.
Placed the photographs flat.
Wrapped the ledgers in clean cotton cloth overnight.
He called his father.
Earl answered after four rings.
“What broke?”
“Nothing.”
“Then why are you calling after seven?”
Luke smiled.
“You remember an Eli Vance?”
Silence.
“What Eli?”
“Surveyor.”
Another pause.
“Old Eli?”
“So he was family?”
“Distant.”
“How distant?”
Earl thought.
“My grandfather called him Cousin Eli.”
“Could’ve been actual cousin.”
“Could’ve meant they shared a grandmother.”
“People weren’t precise about that.”
Luke looked at the ledger.
“He owned the truck I bought.”
“What truck?”
“The fifty-eight Ford from the estate auction.”
Earl laughed.
“You bought that?”
“Yes.”
“You need help.”
“Probably.”