The white-haired man is deep in concentration. In his hands, he grips a pair of L-shaped metal rods, holding them at waist level like a pair of six-shooters. Slowly and deliberately, he walks across the village green, heedless of the knot of spectators. "Please indicate a vein of good drinking water," he says, almost as an incantation. "It should flow at a rate of at least five gallons per minute and should not be more than 20 feet deep." He takes a few more steps, repeating the formula. And, lo, the rods swing 180° apart, forming a single line at right...
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