Later, the Professor did so. Uncle Jake came out of the corrals, carrying a branding-iron and found himself confronted by a short, thick-set man with prominent, slightly congested grey eyes, which shone keenly out of an immense head.
"I am Professor Chawner, of the Smithsonian. I wish to ask you a question."
"Perfessor, I'm happy to meet ye. It tickles me to death to answer questions. And I stand by the editor o' The Tribune. If I kin co-operate in yer important work, why, count me in."
The Professor raised his grizzled brows in astonishment, but he said politely--
"I am very much obliged to you. My question is this: 'Do the cattle drink at the spring which bubbles out of that hill yonder?'"
"Some of 'em do."
"Regularly?"
"Not to say reglerly, Perfessor. It's this way with cattle on a ranch as well watered as ours. They drink when they feel like it, and they drink where the water is handy to the feed. Come to think of it, there never has been much feed around that spring; and it never flowed good and hard till we opened it a few days ago."
"Since you opened it, to your personal knowledge, have cattle drunk of it?"
Uncle Jake scratched his head. The Professor's manner was impressive.