Then she wrote down several archive references.
"Come back tomorrow. I'll ask our records supervisor to help."
The woman thanked her.
Outside, the courthouse steps were hot beneath the afternoon sun.
She stood beside her pickup, holding the old document.
Her phone rang.
Her daughter.
The woman answered.
"Hello, sweetheart."
"Mom, what happened on the road?"
She closed her eyes.
"Who told you?"
"The feed store. Somebody said the bank wants to block access to the ranch."
"People talk too much."
"Is it true?"
The woman looked at the papers.
"Some idiot from the bank thinks he owns the road."
Her daughter went quiet.
"Mom."
"What?"
"Tell me what's happening."
The woman explained.
Her daughter listened without interrupting.
When she finished, there was a long silence.
Then her daughter asked, "Are you safe?"
The question irritated her more than it should have.
"Of course I'm safe."
"He threatened you?"
"He threatened the road."
"And you argued with him?"
"Naturally."
Her daughter sighed.
"Mom, you're sixty-seven."
"I'm aware."
"You don't have to fight every battle alone."
The woman looked across the courthouse parking lot.
"I've been fighting battles alone for a long time."
"That's exactly what worries me."
The words struck deeper than expected.
Her daughter had moved to Garden City years earlier and worked as a hospital nurse.
She had a teenage daughter of her own.
They visited the ranch often, but the old woman had always insisted she could manage.
She repaired fences.
She drove tractors.
She handled cattle.
She attended bank meetings.
She refused help until refusing became impossible.
It was a habit her husband had complained about for forty years.
Her daughter continued.
"I'm coming tomorrow."
"You have work."
"I can rearrange things."
"Don't do that."
"Mom."
"What?"
"You don't get to decide whether I care about this."
The old woman said nothing.
Her daughter lowered her voice.
"I grew up on that ranch. My daughter learned to ride a horse there. Dad is buried on the south hill. If someone is threatening to cut off the road, that concerns all of us."
The woman looked down.
For the first time that afternoon, her eyes filled.
"I found an old deed," she said quietly.
"Good."
"But there's a missing survey map."