"Oh," said Banneker. "You've been interviewing a cactus owl."

"Did he unwind his neck carefully and privately after I had gone?"

"No," returned Banneker gravely. "He just jumped in the air and his body
spun around until it got back to its original relation."

"How truly fascinating! Have you seen him do it?"

"Not actually seen. But often in the evenings I've heard them buzzing as
they unspin the day's wind-up. During the day, you see, they make as
many as ten or fifteen revolutions until their eyes bung out. Reversing
makes them very dizzy, and if you are around when they're doing it, you
can often pick them up off the sand."

"And doesn't it ever make _you_ dizzy? All this local lore, I mean, that
you carry around in your head?"

"It isn't much of a strain to a practiced intellect," he deprecated. "If
you're interested in natural history, there's the Side-hill Wampus--"

"Yes; I know. I've been West before, thank you! Pardon my curiosity, but
are all you creatures of the desert queer and inexplicable?"

"Not me," he returned promptly if ungrammatically, "if you're looking in
my direction."

"I'll admit that I find you as interesting as the owl--almost. And quite
as hard to understand."