They reached town at seven forty.
The county recorder’s office already had visitors.
Three horses outside.
A black carriage.
The syndicate’s attorney.
Two company representatives.
And the freight agent from yesterday.
The cowboy saw him.
Everything clicked.
The agent saw the Apache woman.
His face changed.
The cowboy dismounted.
“So that two-dollar fee really mattered to you.”
The freight agent said nothing.
The woman stepped down from her horse.
The syndicate attorney approached.
He was clean-shaven, thin, dressed too well for dust.
“Morning.”
The cowboy replied:
“Not yet.”
The attorney smiled.
“I hear you’ve found a document.”
The cowboy looked toward the Apache woman.
Then back.
“I hear you employ terrible spies.”
The attorney’s eyes moved toward her.
“You traveled far.”
She answered:
“Not far enough to miss the filing.”
His smile tightened.
The recorder unlocked the office.
Everyone moved.
The cowboy let the Apache woman enter first.
The freight agent laughed.
“Still playing gentleman?”
The cowboy turned.
“No.”
Then walked inside.
The recorder looked uncomfortable the moment documents appeared.
The syndicate attorney placed a certified county copy on the desk.
It showed the cowboy’s mother transferring exclusive rights to the northern spring.
The Apache woman placed the original shared-water agreement beside it.
The attorney’s smile weakened.
“What is that?”
She answered:
“The right your title search missed.”
He read.
Then:
“This is obsolete.”
“No.”
“Abandoned through nonuse.”
She opened her father’s ledger.
“Annual use.”
“Self-recorded.”
“Supported by witnesses.”
The attorney looked toward the recorder.
The recorder avoided his eyes.
The cowboy watched.
The attorney then pointed toward the transfer.
“Even if another party retains limited access, the ranch interest belongs to my client.”
The woman placed the revocation beside it.
His face changed.
The attorney picked it up.
Read the seal.
Looked toward the recorder.
“This was never recorded here.”
The cowboy answered:
“It was filed territorially after someone here failed to index it.”
The recorder became pale.
The attorney looked toward him.
“You have proof?”
The woman removed a receipt bearing the territorial office’s stamp.
“Yes.”
Silence.
The recorder sat.
The syndicate attorney’s composure remained impressive.
“I’ll need time to verify.”
The cowboy smiled.
“You planned to take my spring this morning without time to verify.”
“That was based on the official county record.”
“Then perhaps the official county record has a problem.”
The attorney’s eyes sharpened.
The woman added:
“There is another problem.”
Everyone looked toward her.