“What I am trying to say to you is that the eastern side of hills and mountains always receives more rain and moisture than the western. No, I can’t tell you why it is, but it’s true; at least, so the irrigation and dry-farming experts say. Now you have both an eastern and a western slope on your land, and if you don’t get rain enough, you can irrigate.”
“But one part of a hundred and sixty acres wouldn’t receive any rain when another didn’t, would it?” Phil asked.
“You just wait and see. Wind currents and hills do queer things with rain.”
“How about minerals or coal? They’ll ask if there are any here, won’t they?” queried Ted.
“Tell them ‘no.’ Si had this flat examined for coal; that’s how I happen to know about it.” At the words, confirming as they did the younger boy’s opinion that the agent was other than he pretended to be, they both glanced at one another.
“Then you can tell us about the subsoil, I suppose,” flashed Ted.
“That’s for you to find out. Si said he told you how it was done.”
“But we haven’t any bore.”
“Just try this;” and Andy unslung a long leather case, which had caused the young homesteaders much curiosity, from his shoulder, opened it, and took out several pieces of augur. “It’s a sectional bore,” he said, fitting the parts together. “More convenient to carry than a single six-foot length.”
There were marks, every twelve inches, just as Mr. Hopkins had described to them in the train, and, when the handle had been adjusted, Ted took it.