Water Witch by Jan Hudson

genuine. He seemed sincere. And he hadn’t laughed outright. For that alone she wanted to hug him.
    “Okay.” She picked up the rod and walked to a place away from the markers. “I hold one prong in each hand with the tip pointed up like this.” She demonstrated the correct position, then added, “Now I walk slowly across an area.” She stepped a few paces. “If there’s no water, nothing happens. But watch what happens when I approach the spot I’ve marked.” As she came closer to her prime target, the branch began to quiver violently, then turned down again. “See?”
    “Well, I’ll be damned.” Sam shook his head. “I’ve never seen anything like it. Here,” he said, reaching for the rod, “let me try that.”
    Walking slowly over the rocky terrain, he imitated Max’s action. Nothing happened. Not a single wiggle or a quiver. He tried again. Nothing. “It doesn’t seem to work for me. Are you sure it isn’t your imagination?”
    Indignant, she shot him a black glare. “Of course it isn’t my imagination! I’ve been dowsing for water and oil for years. I’ve never missed. Ask John Ramsey how many dry wells he ever hit where I told him to drill.”
    “My God, woman, do you mean to tell me that a company actually hired a dowser to find oil?”
    Oh shoot, she hadn’t meant to tell him that. Feeling uncomfortable about her disclosure, she mumbled something and shrugged.
    “What?” he demanded.
    Scowling, she repeated, “I said they didn’t exactly know how Dowser and I located it.”
    Sam glanced over at the Doberman who sat on his haunches, lolling his tongue and looking from Max to Sam. “Do you mean he’s in on it too?”
    “He doesn’t seem to be any good with water, but he’s great with oil.”
    “Does he have his own little stick?”
    “Dammit, Sam, you don’t have to act like such a horse’s rear about it!” She turned and clomped off toward the truck.
    He caught up with her and grabbed her by the shoulders. “Angel, I’m sorry. But this whole thing has taken me by surprise. You have to admit it sounds peculiar. Why don’t we have a cup of coffee and you can explain to me how it works.”
    He picked up a thermos leaning against a tree, poured two mugs full, and handed her one.
    “Where did this come from?” she asked.
    “I brought it for you to wake up with this morning, but you were gone when I got to the cottage.” He took a sip from his cup and said, “Explain about the dowsing.”
    “Nobody seems to know exactly how it works. I’ve done some reading about it. Although a lot of scientists in the United States think it’s a bunch of bunk, a few of them have been investigating the phenomenon. And the Russians have been studying it seriously for years. Certain individuals seem to have the ability to locate subterranean deposits—everything from water to all kinds of ores. The art of radiesthesia, or sensitivity to radiations, has been practiced for several thousand years for all sorts of things.”
    “I’m intrigued,” he said. “But why does it work for you and not for me?”
    She shrugged. “I don’t know why it works for some people and not for others. My grandfather said I had ‘the touch,’ but I suspect it’s simply something we don’t understand yet, some biophysical sensitivity that acts according to perfectly natural laws, like a dog’s keen sense of hearing or smell. Dowser can sniff oil and I can find it with a rod. We always agreed and we always found oil.”
    “You mean that dog can sniff oil?”
    She nodded. “But I suspect that it’s because of where I found him. I was working in the oil patch when I came upon him. He was little more than a puppy, beaten and half starved. Somebody had treated him badly and he was almost dead. I took him home with me and nursed him. I’ve always supposed he associates my finding him with oil, because he can sniff it out.”
    She took a swallow of coffee and watched Sam, who seemed to be deep in thought.