“Moran’s got a thin spot. I want to find it.”
“Um! Thin spot. Calc’late I understand you. Figger he’s been spreadin’ his butter so thin that the bread won’t be covered enough somewheres, eh? Maybe so. Maybe so. Ever see a map of the Diversity Hardwood Company’s holdin’s?”
“No.”
“I got one. Had the Register of Deeds fix it up for me, thinkin’ it might come in handy.”
Zaanan went to a cupboard and brought out a rolled map which he spread on the table. It was marked off in sections. Those owned by the company were blocked in with red ink.
“Nigh forty-five thousand acres,” said Zaanan.
Jim bent over the map. The Diversity Company’s property ran in two irregular, serrated strips. Between the two portions was a sort of strait nowhere marked with red.
“They’re cut in two,” said Jim. “Who owns the stuff between? Timbered, is it?”
“As good hardwood as ever growed. B’longs to old Louis Le Bar. Run between twenty and twenty-five thousand to the acre. And that’s consid’able hardwood, son.”
“Logically the company ought to own it.”