Kurt didn’t look at Vance.

He reached into his canvas coat, took out the folded sheet of yellowed paper he’d shown me on the ridge Saturday morning, and laid it flat in the center of the table.

The typed lease had my name at the bottom in blue ink, neat and slanting, right under the line set aside for the landowner’s signature.

Brad quit tapping his ring.

“What’s that supposed to be?” Vance asked, leaning his upper body forward to look across the glass.