“You watch for the footmarks, Phil, and notice the moisture while I turn the bore,” he ordered.
“One foot, fairly moist. Go on! Stop! Two feet, real damp. Try again! Three feet, wet. Any use of going deeper, Andy? Mr. Hopkins said the natural reservoir was usually three or four feet down.”
“What do you think, Ted?” asked their companion.
“That we’ve gone far enough. If the soil is moist at one foot, damp at two, and wet at three, the crop roots won’t lack water the first season, anyway.”
“Right you are. Let’s go over to the west slope and try.”
To the boys’ surprise, when the test was repeated, the soil was practically dry until the four-foot level was reached and then it was only moist.
“Guess you are right about the rainfall,” admitted Phil. “We’ll be obliged to irrigate this side.”
“I am glad you boys appreciate the necessity and value of irrigation,” commented the agent. “If more entrymen were aware of its importance and possibilities, they would use greater care in selecting their homestead lands—and there wouldn’t be so many abandoned. How’d you come to know about it, Si tell you?”
“He did—but we’ve read up on it ourselves,” replied Ted.
“You mean you have,” returned his brother. “I’m not much on such matters, Andy, but Ted is daffy over building things. I believe he has already decided on his system.”