“Yes, there’s a solid path uphill from the water. And I’ll keep my eyes on the boy,” she says.

I give the heavy binoculars back to the woman and make my way around the barricades.

I wish I still had the binoculars. It’s amazing how you can see faraway things right in front of you. It’s like having the eyesight of an eagle or a hawk. As I get closer to the rock, I hear a tap-tap-tapping noise. Its rhythm sounds like the big redheaded woodpeckers that peck at tree bark looking for ants. They tap for a while, take a break, then start up again.

Mr. Ronnie, in his green-and-black-plaid coat, is on his knees behind the meteorite. He has a long chisel in one hand and a hammer in the other, and he’s striking the top of the chisel with the hammer against the side of the big rock. His eyeglasses are all the way down his nose, and his hat is almost off his head.

“STOP!” I yell. “STOP RIGHT NOW. What are you doing? Leave the stone alone.”

Mr. Ronnie is so startled he drops his tools with a loud clank. He pushes his glasses up and pulls his hat down.

“Calm down, son, no harm done. I’m just trying to get a little piece, a little souvenir. Is that a problem?”

“I said you need to STOP.”

I lean over to check what Mr. Ronnie did to the meteorite.

“See?” He points to a few silver streaks on the shiny black surface. “I can’t even chip off a rat toenail’s worth. It’s harder than hell. This thing is evil. They should have a reward for getting rid of it.”

“EVIL? The rock isn’t evil. How can a rock be evil?”

“Look, young man, if you haven’t noticed, pieces of your house are floating down to who knows where. What’s left of it is underwater and the road is wrecked. What else but this rock caused the flooding and made the town well go dry? If the water doesn’t come back downtown, all the stores are gonna go out of business. Including my Picker Palace. Do you call that good?”

“No, I don’t think those things are good. But the rock doesn’t mean to hurt anyone.”

“You bet it’s not good.” Mr. Ronnie shakes his finger at me. “I hear you Bowers have all the water you need. My son, Dwayne, says it’s not a coincidence the rock is here on this hill full of water witchers. Are you one of those water witchers yourself?”

This is the second time in three days I’ve been asked if I can dowse, and I’m no closer to knowing the answer to the question.

“I don’t know,” I say. “I’ve never tried.”