“Sure,” agreed Thunder. “Ver’ nice jobs—I theenk. You know Profeezil?”
Henry scratched his chin thoughtfully. “Profeezil?” he asked.
“Sure,” grinned Lightning. “Profeezil. Got the long leg, glass on hees eye.”
“Aw, he means Professor Fossil,” informed Slim Pickins.
“Sure,” grinned Thunder. “We see heem.”
“He came past here a while ago,” said Slim, “packin’ a short pick and a sack of rocks.”
“Oh, yes,” murmured Henry. “Professor Fossil.”
His right name was Charles Winston Norbert, Archaeologist. He was tall, thin and slightly stooped, possibly from carrying rock specimens. He had been in Wild Horse Valley for weeks, and had taken up his temporary abode at the Circle G ranch, from where he sampled the country. Even Pete Gonyer considered the man slightly touched in the head. Nearly every day he brought in a sack of samples, which he studied carefully, making voluminous notes in his book.
“Except for eddication,” declared Frijole, “he’d make a first-class shepherd. He’s got the legs for it.”
“Mucho loco,” declared Lightning. “Rock too damn h’avy.”