by Homer Hickam
“Where is this skeleton going?” I asked.
Laura gave that some thought, then said, “I don’t honestly know. Somewhere where it will be appreciated, that much I can tell you. Pick sees to that.” She pointed at a bone still in the ground. “That’s a toe. Its shape indicates it was used for digging.”
I looked at the bone which was about six inches long and shaped like an arrowhead. “What did it dig?” I wondered.
“We think Trikes liked to eat ferns. Maybe they needed to dig around the other vegetation to get at them or maybe they dug up the entire plant. They had a beak, like a big parrot, which I suppose was effective at chopping plants. Their molars were a little like a cow’s or camel’s.”
“Did they eat grass?”
“There was no grass, at least not the kind we have now.”
“You’re kidding! No grass? I thought there was always grass in Montana.”
Her eyes grew distant, a trait I’d noticed was common for paleontologists. “The world the Triceratops lived in, Mike, was a far different place than this one. Although the theropods, the meat-eaters, could probably live today—meat is still meat and I guess they could eat your cows—the plant-eaters would not survive. Vegetation and the seasons have just changed too much. Maybe that’s why the theropods live on through the birds while there are no descendents of the plant-eaters. It’s sad, really. Can you imagine the millions of years it took to evolve a creature like this, just to have it disappear?”
“What killed them, do you think? I know you only care about how they lived but you must have a theory on why they disappeared.”
“Oh, I think environmental and evolutionary pressures are the likely culprits. We also think there’s less oxygen in the atmosphere now so maybe it just got too hard for them to breathe. Anyway, whatever it was, I don’t think it was anything so dramatic as a meteor or comet, although something like that may have pushed them over the edge. Maybe a virus, even. I just don’t know. No one does, no matter what they say.”
I glanced down and saw Pick was awake again and peering into the box where Tanya had placed the plastic sample bags. He took one of the bags out, pondered it, then put it back. The way he held it, I couldn’t see what was in it, not that I would have recognized what it was, anyway.
“What did you find this morning?” I asked.
“Just odds and ends,” Laura replied. “You ready to help dig up this old boy?”
“Sure thing.”
Laura called Tanya and she climbed up beside us. Pick wandered off and then things got quiet for the rest of the morning as the three of us dug and scraped. It was hard work and my fingernails, knees, and back took a beating. I looked up once and found both women smiling at me. “What?” I asked.
“You’d make a good grad student,” Laura said. “You work hard and you don’t complain much.”
“I like that in a man, too,” Tanya said, giving me a dazzling smile. I confess my heart sped up a beat.
After a while, Tanya got up from the dig, got her backpack off the truck, dropped in some water bottles, and went off in the direction Pick had gone. I sat back, swigged some water, and appreciated her trim little figure until she’d disappeared around the hill. “Where’s she going?” I asked.
“To find Pick,” Laura said. “He’ll be lost by now. She’ll try to track him down or give him a call on the radio to figure out where he is. He never goes far. He always finds bones and that slows him down.”
We dug, picked, scraped, and glued for a bit more, then Laura squinted at the sky where the sun had taken up station, seemingly not moving and just blazing down. “We need to put up an awning,” she said.
We walked back to the camp and she got out a tarp and some poles, ropes, and pegs. It wasn’t easy on the side of that hill but we managed to get the tarp up to provide some shade. When we were finished, Laura pronounced the working day over. “When you get too tired, you start to make mistakes on a dig,” she said. “Want to go prospecting?”
That sounded like fun so I said OK. She filled a pack with water bottles and I did the same. She handed me a small digital camera, a pocket-sized notebook, a pencil, some plastic lock-type sample bags, a permanent marker pen, a two-way radio, and a handheld GPS. After a quick lesson on the GPS, she showed me how to write up any finds I might make, then pointed at a low line of wedding-cake shaped hills. “Those hills look to have some Hell Creek Formation,” she said. “Ever been on them?”
I had not, even though they weren’t that far from the Square C. “They’re on Haxby BLM,” I said. “I wouldn’t even think about going over there without permission.”
“But we have a BLM permit,” she said. “And we won’t cross private land getting to it.”
“You don’t know the Haxbys,” I replied.
Laura looked at the hills longingly. “I’m sure we’d find some good bones there.”
I gave it some thought, mostly focusing on Laura’s unhappy expression. “All right,” I said, finally. “But if anyone comes around, let me do the talking.”
This suited her so we hefted our packs, tested our radios, and off we went, first crossing a field of grass that stopped abruptly at a deep coulee that had been invisible until we were right on top of it. The badlands can fool you that way. What you perceive to be an expanse of flat land can suddenly drop a hundred feet straight down. More than one cow, trundling along, has lost its footing along one of those coulees and taken the tumble of death. We were more careful, clambered down inside it, then walked along its narrow bottom. There was a layer of cracked mud studded with some low reeds, clinging to life. Laura spotted a grayish outcrop of dirt and walked over to it, bent over, and plucked out a bone. She showed it to me. “Theropod toe bone, probably Ornithomimosaur.”
Quoting Pick, I asked, “Where’s the rest of it?”
“That’s always the question, isn’t it?” She gave me a grin, which was nice. Even though we’d just spent all morning digging up bones and erecting an awning in the hot sun, and were now walking in the hottest sun of the day loaded down with packs full of water, Laura was cheerful. I have always believed cheerful is a fine trait in a woman. I reflected that Jeanette was hardly ever cheerful but I didn’t care. I still loved her. Love is weird that way, ain’t it?
We found a way out of the coulee and continued across the field until we reached the hills, which proved to be steeper than they looked from a mile away. “I’ll go that way,” Laura pointed, “you go the other. See that first step? I think if there are any bones, they will be at that level. It’s a bit too steep for me to try to go along there so what I like to do is walk around the base of the hill and look for float at the bottom. If I see anything that looks interesting, then I’ll climb the hill up to the step to see what’s there. You might try the same strategy or just make up your own. There’s no right or wrong way to find bones.”
Although I wasn’t certain it was a good idea for us to split up, considering that we were on Haxby BLM, I went along with it. I went off in the direction she wanted me to go and before long, I was thoroughly enjoying the pleasant stroll at the base of the hill, which was actually several hills with low saddlebacks. I soon came across some float, clambered up to the shelf Laura had suggested, and was rewarded by a pile of shattered bones. There was nothing in the pile that had any shape, just irregular scraps, but there was enough of it to fill up several backpacks. I settled for logging the GPS coordinates in my notebook, photographing the site, taking a sample, and moving on, feeling very much like a true paleontologist. I searched all along the base, finding more float and scraps here and there. Though I climbed up to the step, I found no more piles of bones, just scraps including something that looked like a claw, although the tip was broken off. No matter that I had probably found nothing of importance, I had still discovered the remains of creatures, which had lived very long ago. I sat down on one of the steps and just looked out at a land which should have been familiar to me but now seemed alien, as if I’d been plucked
up and set down not only far away but long ago. Maybe I was getting a sense of deep time, I don’t know.
I was startled by the clip-clop of a horse at the base of the hill and, when I looked down, I saw an equally startled rider. It was Carl Haxby, Sam’s youngest son. “Hello, Carl,” I said.
Carl finally found his voice. “What are you doing up there, Mike?”
“Looking for dinosaur bones. There are quite a few of them on this hill.”
Carl briefly scanned the exposed brown dirt, the ancient gray mud, and the sagebrush of the hill, then shook his head. “All I see is Haxby property,” he said. “Are you lost?”
It would have probably saved us all some grief if I had answered that I was indeed lost and would get my tail back to the Square C first thing but, instead, I said, “No. I know exactly where I am. I should have asked you before coming out here but I’m working with some folks who have a BLM permit and…well, here we are.”
“We?”
“On the other side of this hill is a young lady. She’s a professional paleontologist. She’s just looking for bones, Carl. No reason to get upset.”
But Carl was upset. “I’ll thank you to leave our property, Mike,” he said.
He didn’t curse, he didn’t say he was going to climb up there and whup my ass, he didn’t threaten to go burn down my trailer, he just said what he said, most calmly. He was also armed. There was a rifle, a .30-06, slung next to his leg. I climbed down until I was eye level with him and opened my backpack, showing him the fragments of bone I’d picked up. “This is all I’m doing,” I said.
“You found those on our land?”
“On BLM land.” I sat down on a rock. I had learned in my past life in the thin blue line that sometimes sitting down while talking to someone in a tense situation tends to have a calming effect. “I’ll say it again, Carl. I should have asked before coming out here and I apologize. But, technically, BLM is not your land.”
“I’ll have to tell my dad,” Carl said. “He’s going to raise hell.”
I took off my hat, wiped the sweat from my brow with my sleeve, and plopped it back aboard. It was hot and getting hotter and I needed to get going and probably so did Carl on whatever business had brought him out here. “All right,” I said. “But be sure to tell him I apologize for not asking him first.”
Carl backed his horse up, then swung it around. He nodded toward the plastic bags. “Could I look at that bone again that was sort of like a claw?”
I stood up and handed it over. He studied the bone in his big, calloused hand. The Haxbys worked hard, all of them, and Carl’s hands reflected that. “Looks like a broken bird claw,” he said.
“Yep. Dr. Pickford—he’s the lead paleontologist—says there were a lot of dinosaurs with claws out here. Sharp teeth, too.”
“Then why does it look like a bird claw?”
“I don’t know, Carl.”
“Maybe there were big birds that didn’t get on the ark,” Carl offered.
“Could be,” I said.
Carl cocked his head. “How did you get into this, Mike?”
“Jeanette volunteered me.”
“You do what she says?”
“She’s my boss.”
“But you’d like her to be more,” he said, smiling for the first time since he’d found me. When he saw my expression, which wasn’t happy, he added, “Sorry. The Haxby wives gossip. I sometimes listen.”
“Tell them I said I’m in love with her. That’ll give them something to talk about for a long time.”
He rubbed his jaw, then shook his head. “I’ll do no such thing.”
“I’ll get off your land, Carl. Right now. I’ll find the girl and make her leave, too.”
He nodded, then said, “No need. As far as I’m concerned, you just asked for permission. Have fun picking up bones.”
Carl rode off and I waited until he disappeared around the hill. Although I was relieved at the way things had turned out, I still felt like shit. The Haxbys had their ways and I didn’t agree with all of them but they’d always been good neighbors. Now, I’d thumbed my nose at them in the worst way I could do it.
Wanting to get off the Haxby BLM as soon as possible, I crossed the hill at one of the low saddles. Laura wasn’t in sight as I came over but I did spot some bones. They were horn chunks, probably Triceratops. I wrote them up in my log, and collected them. Then I slid down the hill and walked along it for a while before spotting Laura on one of the benches. She was sitting there, looking at something with binoculars. I turned to see what it might be and saw that she was looking toward Blackie Butte. “What do you see?” I asked.
Startled, she hastily put down the binoculars. “Nothing. Just looking,” she said.
I climbed up beside her. “May I?” I asked, indicating the binoculars and she reluctantly handed them over. I looked at Blackie Butte and saw two people standing on a ledge about halfway up it. “Is that Pick and Tanya?”
“Yes,” Laura said. “I’m glad Tanya found him. Lost as usual.”
Laura had lied to me. She had definitely been watching the pair but, if so, why hadn’t she said so? My first guess, me being a man, is that she was jealous that Tanya was alone with Pick.
“Look,” I said, “one of the Haxby brothers caught me and he wasn’t too happy about us being here. Let’s go back.”
“We have a permit,” she said.
“Yes. That and permission from the rancher who leases the BLM is all that we need to hunt fossils on this land. We have one but not the other.”
Laura looked at me. “Did you find anything?”
I showed her my plastic bags. Nothing interested her except the claw. “Nice,” she said. “Where’s the rest of it?”
I smiled. “I don’t know.”
“OK. Let’s go back. I’m kind of tired, anyway.” She rubbed her shoulder and winced.
I crouched beside her. “I used to know how to give a decent shoulder rub.” When she didn’t say anything, I took it as permission to proceed. She was muscular and some of those muscles were in knots so I had my work cut out for me. She leaned back into my hands.
“That feels good,” she said and took off her hat and dropped her head forward to let me at her neck, which was also in a big knot. I kept going until she said, “Thank you” and stood up. “Ready to go back?” she asked.
“Sure.” If I expected any kind of reciprocity, that clearly wasn’t going to happen. I reached for the binoculars, planning to see what Pick and Tanya were doing now but Laura quickly stuffed the binoculars in her pack. She headed down the hill and I followed her, wondering what it was she didn’t want me to see but pretty sure she wasn’t going to tell me if I asked. So I didn’t. Sometimes, things just have to come out on their own.
11
When we got back to camp, Pick and Tanya hadn’t returned so Laura suggested a snack. I suggested snacks with drinks. When I told her I had the ingredients for a g&t, her eyes lit up. I followed her into the cook tent and to the refrigerator. When she opened the door, she saw my veggies. “I’m a vegetarian,” I said and she stared at me in shock. “No kidding,” I added.
“OK,” she said, stretching out both letters, “I guess now I’ve heard everything. A vegetarian cowboy.” She eyed my other traps, especially the duffel bag which had the logo of the Los Angeles Police Department on it. “I heard you used to be a policeman.”
“I heard the same thing. So did a bad guy who shot me.” When she raised her eyebrows over her lovely baby blues, I told her a condensed version of how I was just standing there minding my own business when some fellow popped me. Actually, I had just beat up his buddy and tossed him through a plate glass window but never mind.
“What brought you to Montana?”
“A truck,” I said. “I sold it to Bill Coulter for one dollar. He sold it for five hundred.”
She let my evasion slide and asked, “Who’s Bill Coulter?”
“Jeanette Coulter’s husband. He died five yea
rs ago.”
She nodded, then poked around in the fridge until she found some crackers and cheese spread. “This OK? How about fish? I have some tuna salad.”
“Works for me. Eggs are OK, too.”
“Got it,” she said. “By the way, I tried being a vegetarian once but I kept having strange dreams.”
“What about?”
“That I wanted a steak and couldn’t have one.”
“I have that dream all the time,” I confessed. “Then I go out and help a heifer have a calf and I forget it.”
“You help a heifer have a calf? Cowboys are really that lonely?”
I chuckled. “Maybe I could have put that a better way.”
“How about my drink? Get a cup from that box. Mine is that red one on top of the fridge.”
The indicated box held plastic cups. I used my pocket knife to slice a lime on a folding camp table, added ice from the little freezer compartment, and made two g&t’s with a lot more g than usual. I felt we deserved it. I also hoped it might loosen Laura up so she would provide more information about…well, I didn’t really know but my antenna was starting to go up. Something was going on that wasn’t exactly clear.
Beneath the awning of the tent, Laura had another table set up along with two unfolded folding chairs. She had emptied some crackers in a plastic bowl and taken the top off two plastic containers, one with a creamed cheese something, the other the tuna salad. She stuck a white plastic knife into each. I subsided in one of the chairs and handed over her g&t. Cocktails were served.