Contents

CoverEndpaperTitlePage

Introduction

PartI:TheFieldTripWestYoungJohnsonJoinstheFieldTripWestMarshLearningPhotographyPhiladelphia“ReadytoDigforYale?”ChicagoGoingWestTheWestANightinCheyenneMorninginCheyenneCope’sExpeditionWestwithCopeFortBenton

PartII:TheLostWorldNightonthePlainsIncidentsonthePlainsBadlandsTheIndianVillageBoneCountryAroundtheFireBadWaterDinnerwithCopeandMarsh“SleepwithYourGunsTonight,Boys”MovingCampTheTeethAroundtheCampfireLeavingtheBadlands

PartIII:DragonTeethOnthePlainsBadlandsDeadwoodLifeinDeadwoodTheBlackHillsArtGalleryTheArmyArrivesLastDayinDeadwoodTheNextDayinDeadwoodEmilyEmily’sNewsMovingtheBonesAShootoutTheCheyenneRoadTheSecondAttackRedCanyonFortLaramieTheLaramieBoneDealCheyenneFourMeetings

PostscriptAuthor’sNoteAfterword

BibliographyAbouttheAuthorAlsobyMichaelCrichtonCopyrightAboutthePublisher

Introduction

Asheappearsinanearlyphotograph,WilliamJohnsonisahandsomeyoungmanwithacrooked smile andanaivegrin.A study in slouching indifference,he loungesagainst aGothicbuilding.Heisatallfellow,buthisheightappearsirrelevanttohispresentationofhimself.Thephotographisdated“NewHaven,1875,”andwasapparentlytakenafterhehadlefthometobeginstudiesasanundergraduateatYaleCollege.

A later photograph, marked “Cheyenne, Wyoming, 1876,” shows Johnson quitedifferently.Hismouth is framedbya fullmustache;hisbody isharderandenlargedbyuse;hisjawisset;hestandsconfidentlywithshoulderssquaredandfeetwide—andankle-deep inmud.Clearlyvisible is a peculiar scaronhis upper lip,which in later yearsheclaimedwastheresultofanIndianattack.

Thefollowingstorytellswhathappenedbetweenthetwopictures.

ForthejournalsandnotebooksofWilliamJohnson,IamindebtedtotheestateofW.J.T.Johnson,andparticularlytoJohnson’sgreat-niece,EmilySilliman,whopermittedmetoquote extensively from the unpublished material. (Much of the factual contents ofJohnson’saccountsfoundtheirwayintoprintin1890,duringthefiercebattlesforprioritybetweenCopeandMarsh,whichfinallyinvolvedtheU.S.government.Butthetextitself,orevenexcerpts,wasneverpublished,untilnow.)

PartITheFieldTripWest

YoungJohnsonJoinstheFieldTripWest

William Jason Tertullius Johnson, the elder son of Philadelphia shipbuilder SilasJohnson,enteredYaleCollegeinthefallof1875.AccordingtohisheadmasteratExeter,Johnsonwas“gifted,attractive,athleticandable.”ButtheheadmasteraddedthatJohnsonwas“headstrong,indolentandbadlyspoilt,withanotableindifferencetoanymotivesavehisownpleasures.Unlesshe finds apurpose tohis life, he risksunseemlydecline intoindolenceandvice.”

Those words could have served as the description of a thousand youngmen in latenineteenth-century America, young men with intimidating, dynamic fathers, largequantitiesofmoney,andnoparticularwaytopassthetime.

WilliamJohnsonfulfilledhisheadmaster’spredictionduringhisfirstyearatYale.Hewas placed on probation in November for gambling, and again in February after anincidentinvolvingheavydrinkingandthesmashingofaNewHavenmerchant’swindow.SilasJohnsonpaidthebill.Despitesuchrecklessbehavior,Johnsonremainedcourtlyandevenshywithwomenofhisownage,forhehadyettohaveanyluckwiththem.Fortheirpart,theyfoundreasontoseekhisattention,theirformalupbringingsnotwithstanding.Inall other respects, however, he remained unrepentant. Early that spring, on a sunnyafternoon, Johnson wrecked his roommate’s yacht, running it aground on Long IslandSound.Theboat sankwithinminutes; Johnsonwas rescuedbyapassing trawler; askedwhathappened,headmittedtotheincredulousfishermenthathedidnotknowhowtosailbecause itwouldbe “soutterly tedious to learn.And anyway, it looks simple enough.”Confrontedbyhis roommate, Johnson admittedhehadnot askedpermission touse theyachtbecause“itwassuchbothertofindyou.”

Facedwith thebill for the lost yacht, Johnson’s father complained tohis friends that“thecostofeducatingayounggentlemanatYalethesedaysisruinouslyexpensive.”Hisfatherwas the serious sonof aScottish immigrant, and took somepains to conceal theexcessesofhisoffspring;inhisletters,herepeatedlyurgedWilliamtofindapurposeinlife.ButWilliamseemedcontentwithhis spoiled frivolity, andwhenhe announcedhisintentiontospendthecomingsummerinEurope,“theprospect,”saidhisfather,“fillsmewithdirestfiscaldread.”

Thus his family was surprised when William Johnson abruptly decided to go westduringthesummerof1876.Johnsonneverpublicallyexplainedwhyhehadchangedhismind.ButthoseclosetohimatYaleknewthereason.Hehaddecidedtogowestbecause

ofabet.

Inhisownwords,fromthejournalhescrupulouslykept:

Everyyoungmanprobablyhasanarch-rivalatsomepointinhislife,andinmyfirstyearatYale,Ihadmine.HaroldHannibalMarlinwasmyownage,eighteen.Hewashandsome,athletic,well-spoken,soakingrich,andhewasfromNewYork,whichheconsideredsuperiortoPhiladelphiaineveryrespect.Ifoundhiminsufferable.Thesentimentwasreturnedinkind.

Marlin and I competed in every arena—in the classroom, on the playing-field, in theundergraduatepranksof thenight.Nothingwouldexistbut thatwewouldcompeteover it.Wearguedincessantly,alwaystakingtheopposingviewfromtheother.

One night at dinner he said that the future ofAmerica lay in the developingWest. I said itdidn’t,thatthefutureofourgreatnationcouldhardlyrestonavastdesertpopulatedbysavageaboriginaltribes.

HerepliedIdidn’tknowwhatIwastalkingabout,becauseIhadn’tbeenthere.Thiswasasorepoint—Marlinhadactuallybeen to theWest,at leastas farasKansasCity,wherehisbrotherlived,andheneverfailedtoexpresshissuperiorityinthismatteroftravel.

Ihadneversucceededinneutralizingit.

“Goingwestisnoshakes.Anyfoolcango,”Isaid.

“Butallfoolshaven’tgone—atleastyouhaven’t.”

“I’veneverhadtheleastdesiretogo,”Isaid.

“I’ll tell you what I think,” HannibalMarlin replied, checking to see that the others werelistening.“Ithinkyou’reafraid.”

“That’sabsurd.”

“Ohyes.AnicetriptoEurope’smoreyourwayofthings.”

“Europe?Europeisforoldpeopleanddustyscholars.”

“Markmyword,you’lltourEuropethissummer,perhapswithaparasol.”

“AndifIdogo,thatdoesn’tmean—”

“Ahhah!Yousee?”Marlinturnedtoaddresstheassembledtable.“Afraid.Afraid.”Hesmiledinaknowing,patronizingwaythatmademehatehimandleftmenochoice.

“As a matter of fact,” I said coolly, “I am already determined on a trip in the West thissummer.”

Thatcaughthimbysurprise;thesmugsmilefrozeonhisface.“Oh?”

“Yes,”Isaid.“IamgoingwithProfessorMarsh.Hetakesagroupofstudentswithhimeachsummer.” There had been an advertisement in the paper the previous week; I vaguelyrememberedit.

“What?FatoldMarsh?Theboneprofessor?”

“That’sright.”

“You’regoingwithMarsh?AccommodationsforhisgroupareSpartan,andtheysayheworkstheboysunmercifully.Itdoesn’tseemyourlineofthingsatall.”Hiseyesnarrowed.“Whendoyouleave?”

“Hehasn’ttoldusthedateyet.”

Marlinsmiled.“You’veneverlaideyesonProfessorMarsh,andyou’llnevergowithhim.”

“Iwill.”

“Youwon’t.”

“Itellyou,it’salreadydecided.”

Marlinsighedinhispatronizingway.“Ihaveathousanddollarsthatsaysyouwillnotgo.”

Marlinhadbeenlosingtheattentionofthetable,buthegotitbackwiththatone.Athousand

dollarswasagreatdealofmoneyin1876,evenfromonerichboytoanother.

“Athousanddollarssaysyouwon’tgowestwithMarshthissummer,”Marlinrepeated.

“You,sir,havemadeawager,”Ireplied.AndinthatmomentIrealizedthat,throughnofaultofmyown, Iwouldnowspend theentiresummer insomeghastlyhotdesert in thecompanyofaknownlunatic,diggingupoldbones.

Marsh

ProfessorMarshkeptofficesinthePeabodyMuseumontheYalecampus.AheavygreendoorwithlargewhiteletteringreadPROF.O.C.MARSH.VISITORSBYWRITTENAPPOINTMENTONLY.

Johnsonknocked.Therewasnoreply,soheknockedagain.

“Goaway.”

Johnsonknockedathirdtime.

Asmallpanelopenedinthecenterofthedoor,andaneyesquintedout.“Whatisit?”

“IwanttoseeProfessorMarsh.”

“Butdoeshewanttoseeyou?”demandedtheeye.“Idoubtit.”

“Iamreplying tohisnotice.” Johnsonheldup thenewspaperadvertisement from theweekbefore.

“Sorry.Toolate.Positionsallfilled.”Thedoorpanelsnappedshut.

Johnsonwasnotaccustomed tobeingdeniedanything,particularlya silly triphedidnotwantinthefirstplace.Angrily,hekickedthedoor.HestaredatthebuggytrafficonWhitneyAvenue.Butwithhispride,anda thousanddollars,hanging in thebalance,hegotcontrolofhimself,andknockedpolitelyoncemore.“I’msorry,ProfessorMarsh,butIreallymustgowestwithyou.”

“Youngman,theonlyplaceyoumustgoisaway.Goaway.”

“Please, Professor Marsh. Please let me join your expedition.” The thought of hishumiliation before Marlin was awful to Johnson. His voice choked; his eyes watered.“Pleasehearmeout,sir.I’lldowhateveryousay,I’llevenprovidemyownequipment.”

Thepanelsnappedopenagain.“Youngman,everyoneprovides theirownequipment,andeveryonedoeswhateverIsay,exceptyou.Youarepresentinganunmanlyspectacle.”Theeyepeeredout.“Nowgoaway.”

“Please,sir,youhavetotakeme.”

“If you wanted to come you should have answered the advertisement last week.Everyone else did.We had thirty candidates to choose from last week. Now we have

selectedeveryoneexcept—You’renot,byanychance,aphotographer?”

Johnsonsawhischanceandleaptatit.“Aphotographer?Yes,sir,Iam!Iamindeed.”

“Well!You should have said so at once.Come in.”The door swungopenwide, andJohnsonhadhisfirstfulllookattheheavy,powerful,solemnfigureofOthnielC.Marsh,Yale’s firstprofessorofpaleontology.Ofmediumheight,heappeared toenjoya fleshy,robusthealth.

Marshledhimbackintotheinteriorofthemuseum.Theairwaschalkyandshaftsofsunlightpierceditlikeacathedral.Inavastcavernousspace,Johnsonsawmeninwhitelab coats bent over great slabs of rock, chipping bones free with small chisels. Theyworkedcarefully,hesaw,andusedsmallbrushestocleantheirwork.Inthefarcorner,agiganticskeletonwasbeingassembled,theframeworkofbonesrisingtotheceiling.

“Giganthopusmarshiensis, my crowning achievement,”Marsh said, nodding towardthe looming beast of bones. “To date, that is. Discovered her in ’74, in theWyomingTerritory.Ialwaysthinkofherasher.Whatisyourname?”

“WilliamJohnson,sir.”

“Whatdoesyourfatherdo?”

“Myfatherisinshipping,sir.”Chalkydusthungintheair;Johnsoncoughed.

Marshlookedsuspicious.“Areyouunwell,Johnson?”

“No,sir,perfectlywell.”

“Icannotabidesicknessaroundme.”

“Myhealthisexcellent,sir.”

Marshappearedunconvinced.“Howoldareyou,Johnson?”

“Eighteen,sir.”

“Andhowlonghaveyoubeenaphotographer?”

“Aphotographer?Oh,uh—frommyyouth,sir.My,uh—myfathertookpicturesandIlearnedfromhim,sir.”

“Youhaveyourownequipment?”

“Yes—uh,no,sir—butIcanobtainit.Frommyfather,sir.”

“Youarenervous,Johnson.Whyisthat?”

“I’mjusteagertogowithyou,sir.”

“Are you.”Marsh stared at him, as if Johnson were a curious anatomical specimenhimself.

Uneasyunderthatstare,Johnsonattemptedacompliment.“I’veheardsomanyexcitingthingsaboutyou,sir.”

“Indeed?Whathaveyouheard?”

Johnsonhesitated.Intruth,hehadheardonlythatMarshwasanobsessive,drivenman

who owed his college position to hismonomaniacal interest in fossil bones, and to hisuncle, thefamousphilanthropistGeorgePeabody,whohadprovided thefundingfor thePeabodyMuseum, forMarsh’s professorship, and forMarsh’s annual field trips to theWest.

“Onlythatstudentshavefounditaprivilegeandanadventuretoaccompanyyou,sir.”

Marshwassilentforamoment.Finally,hesaid,“Idislikecomplimentsandidleflattery.I don’t like to be called ‘sir.’Youmay refer tome as ‘Professor.’As for privilege andadventure, I offer damnedhardwork andplenty of it.But I’ll say this: allmy studentshavecomebackaliveandwell.Nowthen—whydoyouwanttogosomuch?”

“Personalreasons,si—Professor.”

“Allreasonsarepersonalreasons,Johnson.I’maskingyours.”

“Well,Professor,Iaminterestedinthestudyoffossils.”

“Youareinterested?Yousayyouareinterested?Youngman,thesefossils”—hishandswept wide, gesturing to the room—“these fossils do not invite interest. They invitepassionatecommitment,theyinvitereligiousfervorandscientificspeculation,theyinviteheateddiscourseandargument,buttheydonotthriveonmereinterest.No,no.Iamsorry.No,no,indeed.”

Johnsonfearedhehadlosthisopportunitywithhischanceremark,butinanotherswiftchange,Marshsmiledandsaid,“Nevermind,Ineedaphotographerandyouarewelcometocome.”Heextendedhishand,andJohnsonshookit.“Whereareyoufrom,Johnson?”

“Philadelphia.”

ThenamehadanextraordinaryeffectonMarsh.HedroppedJohnson’shand,andtookastepback.“Philadelphia!You—you—youarefromPhiladelphia?”

“Yes,sir,istheresomethingwrongwithPhiladelphia?”

“Don’tcallme‘sir’!Andyourfatherisinshipping?”

“Yes,heis.”

Marsh’s face turned purple; his body shook with rage. “And I suppose you are aQuaker,too?Hmmm?AQuakerfromPhiladelphia?”

“No,Methodist,actually.”

“Isn’tthatveryclosetoQuaker?”

“Idon’tthinkso.”

“Butyouliveinthesamecitythathedoes.”

“Thatwhodoes?”

Marshfellsilent,frowning,staringatthefloor,andthenhemadeanotherofhisabruptturns,shiftinghisbulk.Foralargemanhewassurprisinglyagileandathletic.

“Nevermind,” he said, smilingonce again. “I’venoquarrelwith any resident of theCity ofBrotherlyLove,whatever theymay say.And yet I imagine you arewondering

wheremyexpeditionisgoingthissummer,tolookforfossils?”

ThequestionhadnevercrossedJohnson’smind,buttoshowproperinterest,hereplied,“Iamabitcurious,yes.”

“I imagineyou are.Yes. I imagineyou are.Well, it is a secret,”Marsh said, leaningclosetoJohnson’sfaceandhissingthewords.“Doyouunderstandme?Asecret.Anditwill remain a secret, known only tome, until we are on the train headedwest. Is thatcompletelyunderstood?”

Johnsonbackedawayunderthevehemenceofthewords.“Yes,Professor.”

“Good.Ifyourfamilydesirestoknowyourdestination,tellthemColorado.Itisn’ttrue,forwewon’t go toColorado this year, but that doesn’tmatter becauseyou’ll beout oftouchanyway,andColoradoisadelightfulplacenottobe.Understood?”

“Yes,Professor.”

“Good. Now then, we depart June 14, from Grand Central Depot in New York.Returning no later than September 1 to the same station. See the museum secretarytomorrowandhewillgiveyoualistofprovisionsyouaretoprovide—inaddition,inyourcase, to your photographic equipment.Youwill allow supplies sufficient for a hundredphotographs.Anyquestions?”

“No,sir.No,Professor.”

“Then I will see you at the platform on June 14, Mr. Johnson.” They shook handsbriefly.Marsh’shandwasdampandcold.

“Thankyou,Professor.”Johnsonturnedandheadedtowardthedoor.

“Ah,ah,ah.Wheredoyouthinkyouaregoing?”

“Toleave.”

“Byyourself?”

“Icanfindmyway—”

“Noone, Johnson, is permitted unescortedmovement through this office. I amnot afool, Iknow thereare spieseager to lookat the latestdraftsofmypapers,or the latestbonestoemergefromtherock.MyassistantMr.Gallwillseeyouout.”Atthementionofhisname,athin,pinchedmaninalabcoatputdownhischiselandwalkedwithJohnsontothedoor.

“Ishealwayslikethis?”Johnsonwhispered.

“Lovelyweather,”Gallsaid,andsmiled.“Gooddaytoyou,sir.”

AndWilliamJohnsonwasbackoutonthestreet.

LearningPhotography

Johnsonwantednothingmorethantoescapethetermsofhiswagerandthisimpendingexpedition.Marshwasobviouslyalunaticofthefirstorder,andconceivablydangerousaswell.HefixedonhavinganothermealwithMarlin,andsomehowextricatinghimselffromthebet.

Yetthatevening,tohishorror,helearnedthatthewagerhadbecomenotorious.ItwasnowknownbroadlythroughouttheCollege,andallduringdinnerpeoplecametohistableto talk about it, to make some small comment or joke. Backing out now wasinconceivable.

Herealizedthenhewasdoomed.

ThefollowingdayhewenttotheshopofMr.CarltonLewis,alocalphotographer,whoofferedtwentylessonsinhiscraftfortheoutrageoussumoffiftydollars.Mr.Lewiswasamusedwiththisnewpupil;photographywasnotarichman’spursuit,butratherashiftybusiness for peoplewho lacked the capital to embark on amore prestigious livelihood.EvenMathewBrady,themostfamousphotographerofhisday,thechronicleroftheCivilWar, the man who photographed statesmen and presidents, had never been treated asanythingbutaservantbytheeminentsubjectswhosatforhim.

ButJohnsonwasadamant,andoveraperiodofweekshelearnedtheskillsbehindthismethodofrecording,introducedfromFrancefortyyearsearlierbythetelegrapherSamuelMorse.

Theprocess theninvoguewasthe“wetplate”photographic technique; inadarkenedroomor tent, freshchemicalsweremixedonthespot,andsheetsofglasscoatedwithasticky, light-sensitive emulsion. The newly made wet plates were then rushed to thecamera and exposed to the scene while still wet. Considerable skill was required toprepare an evenly coated plate, and then to expose it before the plate dried; laterdevelopmentwaseasybycomparison.

Johnsonlearnedwithdifficulty.Hecouldnotcarryoutthestepsfastenough,withtheeasyrhythmsofhisteacher;hisearlyemulsionsweretoothickortoothin,toowetortoodry; his plates hadbubbles anddrippeddensities thatmadehis pictures amateurish.Hehated the confined tent, the darkness, and the smelly chemicals that irritated his eyes,stainedhisfingers,andburnedhisclothes.Mostofallhehatedthefactthathecouldn’tmasterthecrafteasily.AndhehatedMr.Lewis,whotendedtophilosophize.

“You expect everything to be easy because you are rich,” Lewis would chuckle,watching him fumble and swear. “But the plate doesn’t care how rich you are. Thechemicalsdon’tcarehowrichyouare.Thelensdoesn’tcarehowrichyouare.Youmustfirstlearnpatience,ifyouwishtolearnanythingatall.”

“Damn you,” Johnsonwould say, irritated. Themanwas nothing but an uneducatedshopkeeperputtingonairs.

“Iamnot theproblem,”Lewiswouldreply, takingnooffense.“Youare theproblem.Nowcome:tryagain.”

Johnsongroundhisteethandsworeunderhisbreath.

But as the weeks passed, he did improve. By late April his plates were uniform indensity, and he was working swiftly enough tomake good exposures. His plates werecrispandsharp,andhewaspleasedasheshowedthemtohisteacher.

“Whatareyoupleasedabout?”Mr.Lewisasked.“Thesepicturesarewretched.”

“Wretched?Theyareperfect.”

“Theyaretechnicallyperfect,”Lewissaid,shrugging.“Itmeansmerelythatyouknowenoughtobegintolearnaboutphotography.Ibelievethatiswhyyoucametomeinthefirstplace.”

Lewistaughthimnowthedetailsofexposure,thevagariesoff-stop,focallength,depthof field. Johnsondespaired, for therewas somuchmore to learn:“Shootportraitswideopenwithshortexposures,becausethewide-openlenshasasoftqualitythatflattersthesubject.” And again, “Shoot landscapes stopped down with long exposures, becausepeoplewish to see a landscape sharp both close and at a distance.”He learned to varycontrastbychangingexposureandsubsequentdevelopmenttime.Helearnedtopositionhis subjects in the light, to change the compositionof his emulsions onbright anddulldays.Johnsonworkedhardandkeptdetailednotesinhisjournal—butalsocomplaints.

“Idespisethislittleman,”observesonecharacteristicentry,“andyetIdesperatelywanttohearhimsaywhathewillnot:thatIhavelearnedthisskill.”Yeteveninhiscomplaintonenoticesachangefromthehaughtyyoungmanwhoafewmonthsearliercouldnotbebotheredtolearntosail.Hewantedtoexcelathistask.

In earlyMay,Lewisheld aplateup to the light, then inspected itwith amagnifyingglass.Hefinally turnedtoJohnson.“Thiswork isalmostacceptable,”heallowed.“Youhavedonewell.”

Johnsonwas elated. Inhis journal hewrote: “Almost acceptable!Almost acceptable!Nothingsaidtomewaseversosweettomyears!”

Other aspects of Johnson’s demeanorwere changing aswell: despite himself hewasbeginningtolookforwardtothetrip.

I still regard three months in the West in much the same way I would three months forcedattendanceattheGermanOpera.ButIhavetoadmitapleasurable,growingexcitementasthefateful departure approaches. I have acquired everything on the list of theMuseumSecretary,includingaBowieknife,aSmith&Wessonsix-shotrevolver,a .50caliberrifle,sturdycavalryboots,andageologist’shammer.Witheachpurchase,myexcitementgrows.Ihavemasteredmy

photographic techniques passably well; I have acquired the eighty pounds of chemicals andequipment,andthehundredglassplates;Iam,inshort,readytogo.

Onlyonemajorobstaclenowstandsbetweenmeanddeparture:my family. Imust return toPhiladelphia,andtellthem.

Philadelphia

Philadelphia was the busiest city in America that May, nearly bursting with the vastcrowds that flocked to attend the Centennial Exposition of 1876. The excitement thatsurrounded this celebration of the nation’s hundredth anniversary was nearly palpable.Wandering thesoaringexhibitionhalls, Johnsonsaw thewonders thatastonishedall theworld—thegreatCorlisssteamengine,theexhibitsofplantandagriculturefromthestatesandterritoriesofAmerica,andthenewinventionsthatwerealltherage.

Theprospectofharnessing thepowerofelectricitywas thenewestsubject: therewaseven talk of making electrical light, to illuminate city streets at night; everyone saidEdison would have a solution within a year. Meanwhile there were other electricalwonderstopuzzleover,particularlythecuriousdeviceofthetele-phone.

Everyonewho attended the exposition saw this oddity, although few considered it ofanyvalue. Johnsonwas among themajoritywhenhe noted in his journal, “We alreadyhavethetelegraph,providingcommunicationsforallwhodesireit.Theaddedvirtuesofvoice communication at a distance are unclear. Perhaps in the future, some peoplewillwishtohearthevoiceofanotherfaraway,buttherecannotbemany.Formyself,IthinkMr.Bell’stele-phoneisadoomedcuriositywithnorealpurpose.”

Despite the splendidbuildings andenormouscrowds, allwasnot entirelywell in thenation.Thiswasanelectionyear,withmuchtalkofpolitics.PresidentUlyssesS.Granthad opened the Centennial Exposition, but the little general was no longer popular;scandal and corruption characterized his administration, and the excesses of financialspeculatorshadfinallyplunged thenation intooneof themostseveredepressions in itshistory. Thousands of investors had been ruined onWall Street;Western farmers weredestroyed by the sharp decline in prices, as well as by harsh winters and plagues ofgrasshoppers;theresurgentIndianWarsintheMontana,Dakota,andWyomingTerritoriesprovided an unsavory aspect, at least to the Eastern press, and both Democratic andRepublicanpartiespromisedinthisyear’scampaigntofocusonreform.

Buttoayoungman,particularlyarichone,allthisnews—bothgoodandbad—merelyformedanexcitingbackdropontheeveofhisgreatadventure.“Irelishedthewondersofthis Exposition,” Johnson wrote, “but in truth I found it wearingly civilized. My eyeslooked to the future, and to theGreat Plains thatwould soon bemy destination. Ifmyfamilyagreedtoletmego.”

The Johnsons resided in one of the ornate mansions that fronted Philadelphia’sRittenhouseSquare. Itwas theonlyhomeWilliamhadeverknown—lavish furnishings,mannered elegance, and servants behind every door. He decided to tell his family onemorningatbreakfast.Inretrospect,hefoundtheirreactionsabsolutelypredictable.

“Oh,darling!Whyeverwouldyouwanttogooutthere?”askedhismother,butteringhertoast.

“Ithinkit’sacapitalidea,”saidhisfather.“Excellent.”

“Butdoyouthinkit’swise,William?”askedhismother.“There’sallthattroublewiththeIndians,youknow.”

“It’s good that he’s going,maybe they’ll scalphim,” announcedhis younger brother,Edward, who was fourteen. He said things like that all the time and no one paid anyattention.

“Idon’tunderstandtheappeal,”hismothersaidagain,anedgeofworryinhervoice.“Why do youwant to go? It doesn’tmake any sense.Why not go to Europe instead?Someplaceculturallystimulatingandsafe.”

“I’msurehe’llbesafe,”hisfathersaid.“OnlytodaytheInquirerreportsontheSiouxuprising in theDakotas. They’ve sent Custer himself to put it down. He’llmake shortworkofthem.”

“Ihatetothinkofyoueaten,”saidhismother.

“Scalped,Mother,”Edward corrected her. “They cut off all the hair right around thehead, after they club you to death, of course. Except sometimes you’re not completelydeadandyoucanfeeltheknifecuttingofftheskinandhairrightdowntotheeyebrows—”

“Notatbreakfast,Edward.”

“You’redisgusting,Edward,”saidhissister,Eliza,whowasten.“Youmakemepuke.”

“Eliza!”

“Well,hedoes,Mother.Heisarevoltingcreature.”

“WhereexactlywillyougowithProfessorMarsh,son?”hisfatherasked.

“ToColorado.”

“Isn’tthatneartheDakotas?”askedhismother.

“Notvery.”

“Oh,Mother,don’tyouknowanything?”saidEdward.

“ArethereIndiansinColorado?”

“ThereareIndianseverywhere,Mother.”

“Iwasn’taskingyou,Edward.”

“IbelievenohostileIndiansresideinColorado,”hisfathersaid.“Theysayit’salovelyplace.Verydry.”

“They say it’s a desert,” said hismother. “And dreadfully inhospitable.What sort ofhotelwillyoustayin?”

“We’llbecamping,mostly.”

“Good,”hisfathersaid.“Plentyoffreshairandexertion.Invigorating.”

“You sleep on the ground with all the snakes and animals and insects? It soundshorrific,”hismothersaid.

“Summerintheout-of-doors,goodforayoungman,”hisfathersaid.“Afterall,manysicklyboysgoforthe‘campcure’nowadays.”

“I suppose . . .” said hismother. “ButWilliam isn’t sickly.Whydo youwant to go,William?”

“Ithinkit’stimeImadesomethingofmyself,”Williamtoldher,surprisedbyhisownhonesty.

“Wellsaid!”saidhisfather,poundingthetable.

In the end his mother gave her consent, although she continued to look genuinelyworried. He thought she was beingmaternal and foolish; the fears she expressed onlymadehimfeelallthemorepuffed-up,brave,anddeterminedtogo.

He might have felt differently, had he known that by late summer, she would beinformedthatherfirstbornsonwasdead.

“ReadytoDigforYale?”

The train left at eight o’clock in the evening from the cavernous interior of theGrandCentralDepotinNewYork.Findinghiswaythroughthestation,Johnsonpassedseveralattractiveyoungwomenaccompaniedbytheirfamilies,butcouldnotquitebringhimselfto meet their curious eyes. Meanwhile, he told himself, he needed to find his party.Altogether,twelveYalestudentswouldaccompanyProfessorMarshandhisstaffoftwo,Mr.GallandMr.Bellows.

Marshwasthereearly,walkingdownthelineofcars,greetingeveryonethesameway:“Hello,young fellow, ready todig forYale?”Ordinarily taciturn and suspicious,Marshwas here outgoing and friendly. Marsh had handpicked his students from sociallyprominentandwealthyfamilies,andthesefamilieshadcometoseetheirboysoff.

Marshwaswellawarethathewasservingasatourguidetothescionsoftherich,whomight later be properly grateful for his part in turning their young boys into men. Heunderstood further that since many prominent ministers and theologians explicitlydenouncedungodlypaleontological research, all researchmoney inhis field came fromprivatepatrons,amongthemhisfinancieruncle,GeorgePeabody.HereinNewYork,thenewAmericanMuseum of Natural History in Central Park had just been chartered byotherself-mademensuchasAndrewCarnegie,J.PierpontMorgan,andMarshallField.

Foraseagerlyasreligiousmensoughttodiscreditthedoctrineofevolution,sowealthymensought topromote it. In theprincipleof the survivalof the fittest they sawanew,scientificjustificationfortheirownrisetoprominence,andtheirownoftenunscrupulousway of life. After all, no less an authority than the great Charles Lyell, friend andforerunnerofCharlesDarwin,hadinsistedagainandagain,“Intheuniversalstruggleforexistence,therightofthestrongesteventuallyprevails.”

HereMarshfoundhimselfsurroundedbythechildrenofthestrongest.MarshprivatelymaintainedtoBellowsthat“theNewYorksend-offisthemostproductivepartofthefieldtrip,”andhisthinkingwasfirmlyinmindwhenhegreetedJohnsonwithhisusual“Hello,youngman,readytodigforYale?”

Johnson was surrounded by a cluster of porters who loaded his bulky photographicequipmentaboard.Marshlookedabout,thenfrowned.“Whereisyourfamily?”

“InPhiladelphia,si—Professor.”

“Yourfatherdidnotcometoseeyouoff?”MarshrecalledthatJohnson’sfatherwasinshipping.Marshdidnotknowmuchaboutshipping,butitwasundoubtedlylucrativeandfullofsharppractices.Fortunesweremadedailyinshipping.

“MyfathersawmeoffinPhiladelphia.”

“Really?Mostfamilieswishtomeetmepersonally,togetasenseoftheexpedition...”

“Yes, I amsure,butyou see, they felt to comeherewould strain—mymother—whodoesnotcompletelyapprove.”

“Yourmother does not approve?”Marsh could not conceal the distress in his voice.“Doesnotapproveofwhat?Surelynotofme...”

“Ohno. It’s theIndians,Professor.Shedisapprovesofmygoingwest,becauseshe isafraidoftheIndians.”

Marshhuffed.“Sheobviouslyknowsnothingofmybackground.Iamwidelyrespectedastheintimatefriendoftheredman.We’llhavenotroublewithIndians,Ipromiseyou.”

ButthesituationwasaltogetherunsatisfactoryforMarsh,wholatermutteredtoBellowsthat Johnson “looks older than the others,” and hinted darkly that “perhaps he is not astudentatall.Andhisfatherisinshipping.Ithinknothingmoreneedbesaid.”

Thewhistleblew,therewerefinalkissesandwavesforthestudents,andthetrainpulledoutofthestation.

Marsh had arranged for them to travel in a private car, provided by none other thanCommodore Vanderbilt himself, now a whitened eighty-two-year-old tucked into hissickbed.ItwasthefirstofmanyagreeablecomfortsthatMarshhadarrangedforthetripthroughhisextensiveconnectionswiththearmy,thegovernment,andcaptainsofindustrysuchasVanderbilt.

In his prime, the crustyCommodore, a hulking figure in a fur coatwornwinter andsummer, had been admired by allNewYork.With ruthless and aggressive instincts, aswell as a sharply profane tongue, this uneducated Staten Island Ferry boy, the son ofDutchpeasants,hadcometocontrolshippinglinesfromNewYorktoSanFrancisco;laterhetookaninterestinrailroads,extendinghismightyNewYorkCentralfromtheheartofNewYorkallthewaytoburgeoningChicago.Hewasalwaysgoodcopy,evenindefeat;when thesecretiveJayGouldbestedhimforcontrolof theErie railway,heannounced,“ThisEriewarhastaughtmethatitneverpaystokickaskunk.”Andonanotheroccasion,hiscomplainttohislawyers—“WhatdoIcareforthelaw?HaintIgotthepower?”—hadmadehimalegend.

In later years Vanderbilt became increasingly eccentric, given to fraternizing withclairvoyants and mesmerists, communing with the dead, often on pressing businessmatters;andthoughhepatronizedoutrageousfeministssuchasVictoriaWoodhull,hestillchasedgirlsaquarterofhisage.

Some days before, New York newspaper headlines had proclaimed “VANDERBILTDYING!,”which had roused the oldman out of bed to bellow at reporters: “I am not

dying!Even if Iwasdying I shouldhavevigor enough toknock this abusedownyourlying throats!” At least, this was what the journalists reported, though everyone inAmericaknewtheCommodore’slanguagewasconsiderablysaltier.Vanderbilt’s railway car was the last word in elegance and modernity; there were

Tiffanylamps,chinaandcrystalservice,aswellastheclevernewsleeperbedsinventedbyGeorgePullman.Bynow,Johnsonhadmettheotherstudents,andnotedinhisjournaltheywere“abit tediousand spoiled,but all in all, anadventure-seeking lot.Yetweallshareacommonfear—ofProfessorMarsh.”

Itwasclear,seeingMarshstridecommandinglyabouttherailwaycar,nowsinkingintothe plush banquette seats to smoke a cigar, now snapping his fingers for the servant tobringhiman iceddrink, that he imaginedhimself as suited to these surroundings.Andindeed, the newspapers sometimes referred to him as the “Baron of Bones,” just asCarnegiewastheBaronofSteel,andRockefellertheBaronofOil.

Liketheseothergreatfigures,Marshwasself-made.ThesonofaNewYorkfarmer,hehadearlyshownaninterest infossilsandlearning.Despitetheridiculeofhisfamily,hehadattendedPhillipsAcademyAndover,graduatingat theageof twenty-ninewithhighhonorsandthenickname“DaddyMarsh.”FromAndoverhewenttoYale,andfromYaleto England to plead support from his philanthropic uncle, George Peabody. His uncleadmiredlearninginallforms,andwaspleasedtoseeamemberofhisfamilytakingupanacademiclife.HegaveOthnielMarshthefundstostartthePeabodyMuseumatYale.TheonlycatchwasthatPeabodylatergaveasimilarsumtoHarvard,tostartanotherPeabodyMuseum there. This was because Marsh espoused Darwinism, and George Peabodydisapprovedof such irreligious sentiments.Harvardwas thehomeofLouisAgassiz, aneminentzoologyprofessorwhoopposedDarwin’sideas,andwasthusastrongholdoftheanti-evolutionists—Harvard would provide a useful corrective to the excesses of hisnephew,Peabodyfelt.AllthisJohnsonlearnedinwhisperedconversationintherockingPullmanbunksthatnight,beforetheexcitedstudentsdroppedofftosleep.

Bymorning theywere inRochester, bymidday inBuffalo,waiting expectantly for alook at Niagara Falls. Unfortunately, their one glimpse, from a bridge some distancedownstream, was anticlimactic. But their disappointment quickly vanished when theywere informed thatProfessorMarshexpected tosee themall inhisprivatestateroomatonce.

Marshpeeredupanddown thehallway,closed thedoor,and locked it from the inside.Thoughtheafternoonwaswarm,heclosedall thewindowsand locked them, too.Onlythendidheturntothetwelvewaitingstudents.

“Youhaveundoubtedlywonderedwherewearegoing,”hesaid.“Butitistooearlytoinform you yet; I will tell you after Chicago. In themeantime, I caution you to avoidcontactwithstrangers,andtosaynothingofourplans.Hehasspieseverywhere.”

Tentatively,onestudentsaid,“Whodoes?”

“Cope,ofcourse!”Marshsnapped.

Hearingthisunfamiliarname,thestudentslookedblanklyateachother,butMarshdidnotnotice;hewasoffonatirade.“Gentlemen,Icannotwarnyouagainsthimtoostrongly.ProfessorEdwardDrinkerCopemaypretendtobeascientist,butinfactheislittlebetterthanacommonthiefandkeyhole-peeper.Ihaveneverknownhimtoobtainbyfairlaborwhathecouldstealinstead.Themanisadespicableliarandsneak.Beonyourguard.”

Marshwaspuffing,asifexerted.Heglaredaroundtheroom.“Anyquestions?”

Therewerenone.

“All right,”Marsh said. “Imerelywant the record straight.Youwill hearmore afterChicago.Meantime,keeptoyourselves.”

Bewildered,thestudentsfiledoutofthecompartment.

One young man named Winslow knew who Cope was. “He is another professor ofpaleontology, IbelieveatHaverfordCollege inPennsylvania.HeandMarshwereoncefriends,butarenowthemoststeadfastenemies.AsIheardit,Copetriedtostealcreditfortheprofessor’sfirstfossildiscoveries,andtherehasbeenbadfeelingbetweenthemeversince.AndCopeapparentlypursuedawomanMarshwantedtomarry,anddiscreditedher,oratleastsulliedherreputation.Cope’sfatherwasawealthyQuakermerchant,lefthimmillions, I was told. So Cope does as he pleases. It seems he is a bit of a rogue andcharlatan.There’snoendofslytrickshewillpulltostealfromMarshwhatisrightfullyhis.That’swhyMarshissosuspicious—heiseveronthewatchforCopeandhisagents.”

“Iknewnothingofthis,”Johnsonsaid.

“Well,youknownow,”Winslowresponded.Hestaredoutthewindowatrollinggreencornfields.The trainhad leftNewYorkState,passed throughPennsylvania, andwas inOhio.“Speakingformyself,”hesaid,“Idon’tknowwhyyouareonthisexpedition.I’dnevergoexceptmyfamilymademe.MyfatherinsiststhatasummerintheWestwill‘puthaironmychest.’”Heshookhisheadinwonder.“God.AllIcanthinkofis,threemonthsofbadfoodandbadwaterandbadinsects.Andnogirls.Nofun.God.”

StillcuriousaboutCope,JohnsonaskedMarsh’sassistantBellows,apinch-facedzoologyinstructor.Bellowsimmediatelybecamesuspicious.“Whydoyouask?”

“Iamsimplycurious.”

“Butwhydoyou,particularly,ask?Noneoftheotherstudentshaveasked.”

“Perhapstheyarenotinterested.”

“Perhapstheyhavenoreasontobeinterested.”

“Thatamountstothesamething,”Johnsonsaid.

“Doesit?”Bellowsasked,withameaningfullook.“Iaskyou,doesitreally?”

“Well,Ithinkso,”Johnsonsaid,“althoughI’mnotsure,theconversationhasbecomesoconvoluted.”

“Don’tpatronizeme,youngman,”Bellowssaid.“YoumaythinkIamafool—youmaythinkweareallfools—butIassureyouwearenot.”

Andhewalkedoff,leavingJohnsonmorecuriousthanever.

Marsh’sdiaryentry:

BellowsreportsstudentW.J.hasaskedaboutCope!Theaudacity, thenerve!Hemust thinkwearefools!Amveryangry!Angry!Angry!!!!

OursuspicionsaboutW.J.obviouslyconfirmed.Phila.background—theshippingbackground,etc.—Onlytooclear.WillspeakwithW.J. tomorrow,andset thestagefor laterdevelopments.Iwillseethatthisyoungmancausesusnotrouble.

ThefarmlandsofIndianaracedpastthewindow,mileaftermile,hourafterhour,lullingJohnsontoasenseofmonotony.Withhischinproppedonhishand,hewasdriftingofftosleepwhenMarshsaid,“WhatexactlydoyouknowaboutCope?”

Johnsonsatupabruptly.“Nothing,Professor.”

“Well,I’lltellyousomethingsthatperhapsyoudon’tknow.Hekilledhisownfathertogethisinheritance.Didyouknowthat?”

“No,Professor.”

“Not sixmonths ago, hekilledhim.Andhe cheats onhiswife, an invalidedwomanwhohasneverharmedhimintheleastway—worshipshim,infact,that’showdeludedthepoorcreatureis.”

“Hesoundsacompletecriminal.”

Marshshothimalook.“Youdon’tbelieveme?”

“Ibelieveyou,Professor.”

“Also,personalhygiene isnothis strongpoint.Theman isodiferousandunsanitary.ButI’venowishtobepersonal.”

“No,Professor.”

“Thefactisheisunscrupulousanduntrustworthyintheextreme.Therewasalandgrabandmineralrightsscandal.That’swhyhewaskickedoutoftheGeologicalSurvey.”

“HewaskickedoutoftheGeologicalSurvey?”

“Yearsago.Youdon’tbelieveme?”

“Ibelieveyou,Professor.”

“Well,youdon’tlooklikeyoubelieveme.”

“Ibelieveyou,”Johnsoninsisted.“Ibelieveyou.”

Therewas a silence.The train clattered on.Marsh cleared his throat. “DoyouknowProfessorCope,byanychance?”

“No,Idon’t.”

“Ithoughtperhapsyoudid.”

“No,Professor.”

“Ifyoudidknowhim,youwould feelbetter ifyou toldmeallabout itnow,”Marshsaid.“Insteadofwaiting.”

“IfIdid,Professor,”Johnsonsaid,“Iwould.ButIdonotknowtheman.”

“Yes,”Marshsaid,studyingJohnson’sface.“Hmmm.”

Laterthatday,Johnsonmetapainfullythinyoungmanmakingnotesinasmallleather-boundbook.HewasfromScotlandandsaidhisnamewasLouisStevenson.

“Howfarareyougoing?”Johnsonasked.

“All the way to the end. California,” Stevenson said, lighting another cigarette. Hesmoked continually; his long, delicate fingers were stained dark brown. He coughed agreatdeal,andingeneraldidnotlooklikethesortofrobustpersonwhoseeksajourneywest,andJohnsonaskedhimwhyhewasdoingso.

“Iaminlove,”Stevensonsaidsimply.“SheisinCalifornia.”

Andthenhemademorenotes,andseemedtoforgetJohnsonforatime.Johnsonwentoffinsearchofmorecongenialcompany,andcameacrossMarsh.

“Thatyoungmanthere,”Marshsaid,noddingacrossthecarriage.

“Whatabouthim?”

“Youweretalkingtohim.”

“HisnameisStevenson.”

“Idon’ttrustamanwhomakesnotes,”Marshsaid.“Whatdidyoutalkabout?”

“He’sfromScotlandandheisgoingtoCaliforniatofindawomanheisinlovewith.”

“Howromantic.Anddidheaskyouwhereyouweregoing?”

“No,hewasn’ttheleastinterested.”

Marshsquintedathim.“Sohesays.”

“IhavemadeinquiriesaboutthatStevensonfellow,”Marshannouncedtothegrouplater.“He’s from Scotland, on his way to California to find a woman. His health is poor.Apparentlyhefancieshimselfawriter,that’swhyhemakesallthosenotes.”

Johnsonsaidnothing.

“Just thought youwould be interested to know,”Marsh said. “Personally, I think hesmokestoomuch.”

Marshlookedoutthewindow.“Ah,thelake,”hesaid.“WewillsoonbeinChicago.”

Chicago

Chicagowasthefastest-growingcityintheworld,bothinpopulationandincommercialimportance. From a prairie village of four thousand in 1840, it had exploded into ametropolis ofhalf amillion, andwasnowdoubling in size every fiveyears.Knownas“Slabtown”and“TheMudHoleofthePrairie,”thecitynowextendedacrossthirty-fivesquare miles along Lake Michigan, and boasted paved streets and sidewalks, broadthoroughfares with streetcars, elegant mansions, fine shops, hotels, art galleries, andtheaters.Andthisdespitethefactthatmostofthecityhadbeenrazedinaterriblefirejustfiveyearsbefore.

Chicago’s success owed nothing to climate and locale; the shores of LakeMichiganwereswampy;mostoftheearlybuildingshadsunkintothemuduntiltheywerejackedupby the brilliant young Chicago engineer George Pullman. Water was so polluted thatvisitorsoftenfoundsmallfishintheirdrinkingwater—therewereevenminnowsindairymilk.Andtheweatherwasabhorrent:hotinsummer,brutallycoldinwinter,andwindyinallseasons.

Chicagooweditssuccesstoitsgeographicalpositionintheheartlandofthecountry,toitsimportanceasarailandshippingcenter,andmostparticularlytoitspreeminenceinthehandlingofprodigioustonnagesofbeefandpork.

“I like to turn bristles, blood, and the inside and outside of pigs and bullocks intorevenue,” said Philip Armour, one of the founders of the gigantic Chicago stockyards.Alongwith fellowmeatpackingmagnateGustavusSwift,Armour ruledan industry thatdispatchedamillionheadofcattleandfourmillionpigseachyear—andwhichemployedone-sixth of the population of the city.With their centralized distribution, mechanizedslaughter,andrefrigeratedrailroadcars,thebaronsofChicagowerecreatingawholenewindustry—foodprocessing.

TheChicago stockyardswere the largest in theworld, andmanyvisitorswent to seethem.Oneof theYale studentswas thenephewofSwift, and theywentoff to tour theyards,whichJohnsonregardedasadubioustouristattraction.ButMarshwasnotstoppinginChicagofortourism.Hewasthereonbusiness.

From themagnificent Lake ShoreRailroadDepot, he took his charges to the nearbyGrandPacificHotel.Herethestudentswereawedbyoneofthelargestandmosteleganthotelsintheworld.Aseverywhere,Marshhadarrangedspecialaccommodationsforhis

party,andtherewerenewspapermenwaitingtointerviewhim.

OthnielMarshwas alwaysgoodcopy.Theyearbefore, in1875,hehaduncovered ascandalintheIndianBureau,wherebybureauofficerswerenotdispensingfoodandfundsto the reservations,butwere insteadkeeping theproceeds for themselves,while Indiansliterally starved.Marshhadbeen informedof thisbyRedCloudhimself, the legendarySioux chief, and had revealed the evidence in Washington, severely embarrassing theGrantpresidencyintheeyesoftheliberalEasternestablishment.MarshwasagoodfriendofRedCloud,andthusreporterswantedtotalktohimabouttheSiouxWarsnowraging.“It is a terrible conflict,” Marsh said, “but there are no easy answers to the Indianquestion.”

Then,too,ChicagoreportersnevertiredofrepeatingthestoryofMarsh’searliestpublicexploit,theaffairoftheCardiffgiant.

In1869,thefossilizedskeletonofaten-footgiantwasunearthedinCardiff,NewYork,andquicklybecameanationalphenomenon.ItwasgenerallyagreedthatthegiantwasoneofaraceofmenwhohadbeendrownedinNoah’sflood;GordonBennettoftheNewYorkHeraldandanumberofscholarshadpronounceditgenuine.

Marsh,inhiscapacityasthenewpaleontologyprofessorfromYale,wenttoviewthefossilandsaid,withinearshotofareporter,“Veryremarkable.”

“MayIquoteyou?”saidthereporter.

“Yes,”saidMarsh.“Youmayquotemeassaying,‘Averyremarkablefake.’”

Itwaslaterdeterminedthattheso-calledgiantoriginatedasablockofgypsum,carvedsecretly in Chicago. But the incident brought national attention toMarsh—and he hadbeentalkingtoreporterseversince.

“AndwhatbringsyoutoChicagonow?”onereporterasked.

“Iamonmywaywest,tofindmorebones,”Marshsaid.

“AndwillyoubeseeingbonesinChicago?”

Marshlaughed.“No,”hesaid,“inChicagowewillseeGeneralSheridan,toarrangeourarmyliaison.”

Marsh took Johnson with him, because he wanted to be photographed with GeneralSheridan.

Little Phil Sheridanwas a compact, energeticman of forty-five,with a fondness forplugtobaccoandtartexpression.HehadassembledthearmystaffnowwagingtheIndianWar—GeneralsCrook,Terry,andCuster,allofwhomwere in thefield,huntingout theSioux.SheridanwasparticularlyfondofArmstrongCuster,andhadriskedthedisapprovalofPresidentGrantbyorderingCusterback into service alongwithGeneralsCrookandTerryintheIndianWars.

“It’snoeasycampaign,”Sheridansaid.“AndweneedamanwithCuster’sdash.TheIndiansarebeingdrivenfromtheirhomes,whetherwecaretoseeitthatwayornot,and

they’ll fight us like devils.And the fact that the Indian agency supplies ’emwithgoodriflesdoesn’thelp,either.ThemainconflictpromisestobeinMontanaandWyoming.”“Wyoming,”Marshsaid.“Hmmm.Willtherebeproblemsforourgroup?”Hedidnot

seemtheleastperturbed,Johnsonnoticed.

“I can’t seewhy,” Sheridan said, spittingwith remarkable accuracy at ametal basinacross the room. “So long as you stay out of Wyoming and Montana, you’ll be safeenough.”

Marsh posed for a photograph, standing rigidly beside General Sheridan. He thenobtainedlettersofintroductiontothethreegenerals,andtothepostcommandersatFortLaramie and Cheyenne. Two hours later, they were back at the train station, ready tocontinuewestward.

Atthedeparturegate,arough-lookingman,verytall,withapeculiarslantingscaronhischeek,saidtoJohnson,“Howfarareyougoing?”

“I’m on my way to Wyoming.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, herememberedheshouldhavesaidColoradoinstead.

“Wyoming!Goodlucktoyouthen,”themansaid,andturnedaway.

MarshwasbesideJohnsonamomentlater.“Whowasthat?”

“I’venoidea.”

“Whatdidhewant?”

“HeaskedhowfarIwasgoing.”

“Didhe?Andwhatdidyousay?”

“Wyoming.”

Marshfrowned.“Didhebelieveyou?”

“I’venoidea.”

“Didheseemtobelieveyou?”

“Yes,Professor.Ithinkso.”

“Youthinkso?”

“Iamfairlysure,Professor.”

Marshstaredoffinthedirectionofthedepartedman.Thestationwasstillcrowdedandbusy.Theechoingdinwasloud,piercedbydeparturewhistles.

“Ihavealreadywarnedyouabouttalkingtostrangers,”hesaidfinally.“Themanyouspoke to was Cope’s favorite foreman, Navy Joe Benedict. A brutal thug of a humanspecimen.ButifyoutoldhimweweregoingtoWyoming,thatisallright.”

“YoumeanwearenotgoingtoWyoming?”

“No,”Marshsaid.“WearegoingtoColorado.”

“Colorado!”

“Ofcourse,”Marshsaid.“ColoradoisthebestsourceofbonesintheWest,thoughyoucan’texpectafoollikeCopetoknowit.”

GoingWest

TheChicagoandNorthWesternRailwaycarriedthemacrosstheMississippiatClinton,Iowa, over a twelve-span iron bridge nearly amile long. The students were excited tocross the largest river inAmerica, but once its greatmuddy expansewas behind them,their lethargyreturned. Iowawasaregionofrollingfarmlands,withfewlandmarksandpointsofinterest.Dryheatblewinthroughthewindows,alongwithanoccasionalinsectorbutterfly.Adreary,perspiringtediumsettledovertheparty.

Johnson hoped to glimpse Indians, but saw none. A passenger beside him laughed.“Therehaven’tbeen Indianshere for fortyyears, since theBlackHawkWar.YouwantIndians,youhavetogowest.”

“Isn’tthistheWest?”Johnsonasked.

“Notyet.’CrosstheMissouri.”

“WhendowecrosstheMissouri?”

“OthersideofCedarRapids.Halfadayon.”

But already the open prairie, and the fact of having crossed theMississippi, had aneffectonpassengers.Ateachstationandrefuelingstop,menwouldstepontotheplatformandfiretheirpistolsatprairiedogsandprairiefowl.Thebirdswouldgoscreechingintotheair;thelittlerodentswoulddiveforcover,chattering.Nobodyeverhitanything.

“Yep,”saidonepassenger.“They’refeelingthewide-openspacesnow.”

Johnson found the wide-open spaces extraordinarily tedious. The students amusedthemselvesasbest theycouldwithcardsanddominoes,but itwasa losingbattle.Forawhile,theywouldgetoutateachstationandwalkaround,buteventuallyeventhestationsbecamemonotonouslythesame,andtheyusuallyremainedinside.

AtCedarRapids, the train stopped for twohours, and Johnsondecided to stretchhislegs.Roundingthecornerofthetinystation,whichstoodattheedgeofwheatfields,hesawMarsh talking quietly to the scarredman—Cope’sman,Navy Joe Benedict. Theirmannerseemedfamiliar.Afteratime,MarshreachedinhispocketandhandedsomethingtoBenedict; Johnson saw a flash of gold in the sunlight.He ducked behind the cornerbeforebeingspottedandhurriedbacktothetrain.

Whenthetrainresumed,Johnson’sperplexityincreasedasMarshimmediatelycametositbesidehim.

“IwonderwhereCopewillgothissummer?”Marshsaid,asifthinkingaloud.

Johnsonsaidnothing.

“IwonderwhereCopewillgo?”Marshsaidagain.

“Verygoodquestion,”Johnsonsaid.

“Idoubtthathe,likeus,isgoingtoColorado.”

“Iwouldn’tknow.”Johnsonwasbeginningtotireofthisgame,andallowedhimselftostaredirectlyintoMarsh’seyes,holdinghisgaze.

“Ofcoursenot,”Marshsaidquickly.“Ofcoursenot.”

They crossed the Missouri in early evening at Council Bluffs, the terminus for theChicago andNorthWesternRailway.Across the bridge, on theOmaha side, theUnionPacificRailroadtookoverandcontinuedallthewaytoSanFrancisco.TheUnionPacificdepotwasagreatopenshed,anditwaspackedwithtravelersoftherudestsort.Herewereruggedmen,paintedwomen,borderruffians,pickpockets,soldiers,cryingchildren,foodvendors, barking dogs, thieves, grandparents, gunfighters—a great confused mass ofhumanity,allfairlyglowingwiththefeverofspeculation.

“BlackHillers,”Marsh explained. “Theyoutfit here before they go toCheyenne andFortLaramie,andfromtheretravelnorthwardtotheBlackHillsinsearchforgold.”

Thestudents,impatientforatasteofthe“realWest,”weredelighted,andimaginedthatthey,too,hadbecomemorerealthemselves.

But despite the fevered excitement, Johnson found the sight sad. In his journal herecorded,“Thehopesofhumanityforwealthand fame,orat least forcreaturecomfort,candeludethemsoeasily!Forsurelyonlyahandfulofthepeopleherewillfindwhattheyareseeking.Andtherestwillmeetwithdisappointment,hardship,sickness,andperhapsdeathfromstarvation, Indians,ormarauding robberswhopreyon thehopeful,questingpioneers.”

And he added the ironic note: “I am most heartily glad that I am not going to thedangerousanduncertainBlackHills.”

TheWest

Beyond Omaha the real West began, and aboard the train, everyone felt renewedexcitement,temperedbytheadviceofoldertravelers.No,theywouldnotseebuffalo—inthe sevenyears since the transcontinental rail linesopened, thebuffalohaddisappearedfromviewalongtherailside,andindeedthelegendarygreatherdsofanimalswerefastdisappearingaltogether.

Butthencametheelectrifyingcry:“Indians!”

Theyrantotheoppositesideofthecar,pressedtheirfacestotheglass.Theysawthreeteepees in thedistance, surroundedbyahalfdozenponies anddark silhouetted figures,standingandwatchingthetraingoby.ThentheIndiansweregone,vanishedbehindahill.

“Whattribearethose?”Johnsonasked.HewassittingnexttoMarsh’sassistantGall.

“Pawnee,probably,”Gallsaidindifferently.

“Aretheyhostile?”

“Canbe.”

Johnsonthoughtofhismother.“WillweseemoreIndians?”

“Ohyes,”Gallsaid.“Lotsof’emwherewe’regoing.”

“Really?”

“Yes,andprobablyriledup,too.There’sgoingtobeafull-onSiouxWarovertheBlackHills.”

ThefederalgovernmenthadsignedatreatywiththeSiouxin1868,andaspartofthattreaty,theDakotaSiouxretainedexclusiverightstotheBlackHills,alandscapesacredtothem.“ThattreatywasunnecessarilyfavorabletotheSioux,”Gallsaid.“Thegovernmentevenagreedtoremoveallfortsandarmyoutpostsintheregion.”

Anditwasahugeregion,forin1868,theWyoming,Montana,andDakotaTerritoriesstillseemeddistantandunapproachablewilderness.NooneinWashingtonhadunderstoodhowquickly theWestwouldopenup.Yetoneyearafter the treatyhadbeensigned,thetranscontinental railroads began service, providing access in days to land that couldpreviouslybereachedonlybyweeksofdifficultoverlandtravel.

Even so, the Sioux landsmight have been respected had notCuster discovered gold

during a routine survey in theBlackHills in 1874.News of gold fields, coming in themidstofanationwiderecession,wasirresistible.

“Eveninthebesttimes,there’snowaytokeepmenfromgold,”Gallsaid.“Andthat’saplainfact.”

Althoughforbiddenbythegovernment,prospectorssneakedintothesacredBlackHills.The armymounted expeditions in ’74 and ’75 to chase them out, and the Sioux killedthem whenever they found them. But still the prospectors came, in ever increasingnumbers.

Believingthetreatyhadbeenbroken,theSiouxwentonthewarpath.InMayof1876,thegovernmentorderedthearmytoquelltheSiouxuprising.

“ThentheIndiansareintheright?”Johnsonasked.

Gallshrugged.“Youcan’tstopprogress,andthat’saplainfact.”

“WewillbeneartheBlackHills?”

Gallnodded.“Nearenough.”

Johnson’sunderstandingofgeography,alwaysvague,allowedhisimaginationfreerein.He stared out at the wide-stretching plains, which seemed suddenlymore desolate andunappealing.

“HowoftendoIndiansattackwhitepeople?”

“Well, they’re unpredictable,” Gall said. “Like wild animals, you never know whatthey’lldo,becausethey’resavages.”

WestofOmahathetrainclimbedsteadilyandimperceptiblyasitenteredthehighplainsleading to the Rocky Mountains. They saw more animals now—prairie dogs, theoccasional antelope, and coyotes loping in the distance near sunset. The towns becamesmaller, more desolate: Fremont, Kearney Junction, Alkali, Ogallala, Julesburg, andfinally thenotoriousSidney,where the conductorwarned the students not to get off “iftheyvaluedtheirlives.”

Ofcoursetheyallgotofftolook.

What they sawwas a line of wooden storefronts, a town composed, wrote Johnson,“almost entirely of outfitters, stables, and saloons, and doing a brisk commerce in allthree.Sidneywas the townnearest to theBlackHills, and itwas filledwith emigrants,mostofwhomfoundpricesoutrageouslyhigh.Thetown’sreputationformurderandcut-throatlifewasnotdemonstratedtous,butthenwehadonlystoppedanhour.”

Buttheywerenotlongdisappointed,becausetheUnionPacifictrainwasnowspeedingthemwestward to a stillmore notorious locus of vice and crime: Cheyenne,WyomingTerritory.

Travelersloadedtheirsix-shooterscomingintoCheyenne.AndtheconductortookMarsh

asidetorecommendthathispartyhireaguard,toseethemsafelythroughthetown.

“Suchpreliminaries,”wroteJohnson,“gaveusamostpleasurablenervousanticipation,for we imagined a lawless wild place which proved to be just that—a figment of ourimaginations.”

Cheyenneturnedouttobearatherorderlyandsettledplace,withmanybrickbuildingsamong those of wood-frame construction, but it was not entirely peaceful. Cheyenneboasted one schoolhouse, two theaters, five churches, and twenty gambling saloons. Acontemporary observer wrote that “gambling in Cheyenne, far from being merely anamusement or recreation, rises to the dignity of a legitimate occupation—the pursuit ofnine-tenthsofthepopulation,bothpermanentandtransient.”

Gamblinghallswereopenaroundtheclock,andprovidedthemajorsourceofrevenuetothetown.Someindicationofthebusinesstheydidcanbejudgedfromthefactthattheproprietorspaidthecityalicenseof$600peryearforeachtable,andeachsaloonhadsixtotwelvegreenbaizetablesgoingatonce.

The enthusiasm for gamblingwas not lost on the students, as they checked into theInter-Ocean Hotel in Cheyenne, where Marsh had previously arranged a special rate.Although the best hotel in town, it was, noted Johnson, “a cockroach-infested dump,wheretheratsscurryupanddownthewalls,squeakingatallhours.”Nevertheless,eachstudentwasgivenaprivate room,andafter soaking inhotbaths, theywere ready for anightonthetown.

ANightinCheyenne

Timid,theysetforthasagroup—twelveearnestyoungdown-Easters,stillwearingtheirhighcollarsandbowlerhats,strollingfromsaloontosaloonwithasmuchnonchalanceasthey could muster. For the town, which had appeared disappointingly tame by day,assumedapositivelysinisteraspectatnight.

Intheyellowlightofthesaloonwindows,theboardwalkcrowdofcowboys,gunmen,gamblers,andcutthroats lookedat themwithamusement.“Thesevarmints’dkillyouassoonassmileatyou,”saidonestudentmelodramatically.FeelingtheunfamiliarweightoftheirnewSmith&Wesson revolversdraggingat theirhips, the students tuggedat theirguns,adjustingtheirweight.

Oneman stopped them. “You look like nice fellers,” he told the group. “Take somefriendlyadvice. InCheyenne,don’t touchyourguns ’lessyoumean touse ’em.Roundhere,peopledon’tlookatyourface,theylookatyourhands,andagreatdealofdrinkingisdoneintheseprecinctsatnight.”

There were not only gunfighters on the boardwalk. They passed several nymphs dupave,heavilypainted,callingoutteasinglytothemfromdarkdoorways.Altogethertheyfound it exotic and thrilling, their first experienceof the realWest, thedangerousWesttheyhadbeenwaitingfor.Theyenteredseveralsaloons,sampledtheharshliquor,playedhandsofkenoand21.Onestudentpulledoutapocketwatch.“Nearlyten,andwehaven’tseenashootingyet,”hesaid,withatingeofdisappointment.

Withinminutes,theysawashooting.

“Ithappenedastonishinglyfast,”Johnsonnoted.

Onemoment,angryshoutsandcurses;thenextmoment,chairsscrapedbackandmenduckingawaywhilethetwoprincipalssnarledateachother,thoughtheywerejustafewfeetapart.Theywerebothgamblersof the roughest sort.“Makeyourmove, then,”one said, andas theotherwentforhispistol,thefirstdrewhisgunandshothimrightinhisabdomen.Therewasagreatcloud of black powder and the shotmanwas thrownback across the roomby the impact, hisclothesburningfromthecloseshooting.Hebledheavily,moanedindecipherably,twitchedforaminute, thenlayquitedead.Someof theothershustled theshooterout.Thetownmarshalwassummoned,butbythetimehearrived,mostofthegamblershadreturnedtotheirtables,tothegamesthathadbeensorecentlyinterrupted.

Itwasacold-bloodeddisplay,andthestudents—nodoubtinshock—wererelievedwhen

theyheardthesoundofmusicfromthetheaternextdoor.Whenseveralgamblersleftthetablestoseetheshow,theyfollowedhurriedlyalongtoseethisnextattraction.

Andhere,unexpectedly,WilliamJohnsonfellinlove.

ThePrideDePareeTheaterwasa two-story triangularaffairwith thestageat thewideend,tablesonthefloor,andbalconiesmountedhighonthewallsatbothsides.Balconyseatswerethemostexpensiveanddesirable,thoughtheywerefarthestfromthestage,andsotheyboughtthose.

The show,observed Johnson, consistedof “singing, dancing, andpetticoat flouncing,the rudest sort of entertainment, but the assembled patrons greeted it with suchenthusiasticcheersthattheirpleasureinfectedourmorediscriminatingtastes.”

Soonenoughtheylearnedthevalueofbalconyseats,foroverheadweretrapezebars,onwhich swungcomelyyoungwomen in scanty costumes andmesh tights.As they arcedbackandforth,themeninthebalconiesreachedouttotuckdollarbillsintothefoldsoftheircostumes.Thegirlsappearedtoknowmanyofthecustomers,andtherewasadealofgood-natured banter high in the air, the girls crying, “Watch them hands, Fred,” and“Mightybigcigaryougotthere,Clem,”andotherendearments.

One student sniffed, “They arenobetter thanprostitutes,” but theothers enjoyed thespectacle,shoutingandtuckingdollarbillswith therest,andthegirls,seeingnewfacesanddistinctiveEasternclothes,maneuvered their swings tocomeclose to their balconyagainandagain.

Itwasallgoodfun,andthenthegirlsoverheadchangedtoanewset,andtheswingingbeganagain,andoneofthemcameclosetotheirbalcony.Laughing,Johnsonreachedforanotherdollarbill,andthenhiseyesmetthoseofthenewgirl,andtheraucoussoundofthetheaterfadedaway,andtimeseemedtostop,andhewasawareofnothingbutthedarkintensityofhergazeandthepoundingofhisownheart.

Her name was Lucienne—“It’s French,” she explained, wiping the light sheen ofperspirationfromhershoulders.

Theyweredownstairs,sittingatoneofthefloortables,wherethegirlswereallowedtohave a drink with customers between shows. The other students had gone back to thehotel, but Johnson stayed, hoping Lucienne would come out, and she had. She hadsashayedrighttohistable.“Buymeadrink?”

“Anything youwant,” Johnson said. She orderedwhiskey, and he had one, too.Andthenheaskedhername,andshetoldhim.

“Lucienne,”herepeated.“Lucienne.Alovelyname.”

“Lots of girls in Paris are named Lucienne,” she announced, still wiping theperspiration.“What’syours?”

“William,”hesaid.“WilliamJohnson.”Herskinglowedpink;herhairwas jet-black,

hereyesdarkanddancing.Hewasentranced.

“Youlookagent,”shesaid,smiling.Shehadawayofsmilingwithhermouthclosed,not revealingher teeth. Itmadeher seemmysteriousandself-contained.“Where’reyoufrom?”

“NewHaven,”hesaid.“Well,IgrewupinPhiladelphia.”

“BackEast?Ithoughtyouweredifferent.Icouldtellfromyourclothes.”

Heworriedthat thismightnotfindfavorwithher,andsuddenlydidn’tknowwhat tosay.

“DoyouhaveasweetheartbackEast?”sheaskedinnocently,helpingtheconversationalong.

“I—”Hestopped,thenthoughtitbesttotellherthetruth.“IwasawfullyfondofagirlinPhiladelphiaafewyearsago,butshedidn’tfeelthesamewayaboutme.”Helookedintohereyes.“Butthatwas—thatwasalongtimeago.”

Shelookeddownandsmiledsoftlyandhetoldhimselfthathemustthinkofsomethingtosay.

“Whereareyoufrom?”heasked.“Youdon’thaveaFrenchaccent.”PerhapsshehadcomefromFranceasachild.

“I’m from St. Louis. Lucienne’s only my name de stage, see,” she said cheerfully.“Mr.Barlow—themanager—Mr.Barlowwants everyone in the show to have aFrenchname,becausethetheateristhePridedePareeTheater,see.He’sverynice,Mr.Barlow.”

“HaveyoubeeninCheyennelong?”

“Ohno,”shesaid.“Before,IwasinthetheaterinVirginiaCity,wherewedidproperplaysbyEnglishwritersandsuch,butthatclosedwiththetyphoidlastwinter.Iwasgoinghometoseemymother,see,butIonlyhadmoneytogethere.”

She laughed, and he sawone of her front teethwas chipped.This little imperfectiononlymadehimlovehermore.Shewasobviouslyanindependentyoungwoman,makingherownwayinlife.

“Andyou?”sheasked.“YouaregoingtotheBlackHills?Lookingforgold?”

Hesmiled.“No,Iamwithagroupofscientistswhoarediggingforfossils.”Herfaceclouded.“Fossils.Oldbones,”heexplained.

“Isthereagoodlivelihoodinthat?”

“No,no.It’sforscience,”heexplained.

Sheplacedawarmhandonhisarm,and the touchelectrifiedhim.“Iknowyougolddiggershavesecrets,”shesaid.“Iwon’ttell.”

“Really,Iamsearchingforfossils.”

Shesmiledagain,contenttodropthematter.“AndhowlongareyouinCheyenne?”

“Alas,Iamhereforonlyonenight.TomorrowIleavetogofartherwest.”

Thisthoughtalreadyfilledhimwithadeliciouspain,butshedidnotseemtocareonewayoranother.Inherstraightforwardway,shesaid,“Imustdoanothershowinanhour,andstaywiththecustomersanotherhourafterthat,butthenIamfree.”

“I’llwait,”hesaid.“I’llwaitallnightifyouwishit.”

Sheleanedoverandkissedhimlightlyonthecheek.“Untilthen.”Andshesweptaway,acrossthecrowdedroom,whereothermenawaitedhercompany.

Therestoftheeveningpassedaslightlyasadream.Johnsonfeltnofatigue,andhewashappy tosituntil shewasfinishedwithherperformances.Theymetoutside the theater.Shehadchangedtoademuredressofdarkcotton.Shetookhisarm.

Amanpassedthemonthesidewalk.Inthedarkness:“Seeyoulater,Lucy?”

“Nottonight,Ben,”shelaughed.Johnsonturnedtoglareattheman,butsheexplained,“It’sjustmyuncle.Helooksafterme.Whereareyoustaying?”

“TheInter-OceanHotel.”

“Wecan’tgothere,”shesaid.“They’reverystrictabouttherooms.”

“I’llwalkyouhome,”Johnsonsaid.

Shegavehimafunnylook,andthensmiled.“Allright.Thatwouldbenice.”

Astheywalked,sherestedherheadonhisshoulder.

“Tired?”

“Some.”

Thenightwaswarm,theairpleasant.Johnsonfeltawonderfulpeacedescendoverhim.

“I’mgoingtomissyou,”hesaid.

“Oh,me,too.”

“I’llbeback,though.”

“When?”

“LateAugustorso.”

“August,”sherepeatedsoftly.“August.”

“Iknowit’salongtimeaway—”

“Notsolong—”

“ButI’llhavemoretimetospendthen.I’llleavethepartyandstaywithyou,howdoesthatsound?”

Sherelaxedagainsthisshoulder.“Thatwouldbenice.”Theywalkedinsilence.“You’renice,William.You’reaniceboy.”

And then she turned, and with complete naturalness kissed him on themouth, rightthere in the warm Western darkness of Cheyenne, in a deep way he had never yet

experienced.Johnsonthoughthewoulddiewiththepleasureofitall.

“Iloveyou,Lucienne,”heblurted.Thewordsjustcameout,unbidden,unexpected.Butitwasthetruth;hefeltitthroughhiswholebody.

Shestrokedhischeek.“Youareaniceboy.”

Hedidnotknowhow long they stayed like that, facingeachother in thedark.Theykissedagain,andathirdtime.Hewasbreathless.

“Shallwewalkon?”hesaidfinally.

Sheshookherhead.“Yougoonhomenow.Backtothehotel.”

“I’dbetterseeyoutoyourdoor.”

“No,”shesaid.“Youhaveatraininthemorning.Yougetyoursleep.”

Helookedaroundatthestreet.“Areyousureyou’llbeallright?”

“I’llbefine.”

“Promise?”

Shesmiled.“Promise.”

Hewalkedafewstepstowardhishotel,turned,andlookedback.

“Don’tworryaboutme,”shecalled,andblewhimakiss.

Heblewakissbacktoherandwalkedon.Attheendoftheblockhelookedbackonceagain,butshewasgone.

Atthehotel,thesleepynightclerkgavehimhiskey.“Goodevening,sir?”heasked.

“Wonderful,”Johnsonsaid.“Absolutelywonderful.”

MorninginCheyenne

Johnson awoke at eight, refreshed and excited. He looked out his window at the flatexpanseofCheyenne,boxybuildingsstretchingacrosstheplains.Byallaccountsitwasadrearysight,butJohnsonfounditbeautiful.Andthedaywaslovely,clearandwarm,withthefluffyhighcloudspeculiartotheWest.

ItwastruethathewouldnotseethebeautifulLucienneformanyweeksuntilhisreturntrip,butthisfactaddedadeliciouspoignancytohismood,andhewasinexcellenthumorwhenhewentdownstairstothediningroom,wheretheMarshpartyhadbeen instructedtomeetforbreakfast,atnine.

Noonewasthere.

A tablehadbeenset fora largegroup,but thedirtyplateswerebeingcollectedbyawaiter.

“Whereiseverybody?”Johnsonasked.

“Whodoyoumean?”

“ProfessorMarshandhisstudents.”

“They’renothere,”thewaitersaid.

“Wherearethey?”

“Goneanhourormore.”

Thewordssankinslowly.“Theprofessorandthestudentsaregone?”

“Theywenttocatchthenineo’clocktrain.”

“Whatnineo’clocktrain?”

The waiter looked at Johnson irritably. “I have a lot to do,” he said, turning away,rattlingtheplates.

Theirbagsandexpeditionequipmenthadbeenstoredinalargeroomonthegroundfloorof the hotel, behind the reception desk. The bellboy unlocked the door: the roomwasemptyexceptforthecratescontainingJohnson’sphotographicequipment.

“They’regone!”

“Somethingofyoursmissing?”thebellboysaid.

“No,notmine.Buteveryoneelseisgone.”

“I just came on duty,” the bell captain said apologetically.Hewas a boy of sixteen.“Perhapsyoushouldaskatthedesk.”

“Ohyes,Mr.Johnson,”saidthemanatthefrontdesk.“ProfessorMarshsaidnottowakeyouwhentheydeparted.HesaidyouwereleavingtheexpeditionhereinCheyenne.”

“Hesaidwhat?”

“Thatyouwereleavingtheexpedition.”

Johnsonfeltpanic.“Whywouldhesaythat?”

“Ireallydon’tknow,sir.”

“WhatamIgoingtodonow?”Johnsonaskedaloud.

Thedistressmusthavebeenapparentinhisfaceandvoice.Themanatthefrontdesklookedathimsympathetically.

“They’reservingbreakfastinthediningroomforanotherhalfhour,”hesuggested.

Hehadnoappetite,buthereturnedtothediningroomandtookasmalltabletooneside.Thewaiterwasstillclearingdishesfromthebaretable;Johnsonwatched,imaginingthegroupofMarshandthestudents,imaginingtheirexcitedvoices,talkingatonce,readytoleave...Whyhadtheylefthimbehind?Whatpossiblereasoncouldtherebe?

Thebellboyapproachedhim.“AreyouwiththeMarshexpedition?”

“Iam.”

“Theprofessoraskedifhemightjoinyouforbreakfast.”

Inaninstant,Johnsonrealizedthatitwasallamistakeafterall,thattheprofessorhadnotgone,thehotelstaffhadmerelymisunderstood,everythingwasgoingtobeallright.

Withimmensereliefhesaid,“Ofcoursehemayjoinme.”

Amomentlater,aclear,ratherhighvoicesaid,“Mr.Johnson?”

Johnson faced a man he had never seen before—a wiry, fair-haired man with amustacheandgoateestoodnexttohistable.Hewastall,inhismiddlethirties,andratherformallydressed instiffcollarand frockcoat.Althoughhisclotheswereexpensiveandwell cut, he nevertheless gave the impression of an energetic indifference, evensloppiness.Hiseyeswerebrightandlively.Heappearedamused.“MayIjoinyou?”

“Whoareyou?”

“Don’tyouknow?”themansaid,moreamusedthanever.Heextendedhishand.“I’m

ProfessorCope.” Johnson noticed that his gripwas firm and confident, and his fingersstainedwithink.

Johnson stared, and leapt to his feet. Cope!Cope himself! Right here, inCheyenne!Cope eased him back into his seat and beckoned to the waiter for coffee. “Don’t bealarmed,”hesaid.“I’mnotthemonsteryouhavehearddescribed.Thatparticularmonsterexistsonly in thediseased imaginationofMr.Marsh.Yetanotherofhisdescriptionsofnatureisinerror.Youmusthaveobservedthatthemanisasparanoidandsecretiveasheisfat,andalwaysimaginestheworstineverybody.Morecoffee?”

Numbly,Johnsonnodded;Copepouredmorecoffee.

“Ifyouhaven’tordered,Irecommendtheporkhash.Imyselfeatitdaily.It issimplefare,butthecookhasafeelforit.”

Johnsonmumbledhewouldhavethehash.Thewaiterdeparted.Copesmiledathim.

He certainly didn’t look like a monster, Johnson thought. Quick, energetic, evennervous—but no monster. On the contrary, there was a youthful, almost childishenthusiasmabouthim,yetalsoanairofdeterminationandcompetence.Heseemedlikeamanwhogotthingsdone.

“Whatareyourplansnow?”Copeaskedcheerfully,stirringadollopofblackmolassesinhiscoffee.

“I’mnotsupposedtotalktoyou.”

“Thathardlyseemsnecessarynowthattheoldschemerhasleftyoubehind.Whatareyourplansnow?”

“Idon’tknow.Ihavenoplans.”Johnsonlookedaroundthenearlyemptydiningroom.“Iseemtohavebeenseparatedfrommyparty.”

“Separated?Heabandonedyou.”

“Whywouldhedothat?”Johnsonasked.

“Hethoughtyouwereaspy,ofcourse.”

“ButI’mnotaspy.”

Cope smiled. “I know that, Mr. Johnson, and you know that. Everyone knows thatexceptMr.Marsh. It is justoneof themany thousandsof thingshedoesnotknow,yetassumeshedoes.”

Johnsonwasconfused,anditmusthaveshownonhisface.

“Which fantasy did he tell you aboutme?”Cope asked, still cheerful. “Wife beater?Thief?Philanderer?Axmurderer?”Thewholebusinessseemedtoamusehim.

“Hedoesn’thaveahighopinionofyou.”

Cope’sinkyfingersflutteredintheair,adismissinggesture.“Marshisagodlessman,cutloosefromallmoorings.Hismindisactiveandsick.Ihaveknownhimforsometime.Infact,wewerefriendsonce.WebothstudiedinGermanyduringtheCivilWar.AndlaterwedugfossilstogetherinNewJersey,infact.Butthatwasalongtimeago.”

Thefoodcame.Johnsonrealizedthathewashungry.

“That’s better,” Cope said, watching him eat. “Now, I understand that you are aphotographer. I can use a photographer. I am on my way to the far West, to dig fordinosaurboneswithapartyofstudentsfromtheUniversityofPennsylvania.”

“JustlikeProfessorMarsh,”Johnsonsaid.

“Not quite likeProfessorMarsh.Wedonot travel everywherewith special rates andgovernmentfavors.Andmystudentsarenotchosenforwealthandconnection,butratherfortheirinterestinscience.Oursisnotaself-aggrandizingpublicityjunket,butaseriousexpedition.”Copepaused,studyingJohnson’searnestattention.“We’reasmallpartyanditwillberoughgoing,butyouarewelcometocome,ifyoucareto.”

AndthatwashowWilliamJohnsonfoundhimself,atnoon,standingontheplatformoftheCheyennerailroadstationwithhisequipmentstackedathisside,waitingforthetraintocarryhimwest,inthepartyofEdwardDrinkerCope.

Cope’sExpedition

ItwasimmediatelyclearthatCope’spartylackedthemilitaryprecisionthatcharacterizedMarsh’severyundertaking.Hisgroupstraggled into thestationsinglyand inpairs: firstCope and his charming wife, Annie, who greeted Johnson warmly and would not bedrawntosayanythingagainstMarsh,despitethepromptingofherhusband.

Thenabarrel-chestedmanof twenty-sixnamedCharlesH.Sternberg, a fossilhunterfromKansaswhohadworkedforCopethepreviousyear.CharlieSternbergwalkedwithalimp,theresultofachildhoodaccident;hecouldnotshakehandsbecauseofa“felon,”afistulainhispalm;andhewassubjecttooccasionalboutsofmalaria,butheexudedanairofpracticalcompetenceandwryhumor.

Next,anotheryoungman,J.C.Isaac(“itjuststandsforJ.C.”),whowasIndianshy;sixweeksearlier,hehadbeenamongapartyoffriendsattackedbyIndians.Theothershadbeenshotdownandscalped,andonlyIsaacescaped,leavinghimwithadeepfear,andafacialticaroundtheeyes.

Therewerethreestudents:Leander“Toad”Davis,apuffy,asthmatic,bespectacledboywithprotuberanteyes.Toadwasparticularly interested in Indiansociety,andseemed toknow a lot about it. And George Morton, a sallow, silent young man from Yale whosketchedconstantlyandannouncedthathe intended tobeanartistoraminister likehisfather;hewasn’tsureyet.Mortonwaswithdrawn,rathersullen,andJohnsondidnotcareforhim.AndfinallyHaroldChapmanfromPennsylvania,abrightlytalkativeyoungmanwith an interest in bones. After being introduced to Johnson he almost immediatelywandered off to poke through some bleached buffalo bones stacked near the stationplatform.

Johnson’s favoriteof thegroupwas the lovelyMrs.Cope,whowasanythingbut thedeludedinvalidMarshhadclaimed.ShewouldaccompanythemonlyasfarasUtah.Thenthe sixmen—with Johnsonmaking seven—would set out for the JudithRiver basin ofnorthernMontanaTerritory,tohuntforCretaceousfossils.

“Montana!” Johnson said, remembering what Sheridan had said about staying awayfromMontanaandWyoming.“DoyoureallymeantogotoMontana?”

“Yes,ofcourse, it’s tremendouslyexciting,”Copesaid,hisfaceandmannerradiatinghisenthusiasm.“NoonehasbeentheresinceFerdinandHaydendiscoveredtheareabackin’55andnotedgreatquantitiesoffossils.”

“WhathappenedtoHayden?”Johnsonasked.

“Oh,hewasdrivenoffbytheBlackfeet,”Copesaid.“Theymadehimrunforhislife.”

AndCopelaughed.

WestwithCope

Johnsonawokeininkyblackness,hearingtheroarofthetrain.Hefumbledforhispocketwatch;itsaidteno’clock.Foraconfusedmoment,hethoughtitwastenatnight.Thenthedarknessbrokewithashaftofbrilliantlight,andanother,andflickeringshaftsilluminatedhissleepingcompartment:thetrainwasthunderingthroughlongsnowshedsasitcrossedtheRockyMountains.HesawfieldsofsnowinlateJune,thebrilliancesodazzlingithurthiseyes.

Teno’clock!Hethrewonhisclothes,hurriedoutofthecompartment,andfoundCopestaringoutthewindow,drumminghisstainedfingersimpatientlyonthesill.“I’msorryIoverslept,Professor,ifonlysomeonehadawakenedme,I—”

“Why?”Copeasked.“Whatdifferencedoesitmakethatyouslept?”

“Well,Imean,I—it’ssolate—”

“WearestilltwohoursfromSaltLake,”Copesaid.“Andyousleptbecauseyouweretired,anexcellentreasonforsleeping.”Copesmiled.“OrdidyouthinkIwouldleaveyou,too?”

Confused,Johnsonsaidnothing.Copecontinuedtosmile.Andthen,afteramoment,hebentoverthesketchpadinhislap,tookuphispen,anddrewwithhisink-stainedfingers.Withoutlookingup,hesaid,“IbelieveMrs.Copehasarrangedforapotofcoffee.”

Thatnight,Johnsonrecordedinhisjournal:

Copespentthemorningsketching,whichhedoeswithgreatrapidityandtalent.Ihavelearnedalotabouthimfromtheothers.Hewasachildprodigy,whowrotehisfirstscientificpaperattheageofsix,andhehasnow(Ibelievehimtobe36)publishedsome1,000papers.Heisrumoredtohavehadaloveaffairbeforehismarriagethatwasbrokenoff,andthen,perhapsindespair,hetraveledtoEurope,wherehemetmanyofthegreatnaturalscientistsoftheday.HemetMarshinBerlin for the first timeandsharedcorrespondence,manuscripts,andphotographs.He isalsoconsideredtobeanexpertonsnakes,reptilesandamphibiansingeneral,andfish.Sternbergandthestudents(exceptMorton)aredevotedtohim.HeisaQuaker,andpeace-lovingtothecore.Hewearswoodenfalseteeth,whichareremarkablylife-like;Iwouldn’thaveknown.Inthiswayandnearlyeveryother,heisutterlydifferentfromMarsh.WhereMarshisplodding,Copeisbrilliant;whereMarshisscheming,Cope ishonest;whereMarsh issecretive,Cope is free. Inallways,ProfessorCope showsgreaterhumanity thanhis counterpart.ProfessorMarsh is a desperate,driven fanaticwhomakes his own life asmiserable as the lives of those he commands.WhileCopeshowsbalanceandrestraint,andisaltogetheragreeable.

ItwouldnotbelongbeforeJohnsontookadifferentviewofCope.

ThetraindescendedoutoftheRockyMountainstoGreatSaltLakeCity,intheTerritoryofUtah.

Establishedthirtyyearsbefore,SaltLakeCitywasavillageofwoodandbrickhouses,carefully laid out in a regular grid pattern, and dominated by the white facade of theMormonTabernacle, abuilding, Johnsonwrote, “of suchbreathtakingugliness that fewedificesanywhereinAmericacanhopetosurpassit.”Thiswasacommonview.AroundthesametimethejournalistCharlesNordhoffcalledit“anadmirably-arrangedandveryuglybuilding,”andconcluded that “SaltLakeneednotholdanymerepleasure travelermorethanaday.”

AlthoughWashingtonclaimedthisastheTerritoryofUtah,andthereforeapartoftheUnitedStates,ithadbeenestablishedasaMormontheocracy,asthescaleandimportanceofthereligiousbuildingsmadeclear.Cope’sgroupvisitedthetemple,theTithingHouse,andtheLionHouse,whereBrighamYoungkepthismultitudinouswives.

CopethenhadanaudiencewithPresidentYoung,andhetookhisownwifewithhimtomeet the elderly patriarch. Johnson askedwhat hewas like. “Graciousman, gentle andcalculating.Forfortyyears,theMormonswerehoundedandpersecutedineverystateoftheUnion;nowtheymaketheirownstate,andpersecutetheGentilesinturn.”Copeshookhishead.“Youwouldthinkthatpeoplewhohadexperiencedinjusticewouldbeloathtoinflict itonothers,andyet theydosowithalacrity.Thevictimsbecomethevictimizerswith a chilling righteousness. This is the nature of fanaticism, to attract and provokeextremesofbehavior.And this iswhy fanaticsareall the same,whatever specific formtheirfanaticismtakes.”

“AreyousayingMormonsarefanatics?”askedMorton,theminister’sson.

“I am saying their religion has made a state that does not halt injustice, but ratherinstitutionalizesit.Theyfeelsuperiortootherswhohavedifferentbeliefs.Theyfeelonlytheypossesstherightway.”

“Idon’tseehowyoucansay—”beganMorton,buttheothersjumpedin.MortonandCopewerealwaysatloggerheadsonreligioussubjects,andtheargumentsbecametediousafterawhile.

“WhydidyouseeBrighamYoung?”Sternbergasked.

Copeshrugged.“TherearenoknownfossildepositsinUtahnow,buttherearerumorsof bones in the eastern regions near the Colorado border. I see no harm in makingfriendshipsforthefuture.”Andheadded,“Marshmethim,lastyear.”

The following day Mrs. Cope took the Union Pacific train back east, while the mentravelednorthbynarrowgaugerailwaytoFranklin,Idaho,“analkaliflatstown,”Johnsonnoted,“withnothingtorecommenditsavethatrailandstagelinesenableonetoleaveitassoonaspossible.”

But inFranklin,whilebuyingstagecoach tickets,Copewassuddenlyaccostedby thesheriff,alargemanwithsmalleyes.“Youareunderarrest,”hetoldCope,takinghimbythearm,“andchargedwithmurder.”

“WhomamIsupposedtohavemurdered?”Copeasked,astonished.

“Yourfather,”thesheriffsaid.“BackEast.”

“That’sridiculous—myfatherdiedlastyearofaheartattack.”DespitebeingaQuaker,Copewas known for his flashing temper, and Johnson could see that hewas doing hisutmosttoremaincivil.“I lovedmyfatherwithallmyheart—hewaskindandwiseandsupportiveofmyirregularscholarlywanderings,”hesaidwithdeepfury.

Thesuddendisplayofeloquencetookeveryoneaback.ThemenallfollowedCopeandthesherifftothejail,fromapolitedistance.Itturnedoutafederalwarrantforhisarresthad been filed in the IdahoTerritory. It also turned out that the federalmarshalwas inanotherdistrictandwouldnotreturntoFranklinuntilSeptember.Cope,said thesheriff,wouldhaveto“coolhisheels”injailuntilthen.

Cope protested that he was Professor Edward Drinker Cope, a United Statespaleontologist. The sheriff showed him the telegram stating that “Prof. E. D. Cope,paleontologist”wasthemanwantedformurder.

“Iknowwhoisbehindthis,”Copesaidangrily.Hewasturningpurpleintheface.

“Now,Professor...”Sternbergsaid.

“I’mfine,”Copesaidstiffly.He turned to thesheriff.“Ipropose topay the telegraphcoststoverifythatthechargesagainstmeareuntrue.”

Thesheriffspattobacco.“That’sfairenough.Yougetyourfathertocablemeback,andI’llapologize.”

“Ican’tdothat,”Copesaid.

“Whynot?”

“Ialreadytoldyou,myfather’sdead.”

“You think I’ma fool,” the sheriff said,andgrabbedCopeby thecollar, todraghimintothejailcell.Hewasrewardedbyaseriesoflightning-swiftpunchesfromCopethatknocked him to the ground; Cope proceeded to kick the sheriff repeatedly while theunfortunatemanrolledinthedustandwhileSternbergandIsaaccried,“Now,Professor!”and“That’senough,Professor!”and“Rememberyourself,Professor!”

At length, Isaacmanaged todragCopeaway;Sternberghelped the sheriff tohis feetanddustedhimoff.“I’msorry,buttheprofessorhasaterribletemper.”

“Temper?Themanisamenace.”

“Well,youseeheknowsthatProfessorMarshsentyouthattelegram,alongwithabribetoarresthim,andtheinjusticeofyourbehaviormakeshimangry.”

“Idon’tknowwhatyou’retalkingabout,”thesheriffsputtered,withoutconviction.

“Yousee,”Sternbergsaid,“mostplacestheprofessorgoes,heencounterstroublefrom

Marsh.Their rivalryhasbeengoingon foryearsnow, and theyareboth able to spot itreadily.”

“Iwantallofyououtoftown,”thesheriffshouted.“Doyouhearme,outoftown!”

“Withpleasure,”Sternbergsaid.

Theyleftonthenextstage.

From Franklin, they faced a six-hundred-mile journey on Concord stagecoach to FortBenton,MontanaTerritory.Johnson,whohadthusfarexperiencednothingmorearduousthanarailwaycarriage,waslookingforwardtotheromanceofacoachride.Sternbergandtheothersknewbetter.

Itwas a horrible journey: tenmiles an hour, day andnight,with no stops except formeals, outrageously expensive at one dollar each, and awful.And at every coach stop,everyonewouldtalkoftheIndiantroubles,andtheprospectofscalping,sothatifJohnsonhadhadanydesireforthecoachstops’moldyarmy-surplusbacon,therancidbutter,andtheweek-oldbread,helosthisappetite.

Thelandscapewasuniformlydreary,thedustharshlyalkaline;theyhadtowalkupallthesteepascents,dayornight;intherattling,bouncingcoach,sleepwasimpossible;andtheirchemicalsuppliesleaked,sothatatonepoint,“weweresubjectedtoagentlerainofhydrochloricacid,whichdropsetchedasmokingpatternonthehatsofthegentlemen,andelicited elaborate curses from all involved. The coach was stopped, and the driveraccordedourleft-overcurses;theoffendingbottlestopped,andwewereonourwayoncemore.”

Besides their group, the only other passenger was aMrs. Peterson, a youngwomanmarriedtoanarmycaptainstationedinHelena,MontanaTerritory.Mrs.Petersonseemednonetooenthusiastictoberejoiningherhusband;indeed,shecriedfrequently.Oftensheopeneda letter, readit,wipedtearsfromhereyes,andtuckeditawayagain.At the lastcoachstopbeforeHelena,sheburnedtheletter,droppingittothegroundtodissolveintoash.When thestage reachedHelena, shewas formallymetby four armycaptains, theirdemeanorgrave.Theyescortedheraway;shewalkederectlyintheirmidst.

Theothersstaredafterher.

“Hemustbedead,”Toadsaid.“That’swhatit’sabout.He’sdead.”

At thecoachstation, theywere told thatCaptainPetersonhadbeenkilledbyIndians.And there were rumors of a recent major cavalry defeat at Indian hands. Some saidGeneral Terry had been killed along the Powder River; others that General Crook hadnarrowlyescapeddeathonthebanksoftheYellowstone,andthathehadsufferedbloodpoisoningfromthearrowsremovedfromhisside.

InHelena theywereurged to turnback,butCopeneverconsidered it. “Idle talk,”hesaid,“foolishtalk.Wewillgoon.”AndtheyclimbedbackaboardthecoachforthelongtriptoFortBenton.

Locatedon thebanksof theMissouriRiver,FortBentonhadbeena trappers’ refuge inthe early days of theMontana Territory, backwhen John JacobAstorwas lobbying inCongress to prevent any legislation to protect the buffalo, and thus interfere with hislucrativetradeinhides.NorthernMontanawasthesourceofotherhidesaswell,includingbeaver and wolf. But now the fur trade was declining in importance, and the fastest-growing towns were located farther south, in themining regions of Butte and Helena,wheretherewasgoldandcopper.FortBentonhadseenbetterdays,andlookedit.

AstheirstagecoacharrivedonJuly4,1876,theysawthatthearmystockadegateswereclosed,andtherewasageneralairof tension.Thesoldiersweregloomyanddistressed.The American flag flapped at half-mast. Cope went to see the commanding officer,CaptainCharlesRansom.

“What’sthetrouble?”Copeasked.“Whyisyourflaglowered?”

“SeventhCavalry,sir.”

“Whataboutit?”Copeasked.

“Thewholeof theSeventhCavalryunderGeneralCusterwasmassacredat theLittleBighornlastweek.Morethanthreehundredarmydead.Andnosurvivors.”

FortBenton

GeorgeArmstrongCusterremainedascontroversialindeathashehadbeeninlife.Ol’Curlyhadalwaysbeenthefocusofstrongfeelings.HehadgraduatedlastinhisclassatWestPoint, accumulating ninety-seven demerits in his last half year, just three short ofdismissal.Evenasacadet,hewasmakingenemieswhowoulddoghimallhislife.

But the insubordinate cadet proved a brilliant military leader, the Boy Wonder ofAppomattox.Handsome,dashing,andreckless,hewentontoearnareputationasagreatIndianfighterintheWest,buthisreputationwasdebatedwidely.Adedicatedhunter,hetraveledwithgreyhoundswhereverhewent,anditwassaidthathetookbettercareofhisdogs than he did his men. In 1867, he ordered his troops to shoot deserters from hiscompany. Five men were wounded, and Custer refused them medical aid. Onesubsequentlydied.

Evenfor thearmy, thiswas toomuch.InJuly1867,hewasarrested,court-martialed,and suspended for a year. But he was a favorite of the generals, and he was back tenmonthslateratPhilSheridan’sinsistence,thistimefightingtheIndiansalongtheWashita,intheOklahomaTerritory.

Custer ledthe7thCavalryagainstBlackKettle.His instructionswereclear: tokillasmanyIndiansaspossible.GeneralShermanhimselfhadsaid:“Themorewecankillthisyear, thelesswillhavetobekilledthenextyearfor themoreIseeoftheseIndiansthemore I am convinced they will all have to be killed or be maintained as a species ofpaupers.”

It was a particularly vicious war. The Indians had been taking white women andchildrenashostages,whomtheyransomedbacktothesettlers;wheneversoldiersattackedan Indian village, the white hostages were summarily executed. This circumstanceexcusedthekindofdashingbravadothatwas,inanycase,Custer’strademark.

Forcing his troops on extendedmarches, forgoing food and rest, he ran downBlackKettle, killed the chief, and destroyed his village.Only then did he realize that Indiansfrom surrounding villages were gathering for amassive counterattack, and that he hadoverextended himself and endangered all his troops. He managed to pull out, but leftbehindacompanyoffifteenmen,presumingthemtobealreadydead.

Later,theentirebattlebecameembroiledinscandal.TheEasternpresscriticizedCusterfor his harsh treatment of BlackKettle’s tribe, saying that BlackKettle was not a bad

Indianbutascapegoatformilitaryfrustrations;thiswasalmostcertainlyuntrue.Thearmycriticized Custer for his hasty attack and his equally hasty abandonment of the cut-offcompany;Custerwasunabletoprovideasatisfactoryexplanationforhisbehaviorinthecrisis,buthefelt,withjustification,thathehadonlydonewhatthearmyhadexpectedhimtodo,torundowntheIndianswithhisusualdashandbravado.

Hispersonal style—his longcurlyhair,hisgreyhounds,hisbuckskinclothes, andhisarrogantmanner—remainednotorious,asdid thearticleshewrote for theEasternpress.Custerhadapeculiar affinity forhisenemy,andoftenwroteadmiringlyof theIndians;thiswasnodoubtthesourceofthepersistentrumorhehadfatheredachildbyabeautifulIndiangirlaftertheBattleoftheWashita.

And still the controversy continued. In 1874, itwasCusterwho led a party into thesacredBlackHills,discoveredgold,andthusprecipitatedtheSiouxWar;inthespringof1876, he had gone toWashington to testify against the corruption of Secretary ofWarBelknap,who receivedkickbacks for supplies fromeveryarmypost in thecountry.Histestimony had helped start impeachment proceedings against Belknap, but had notendeared him to theGrant administration,which ordered him to remain inWashingtonand,whenheleftwithoutpermissioninMarch,demandedhisarrest.

Nowhewasdead,inwhatwasalreadybeingcalledthemostshockingandhumiliatingmilitarydefeatinAmericanhistory.

“Whodidit?”Copeasked.

“SittingBull,”Ransom said. “Custer chargedSittingBull’s campwithout scouting itfirst.SittingBullhadthreethousandwarriors.Custerhadthreehundred.”CaptainRansomshookhishead.“Mindyou,Custerwouldhavebeenkilledsooneror later;hewasvainandhardonhismen;I’msurprisedhewasn’t‘accidentally’shotinthebackonthewayintobattle,asoftenhappenswithhistype.IwaswithhimintheWashita,whenhechargedavillageandthencouldn’tgethimselfout;luckandbluffsavedtheday,butluckrunsouteventually.He almost certainly brought this one on himself.And the Sioux hated him,wantedtokillhim.Butit’sgoingtobeabloodywarnow.Thiswholecountry’sred-hotnow.”

“Well,”Copesaid,“we’regoingtosearchforfossilbonesintheJudithbadlands.”

Ransomstaredathiminastonishment.“Iwouldn’t,”hesaid.

“There’stroubleintheJudithRiverbasin?”

“Notspecifically,no,sir.Notthatweknowof.”

“Wellthen?”

“Sir, most all the Indian tribes are on the warpath. Sitting Bull has three thousandwarriors somewhere in the south—nobodyknowswhere for sure—butwe figure they’llheadforasyluminCanadabeforewinter,andthatmeansthey’llpassthroughtheJudithbasin.”

“That’sfine,”Copesaid.“We’llbesafeforafewweeksduringsummer,forthereasonsyoujustsaid.SittingBullisn’tthere.”

“Sir,”Ransomsaid,“theJudithRiveristhesharedhuntinggroundsoftheSiouxandtheCrow.Now,theCrowareusuallypeaceable,butthesedaysthey’llkillyouassoonaslookatyou,becausetheycanblameyourdeathsontheSioux.”

“That’snotlikely,”Copesaid.“We’regoing.”

“I have no orders to prevent you from going,” Ransom said. “I’m sure nobody inWashington ever imagined that anyone would go. To go out there is suicide, sir. Formyself,Iwouldn’tgooutwithlessthanfivehundredtrainedcavalryatmyside.”

“Iappreciateyourconcern,”Copesaid.“Youhavedoneyourdutyininformingme.ButIleftPhiladelphiawiththeintentionofgoingtotheJudith,andIwillnotturnbackwithinahundredmilesofmydestination.Now,canyourecommendaguide?”

“Certainly,sir,”Ransomsaid.

But over the next twenty-four hours, the guidesmysteriously became unavailable, asdidhorses, theprovisions,andeverythingelse thatCopehadexpected toobtainatFortBenton.Yethewasundaunted.Hesimplyofferedmoremoney,andmoreontopofthat,untilsuppliesbegantobecomeavailableafterall.

It was here they had their first glimpse of the famous iron will of Professor Cope.Nothing stopped him. They demanded $180, an outrageous sum, for a broken-downwagon; he paid it. Theywanted evenmore for his four “wheelers” and his four saddleponies,“themeanestponiesthateverpicketedtogether,”inSternberg’sestimation.Theywould sell him no food except beans and rice and cheapRedDogwhiskey; he boughtwhat he could. All together, Cope spent $900 for his motley outfit, but he nevercomplained.Hekepthisgazefixedonhisdestination—thefossilsoftheJudithbasin.

Finally, on July 6, Ransom called him into the army stockade. It was the scene ofbustlingactivityandpreparation.RansomtoldCopethathehadjustreceivedordersfromthe Department of War in Washington that “no civilians were permitted to enter thedisputedIndianlandsintheMontana,Wyoming,orDakotaTerritories.”

“I’msorrytoputastoptoyourplans,sir,”Ransomsaidpolitely,settingthetelegramaside.

“Youmustdoyourduty,ofcourse,”Copesaid,equallypolitely.

Coperejoinedhisgroup.Theyhadalreadyheardthenews.

“Iguesswehavetogoback,”Sternbergsaid.

“Notyet,”Copesaidcheerfully.“Youknow,IlikeFortBenton.Ithinkweshouldstayhereafewdaysmore.”

“YoulikeFortBenton?”

“Yes.It’spleasantandagreeable.Andfullofpreparations.”AndCopesmiled.

OnJuly8,theFortBentoncavalrysetofftofighttheSioux,thecolumnridingoutwhilethe band played “The Girl I Left Behind Me.” Later that day, a quite different groupquietlyslippedout.Theywere,wroteJohnson,a“particularlymotleycrew.”

AttheheadofthecolumnrodeEdwardDrinkerCope,UnitedStatespaleontologistandmillionaire.OnhisleftrodeCharlieSternberg,occasionallybendingtomassagehisstiffleg.

On Cope’s right rode LittleWind, their Shoshoni scout and guide. LittleWind wasproudinhisbearing,andhehadassuredCopethatheknewtheJudithRiverarealikethefaceofhisownfather.

BehindthesethreecameJ.C.Isaac,whokeptasharpeyeonLittleWind;withhimwerethestudents,LeanderDavis,HaroldChapman,GeorgeMorton,andJohnson.

Bringinguptherearwas thewagonpulledbyitsfourstubbornhorses,anddrivenbythe teamster and cook “Sergeant” Russell T.Hill. Hewas a fat, weatheredmanwhosegirthhadpersuadedCopethathecouldcook.TeamsterHillwasdistinguishednotonlybyhis size and proficiency at swearing so common among his trade, but also by hisnicknames,whichseemed tobeendless.Hewascalled“Cookie,”“Chippie,”“Squinty,”and“Stinky.”Hillwasamanoffewwords,andthoseweremostoftenrepeatedagainandagain.

So,forexample,whenthestudentswouldaskhimwhyhewascalledCookieorStinkyoranotherofhisnames,hewouldinvariablyreply,“Ireckonyou’llseesoonenough.”

Andwhenconfrontedwithanobstacle,howeverminor,Hillwouldalwayssay,“Can’tbedone,can’tbedone.”

Finally, tethered to the wagon was Bessie, the mule that carried all Johnson’sphotographicsupplies.BessiewasJohnson’sresponsibility,andhegrewtohateherastheexpeditionwenton.

Anhouraftertheystarted,theyhadleftFortBentonbehind,andtheywerealoneontheemptyvastnessoftheGreatPlains.

PartIITheLostWorld

NightonthePlains

Thefirstnight theycampedinaplacecalledClagett,on thebanksof theJudithRiver.There was a trading post here, surrounded by a stockade, but it had been recentlyabandoned.

Hillcookedhisfirstdinner,whichtheyfoundheavybutotherwiseacceptable.Hillusedbuffalo chips for fuel, thus explaining two of his nicknames:Chippie andStinky.Afterdinner,Hillhungtheirfoodinatree.

“What’reyoudoingthatfor?”Johnsonasked.

“That’stokeepthefoodawayfrommaraudinggrizzlies,”Hillsaid.“Nowgogetreadytosleep.”

Hillhimselfstampedthegroundwithhisbootsbeforelayingouthisbedding.

“What’reyoudoingthatfor?”Johnsonasked.

“That’s to stop up the snake holes,”Hill said, “so the rattlers don’t climb under theblanketswithyouatnight.”

“You’rejobbingme,”Johnsonsaid.

“Iain’t,”Hillwarned.“Youaskanyone.Getscoldatnightandtheylikethewarm,sotheycrawlrightinwithyou,coilupagainstyourgroin.”

JohnsonwenttoSternberg,whowasalsolayingouthisbedding.“Aren’tyougoingtostamptheground?”

“No,”Sternbergsaid.“Thisspotisn’tlumpy,looksrealcomfortable.”

“Whataboutrattlesnakescrawlingintotheblankets?”

“Thathardlyeverhappens,”Sternbergsaid.

“Ithardlyeverhappens?”Johnson’svoiceroseinalarm.

“Iwouldn’tworryoverit,”Sternbergsaid.“Inthemorning,justwakeupslow,andseeifyougotanyvisitors.Snakesjustrunaway,comemorning.”

Johnsonshuddered.

Theyhadseennosignofhumanlifealldaylong,butIsaacwasconvincedtheywereat

riskfromIndians.“WithMr.Indian,”hegrumbled,“the timeyoufeelsafest is the timeyou aren’t.” Isaac insisted they post guards throughout the night; the othersgrudginglywentalong.Isaachimselfwouldtakethelastwatch,beforedawn.

ThiswasJohnson’sfirstnightoutunderthegreatdomedskyof theprairie,andsleepwasimpossible.Theverythoughtofarattlesnakeoragrizzlybearwouldhavepreventedanysleep,butthereweretoomanyothersoundsbesides—thewhisperofthewindinthegrass,thehootingofowlsinthedarkness,thedistanthowlsofcoyotes.Hestaredupatthethousandsofstarsinthecloudlesssky,andlistened.

Hewasawakeforeachchangingoftheguard,andsawIsaactakeoverfromSternbergatfouro’clockinthemorning.Buteventuallyfatigueovercamehim,andhewassoundlyasleepwhena seriesof explosions joltedhimawake. Isaacwas shouting, “Halt!Halt, Isay,halt!”ashefiredhisrevolver.

Theyalljumpedup.Isaacpointedeastacrosstheprairie.“There’ssomethingoutthere!Canyouseeit,there’ssomethingoutthere!”

Theylookedandsawnothing.

“Itellyou,there’saman,aloneman!”

“Where?”

“There!Outthere!”

Theystaredatthedistanthorizonoftheplains,andsawnothingatall.

Cookieunleashedastreamofepithets.“He’sInjunshyandhe’scrazy,too—he’sgoingtoseearedmanbehindeverybushlongaswe’reouthere.Wewon’tgetalickofsleep.”

Copequietlysaidthathewouldtakeoverthewatch,andsenttheothersbacktobed.

ItwouldbemanyweeksbeforetheyrealizedthatIsaachadbeenright.

IfStinky’s foodand Isaac’sguarding left something tobedesired, sodidLittleWind’sscouting.TheShoshonibravegotthemlostformuchofthefollowingday.

Twohoursaftertheysetout,theycameacrossfreshhorsemanureontheplains.

“Indians,”Isaacgasped.

Hillsnortedindisgust.“Knowwhatthatis?”hesaid.“That’smanurefromourhorses,that’swhatitis.”

“That’simpossible.”

“Youthinkso?Seethewagontracksoverthere?”Hepointedtofainttracks,wheretheprairiegrasshadbeenpresseddown.“YouwanttobetIputthewheelsofthiswagoninthosetracksandtheylineupexactly?We’relost,Itellyou.”

CoperodealongsideLittleWind.“Arewelost?”

“No,”LittleWindsaid.

“Well,whatdoyouexpecthimtosay?”Hillgrumbled.“YoueverheardanIndianadmithewaslost?”

“I’veneverheardofanIndianbeinglost,”Sternbergsaid.

“Well,wegotonehere,purchasedatgreatexpense,”Hillsaid.“Youmarkmywords,he’sneverbeeninthispartofthecountrybefore,nomatterwhathesays.Andhe’slost,nomatterwhathesays.”

For Johnson, the conversation filled him with strange dread. All day they had beenridingunderthegreatbowlofthesky,acrossuniformlyflatcountry,agreatvistawithoutlandmarks except for the occasional isolated tree or line of cottonwoods thatmarked acreek.Itwastrulya“seaofgrass,”andliketheseaitwastracklessandvast.Hebegantounderstand why everyone in the West talked so familiarly of certain landmarks—Pompey’sPillar,TwinPeaks,YellowCliffs.Thesefewrecognizablefeatureswereislandsin the wide ocean of the prairie, and knowledge of their locations was essential forsurvival.

JohnsonrodealongsideToad.“Canwereallybelost?”

Toadshookhishead.“Indiansarebornhere.Theycanreadthelandinwayswecan’tbegintoimagine.We’renotlost.”

“Well,we’regoingsouth,”Hillgrumbled,staringatthesun.“Why’rewegoingsouth,wheneverymanhereknowsthattheJudithlandsareeast?Cansomeonetellmethat?”

Thenexttwohoursweretense,untilfinallytheycameuponanoldwagontrackrunningeast.LittleWindpointed.“ThisroadforwagonstoJudithlands.”

“That’swhat theproblemwas,”Toadsaid.“He’snotused to travelingwithawagon,andhehadtofindthetrackforourwagontouse.”

“Theproblem,”Hillsaid,“isthathedoesn’tknowthecountry.”

“He knows this country,” Sternberg said. “This is the Indian hunting lands we’re innow.”

Theyrodeoninsobersilence.

IncidentsonthePlains

Inthemiddleofthestillhotafternoon,JohnsonwasridingalongsideCope,talkingquitepeaceablytohim,whenhishatsuddenlyflewawayintheair,althoughtherewasnowind.

A moment later they heard the snapping report of a long rifle. Then another, andanother.

Someonewasshootingatthem.

“Down!”Copeshouted.“Down!”

They dismounted and ducked for cover, crawling beneath thewagon. In the distancetheycouldseeabrownswirlingdustcloud.

“OhGod,”Isaacwhispered.“Indians.”

Thedistantcloudgrewinsize,resolvingintomanysilhouettedhorsemen.Morebulletswhizzedthroughtheair;thefabricofthewagonripped;bulletsspangedoffpotsandpans.Bessiebrayedinalarm.

“We’redonefor,”Mortonmoaned.

“Anyminutenowwe’llhearthosearrowswhistling,”Isaacsaid,“andthen,whentheygetcloser,outcomethetomahawks—”

“Shutup!”Copesaid.Hehadnevertakenhiseyesoffthecloud.“They’renotIndians.”

“Damnifyou’renotabiggerfoolthanIthoughtyouwere!Whoelse’dbe—”

Isaacfellsilent.Thecloudwasnowcloseenoughthattheycouldresolvetheridersintoindividualfigures.Blue-coatedfigures.

“Mightstillberedmen,”Isaacsaid.“WearingCuster’sjackets.Forasurpriseattack.”

“Notmuchsurpriseiftheyare.”

Little Wind squinted at the horizon. “Not Indians,” he pronounced finally. “Saddleponies.”

“Damn!”Cookieshouted.“Thearmy!Myboysinblue!”Heleaptupshouting,wavinghishands.Afusilladeofleadsenthimdivingbackbeneaththewagon.

Thearmyhorsemenrodearoundthewagon,whoopingIndian-style,firingtheirpistols

intotheair.Finally, theystopped,andayoungcaptainpulledup,hishorsesnorting.Heaimedhisrevolveratthefigureshuddledbeneaththewagon.

“Out,youslime.Out!ByGod,I’veamindtofinishyourighthere,everylastmanofyou.”

Copeemerged,purplewithfury.Hisfistswereclenchedathissides.“Idemandtoknowthemeaningofthisoutrage.”

“You’llknow it inhell, youblackguard,” thearmycaptain said, andhe shot twiceatCope,buthisrearinghorsethrewoffhisaim.

“Wait, Cap’n,” one of the soldiers said. By now Cope’s party had all crawled frombeneath the wagon and stood lined up along the wheels. “They don’t look likegunrunners.”

“Damnmeifthey’renot,”thecaptainsaid.Theycouldseenowthathewasdrunk;hiswordswereslurred;hisbodyrockedprecariouslyinthesaddle.“Nobodybutgunrunners’dbe out in this territory now. SupplyingMr. Indian with arms, when just last week sixhundredofourowndearladshavefallentothesavages.It’sslimelikeyoumakeit—”

Copedrewhimselfup.“Thisisascientificexpedition,”hesaid,“undertakenwiththefullknowledgeandauthorizationofCaptainRansomatFortBenton.”

“Balls,”saidthecaptain,anddischargedhisgunintotheairforpunctuation.

“IamProfessorCopeofPhiladelphia,andIamaUnitedStatespaleontologistand—”

“Kissmycalico-coveredarse,”thecaptainsaid.

Cope losthis temperand leapt forward,andSternbergandIsaachurried to intervene.“Now, Professor, control yourself, Professor!” Sternberg yelled as Cope struggled,shouting,“Iwanthim,Iwanthim!”

Intheensuingconfusion,thearmycaptainfiredthreemoretimes,andwheeledonhishorse.“Light’emup,boys!Light’emup!”

“ButCaptain—”

“Isaidlight’emup”—moregunshots—“andImeanlight’emup!”

Therewere stillmore gunshots, and Toad fell, shrieking, “I am hit, I am hit!” Theyrushedtohelphim;bloodpouredfreelyfromhishand.Oneofthesoldiersrodeupwithatorch.Thedrycanvasofthewagonburstintoflames.

They turned to put out the fire, which roared fiercely. The cavalry wheeled aroundthem,thecaptainshouting,“Teach’emalesson,boys!Teach’eminhell!”

Andthen,stillfiring,theyturnedandrodeoff.

Cope’sjournallaconicallynotes:

Have experienced first open hostilities today at the hands of U.S. Cavalry. Fire put out withminimaldamagealthoughwearewithoutprotectivecoveringforwagonandtwoofourtentsareburned.One horse shot dead.One student received fleshwound in hand. No serious injuries,thankGod.

Thatnightitrained.Torrentialcrackingthunderstormscontinuedallthenextdayandallthatnight.Coldandshivering, theyhuddledbeneaththewagon,tryingtosleepwiththeintermittentglaringflashoflightningshowingthemeachother’shaggardfaces.

The next day it rained again, and the trail was turned to mud, bogging down thewagons.Theymadeonlytwomilesofpainful,soggyprogress.Butinthelateafternoon,thesunburst through thecloudsand theairbecamewarmer.Theyfeltbetter,especiallywhen,climbingtothetopofagentlerise,theysawoneofthegreatsightsoftheWest.

Aherdofbuffalo,stretchingasfarastheeyecouldsee,darkshaggyshapesclumpingon the yellow-green grass of the plains. The animals seemed peaceful, except foroccasionalsnortingandbellowing.

Cope estimated there were twomillion buffalo in the herd, perhaps more. “You areluckytoseeit,”hesaid.“Inanotheryearortwo,herdslikethesewillbeonlyamemory.”

Isaacwasnervous.“Wheretherearebuffalo,thereareIndians,”hesaid,andheinsistedtheycampthatnightonhighground.

Johnsonwasfascinatedbythe indifferenceof theanimals to thearrivalofmen.EvenwhenSternbergwentoutandshotanantelopefordinner,theherdhardlyresponded.ButJohnson later remembered that Cookie had said to Cope, “Shall I unhitch the wagontonight?”andCopelookedattheskyandsaidthoughtfully,“Betternottonight.”

Meanwhile the antelopewas butchered, and the fleshwas found to be crawlingwithmaggotyparasites.Cookieannouncedhehadeatenworse,buttheydecidedonamealofbiscuitsandbeansinstead.Johnsonrecordedthat“Iamalreadythoroughlysickofbeans,withsixmoreweeksofthemstillbeforeme.”

Butitwasnotallbad.Theyate,sittingonarockyoutcropbesidethecampandwatchedthebuffalotingewithredasthesunsetbehindthem.Andthen,inthelightofthemoon,theshaggyshapes,andtheoccasionaldistantsnortingofthecreatures,made“avisionofgreatmajestystretchingawaypeacefullybeforeus.SuchweremythoughtsasIturnedinforamuch-neededsleep.”

Lightningcrackedtheskyatmidnight,andtherainbeganagain.Grumblingandswearing, thestudentsdraggedtheirsleepingoutfitsunder thewagon.

Almostimmediately,therainstopped.

They rolled on the hard ground, trying to get back to sleep. “Hell,” Morton said,sniffing.“Whatisthatsmell?”

“You’relyin’inhorseshit,”Toadsaid.

“OhGod,it’strue.”

TheywerelaughingatMorton’spredicament,withthesteadyrumbleofthunderstillintheirears.ThensuddenlyCoperanaroundthewagon,rudelykickingthem.“Up!Up!Areyoumad?Getup!”

Johnsonglancedup,andsawSternbergandIsaachastilyloadingthecampequipment,flingingit intothewagon;thewagonbegantomoveovertheirheadsastheyscrambledoutbeneath.CookieandLittleWindwereshoutingtoeachother.

Johnson ran to Cope. His hair was matted down by the rain; his eyes were wild.Overheadthemoonracedamongstormclouds.

“Whatisit?”Johnsonshoutedovertherumblingthunder.“Whyarewemoving?”

Cope shoved him roughly away. “The lee of the rocks!Get in the lee of the rocks!”Isaac had already gotten thewagon near the rocky outcrop, andCookiewas strugglingwiththehorses,whichsnortedandreared,agitated.Thestudentsstaredateachother,notunderstanding.

And then Johnson realized the rumble theywerehearingwasnot thunder. Itwas thebuffalo.

Terrorizedbythelightning,thebuffalostampededpastthemeninawet,denseriverofflesh that flowed around the rocks on both sides. They were all spattered by copiousquantitiesofmud;forJohnson,itwasapeculiarsensation,inthat“themudcoveredourclothing,ourhair,our faces,andwegrewheavieraswebecame transformed intomud-men,untilfinallywewereallbowedoverbytheimmenseweightofit.”

Theyeventuallycouldseenothing,andcouldonlylistentothethunderinghooves,thesnortingandgrunting,asthedarkshapeshurtledpastthem,ceaselessly.Itseemedasifitwentonforever.

Infact,theherdhadstampededpastthem,withoutinterruption,fortwohours.

Johnsonawoke,hisbodystiffandaching.Hewasunabletoopenhiseyes.Hetouchedhisface,feltthehardcakedmud,andpeeleditaway.

“Iwasgreetedbyasightofutterdesolation,”helaterrecalled,“asifahurricaneorawhirlwindhadstruckus.Therewasonlychoppymudasfarastheeyecouldsee,andourpitifulhumanpartypicking theirway through it.Whateverofourcampoutfit hadbeenprotectedby the rockswas safe; everything elsewasgone.Two tents trampled into themudsodeeplywecouldnotlocatetheminthemorning;heavypotsandcookpansdentedandtwistedbythepassageofthousandsofhooves;tatteredfragmentsofayellowshirt;acarbineshatteredandbent.”

They were greatly discouraged, particularly George Morton, who seemed to be inprofoundshock.Cookiearguedtoturnback,butasusualCopewasindomitable.“Iamnothere to excavate trifling possessions from mud,” he said. “I am here to excavateprehistoricbones.”

“Yes,”Cookiesaid.“Ifyouevergetthere.”

“Wewill.”Heorderedthemtobreakcampandpullout.

LittleWindwasparticularlygrim.HesaidsomethingtoCope,andthengallopedoffto

thenorth.

“Where’shegoing?”GeorgeMortonaskedinalarm.

“Hedoesn’tbelievethebuffalostampededbecauseoflightning,”Copesaid.“Hesaystheydon’tdothat.”

“I’veknown’emtodoit,”Isaacsaid,“inWyoming.Stupidandunpredictable,buffaloare.”

“Butwhatelsecoulditbe?”Mortonsaid,stillalarmed.“Whatdoeshethink?”

“Hethinksheheardgunshotsjustbeforethestampedebegan.Heisgoingtolook.”

“He’sgoingtocontacthisfellowredmen,”Isaacmuttered,“andtellthemwheretofindsomenicewhitescalps.”

“I think it’sall ridiculous,”Mortonsaidpetulantly. “I thinkweshouldgive itupandstopthesewildchases.”

The shock of the stampede must have unnerved him, Johnson thought. He watchedMortonpokethroughthemud,lookingforhissketchpad.

LittleWindwasgoneanhour,andhecamebackridinghard.

“Onecamp,”hesaid,pointingnorth.“Twomen,twoorthreeponies.Onefire.Notent.Manyrifleshells.”Heopenedhishand,andacascadeofcopperjacketstumbleddowninthesunlight.

“Well,I’llbe!”Sternbergsaid.

“It’sMarsh’smen,”Copesaidgrimly.

“Didyouseethem?”Mortonasked.

LittleWindshookhishead.“Leftmanyhours.”

“Whichwaydidtheygo?”

LittleWindpointedeast.Thesamedirectiontheyweregoing.

“Then we’ll come across them again,” Cope said. He clenched his fists. “I’d enjoythat.”

Badlands

TheJudithRiver,atributaryoftheMissouri,flowedfromtheLittleBeltMountainsandconnectedwithlargecreeksinaconfusingmeanderofwaterways.

“There’sdamngoodtroutinthosewaters,”saidCookie.“NotthatIexpectwewillbefishing.”

TheJudithRiverbasinitselfconsistedofbadlands,rockyoutcropsthatformed,fortheeye,intomysteriousshapes,demonsanddragons.Aplaceofgargoyles,saidToad.

Toad’sarmwasnowswollenandred;hecomplainedofpain.SternbergsaidprivatelyhethoughtToadwouldhavetobesentbacktoFortBenton,wherethearmysurgeoncouldamputatehisarmwiththebenefitofwhiskeyandabonesaw.ButnobodymentionedittoToad.

The scaleof the rock formations in the Judithbadlandswas enormous;great cliffs—Copecalledthem“exposures”—reachinghundredsoffeetintotheair,inplacestoweringmorethanathousandfeetabovethem.Withpastelbandsofpinkandblackrock,thelandhadastarkanddesolatebeauty.Butitwasaharshland:therewaslittlewaternearby,anditwasmostlybrackish,alkaline,poisonous.“Hardtobelievethiswasagreatinlandlake,surroundedbyswamps,”Copesaid,staringatthesoftsculptedrock.Copealwaysseemedtoseemorethantheothersdid.CopeandalsoSternberg:thetoughfossilhunterhadthepracticed eye of a plains explorer; he always seemed to knowwhere to find game andwater.

“We’llhavewaterenoughhere,”hepredicted.“Itwon’tbethewaterthattroublesus.It’llbethedust.”

Therewas indeed an alkaline bite in the air, but the others did notmind it somuch.Theirimmediateproblemwastofindacampsitenearasuitableplaceforexcavation,andthiswasnomeantask.Movingthewagonsovertheterrain—therewerenowagontrailshere—wasdifficultandsometimesdangerouswork.

TheywerealsonervousaboutIndians,becausetheysawplentyofsignsaroundthem:ponytracks,abandonedcookfires,theoccasionalantelopecarcass.Someofthecookfireslooked recent, but Sternberg professed complete indifference. Even the Sioux weren’tcrazy enough to stay in the badlands for long. “Only a crazy white man’d spend allsummerhere,”helaughed.“Andonlyacrazy,richwhitemanwouldspendhisvacation

here!”HeslappedJohnsonontheback.

Fortwodaystheypushedthewagonsuphillsandbracedthemdownhills,untilfinallyCopeannouncedthattheywereinasuitableboneregion,andtheycouldmakecampatthenextgoodsitetheyfound.Sternbergsuggestedthetopofthenearbyrise,andtheypushedthe wagons up a final time, coughing in the dust of the wheels. Toad, unable to helpbecauseofhisswollenarm,said,“Doyousmellfire?”butnoonedid.

Astheycametothetopoftherise,theyhadaviewovertheplainsandameanderingstream,with cottonwoodsgrowingalongside it.And stretching as far as they could seewerewhiteteepees,eachwithathincolumnofsmokeissuingfromthem.

“MyGod,”Sternbergsaid.Hequicklyestimatedthenumber.

“Whatdoyoumakeit?”Isaacsaid.

“Imakeitmore’nathousandteepees.MyGod,”Sternbergsaidagain.

“Iampersuaded,”saidIsaac,“thatwearedeadmen.”“Ireckon,”saidCookieHill.Hespatontheground.

Sternberg didn’t think so. The questionwaswhat tribe of Indians theywere. If theywereSioux,thenIsaacwasright;theywereasgoodasdead.ButtheSiouxweresupposedtostillbefarthersouth.

“Whocareswherethey’resupposedtobe?”Cookiesaid.“They’rehere,andsoarewe.It’sthatLittleWeasel,heledushere—”

“That’s enough. Let’s go about our business,” Cope said. “Make our camp, and actnaturally.”

“Afteryou,Professor,”Cookiesaid.

Itwasdifficulttoactnaturallywithathousandteepeesspreadontheplainsbelow,andtheassociatedhorses,fires,people.Theyhadofcoursealreadybeenspotted;someoftheIndianswerepointingandgesturing.

Bythetimetheyhadunloadedthecookwagonandstartedthefireforthenight,agroupofmountedhorsemensplashedacrossthestreamandrodeuptowardtheircamp.

“Heretheycome,boys,”Cookiemuttered.

Johnson counted twelve riders.His heart pounded as he heard their horses approach.Theyweresuperbhorsemen,ridingfastandeasily,trailingacloudofdust.Theywhoopedandshoutedsavagelyastheycamecloser.

“Theseweremy first Indians,” he later remembered, “and I was consumed in equalpartswithcuriosityandterror.Iconfessthattoseetheswirlingdustcloud,andheartheirsavageshrieks,increasedthelatter,andforthethousandthtimeonthisjourneyIregrettedtherashnessofmywager.”

The Indians were now close and rode in circles around the wagon, whoopingenthusiastically.Theyknewthewhitemenwerefrightened,andenjoyed it.Finally, they

drewup,andtheirleaderrepeatedseveraltimes,“Howah,howah.”Hesaiditinagruntingsortofway.JohnsonwhisperedtoSternberg,“Whatdidhesay?”

“Hesaid,‘How.’”

“Whatdoesthatmean?”

“Itmeans,‘Iagree,everythingisfine,Ifeelfriendly.’”

Johnson could now see the Indians clearly. Like many other first-time observers ofPlains Indians, he was astonished at how handsome they were—“tall and muscularlyendowed,theirfacespossessingpleasingregularfeatures,theirbearingnaturallydignifiedandproud,theirpersonsandbuckskingarmentssurprisinglyclean.”

TheIndianswerenotsmiling,buttheyseemedfriendlyenough.Theyallsaid“Howah”inturn,andlookedaroundatthecamp.Therewasanawkwardsilence.Isaac,whoknewsomeIndianlanguage,venturedafewwordsofgreeting.

Instantly their faces darkened. They wheeled on their horses and rode away,disappearinginanalkalinedustcloud.

Sternbergsaid,“Yougoddamnfool,whatdidyousay?”

“Isaid,‘Ibidyouwelcomeandwishyousuccessandhappinessinthejourneyofyourlife.’”

“What’dyousayitin?”

“Mandan.”

“Yougoddamnfool,Mandan’sSiouxtalk.Those’reCrows!”

Even Johnson had been long enough in the plains to know of the traditional enmitybetween the Sioux and the Crow tribes. The hatred between them was deep andimplacable, especially since in recent years the Crows had allied themselves with thewhitesoldiersinthefightagainsttheSioux.

“Well,Mandan’sallIknow,”Isaacprotested,“soIsaidit.”

“You goddamn fool,” Sternberg repeated. “If we didn’t before, now we have aproblem.”

“IthoughtCrowsneverkilledwhitepeople,”Mortonsaid,lickinghislips.

“That’swhattheCrowssay,”Sternbergsaid,“buttheytendtoexaggerate.Ohyes,lads,wehaveaproblem.”

“Well, we’ll go down there and straighten it out,” Cope said, in his usual forthrightmanner.

“Afterourlastsupper?”Cookiesaid.

“No,”Copesaid.“Now.”

TheIndianVillage

Aboriginal peoples had hunted on the Western plains of America for more than tenthousandyears.Theyhadseen theglaciers recedeand the landbecomewarm; theyhadwitnessed(andperhapsaccelerated)thedisappearanceofthegreatmastodons,thehippo,andthefearedsaber-toothedtiger.Theyhadhuntedwhenthelandwasheavilyforested,andtheyhuntednowthatitwasaseaofgrass.Throughallthethousandsofyears,throughallthechangesofgameandclimate,Indianshadcontinuedtoliveasnomadichuntersonthevastspacesoftheland.

ThePlainsIndiansofthenineteenthcenturywerecolorful,dramatic,mystical,warlikepeople.Theycapturedtheimaginationofallwhosawthem,andinmanywaystheystood,inthepopularmind,forallAmericanIndians.Theantiquityoftheirrituals,the intricateorganizationoftheirwayoflife,wasmuchadmiredbyliberalthinkers.

But the truthwas that thePlains Indiansociety thatWesterners sawwashardlyolderthanthewhiteAmericannationthatnowthreateneditsexistence.ThePlainsIndianswereanomadichuntingsocietyorganizedaroundthehorse,asweretheMongolsofAsia.Yettherehadbeennohorses inAmericauntil theSpaniards introduced them threehundredyearsearlier,changingPlainsIndiansocietybeyondrecognition.

And even the traditional tribal structures, and tribal rivalries, were less ancient thanoftenimagined.Mostauthoritiesbelieved theCrowIndianswereoncepartof theSiouxnation, living inwhat isnow Iowa; theyhadmigratedwest towardMontana, evolvedaseparate identity, and become the implacable antagonists of their former kin. As oneexpertwrote, “TheSiouxand theCrow are virtually the same in dress,manner, habits,language,customs,values,bearing.Thissimilaritymightbethoughttoformthebasisoffriendship,yetitonlyheightenstheirantagonism.”

ItwastheseCrowIndiansthattheynowrodedowntovisit.

FirstimpressionsofanIndianvillagewereoftencontradictory.HenryMortonStanley,theWelsh explorer and journalist who in 1871 famously found Dr. David Livingstone inAfrica,enteredBlackKettle’svillagewithCusterandfounditfilthy:“sofoul,indeed,astodefydescription.”Robesontheteepeefloorswerecrawlingwithvermin;excrementalodorsassailedhim.

Other first-timeobserverswereunnerved tosee Indians roastingadogovera fire,orchewingbloodybuffalo steaks.But Johnson’s first impressions, riding thatevening intotheCrowvillage,seemmorerevealingabouthimthanabouttheCrow:

“Anyonewhoimagines,”hewrote,

thatthenomadicIndianlivesafree-spiritedandopenlifewillreceivearudeshockonvisitinghisplaceofhabitation.ThePlains Indian village is, like the life of thewarrior, regimented in theextreme. Teepees are regularly designed of elk hide, regularly set out, and regularly arrangedaccordingtofixedrules;therearerulesforplacementofthe(back)restsinsidetheteepees,andrugs,andrawhidecontainers;therearerulesforthedesignsthatdecoratetherobesandclothesandteepees;rulesforthemakingoffiresandthemannersofcooking;rulesforthebehavioroftheIndianateverymomentandatalltimesinhislife;rulesforwarandrulesforpeaceandrulesforhuntingandrulesforbehaviorbeforehunting;andalltheserulesarefollowedwitharigidfixity and a serious determination which forcibly reminds the observer that one is among awarriorrace.

Theytetheredtheirhorsesattheedgeofthevillageandwalkedin,slowly.Curiousstaresgreetedthemfromeveryside;laughingchildrenfellsilent,pausedtowatchthestrangerspass;odorsofcookingvenisonandthepeculiarpungencyofdryinghidesassaultedtheirnostrils.Atlengthayoungbravecameupandmadesomeelaboratemovementswithhishands.

“What’shedoing?”whisperedJohnson.

“Signlanguage,”Toadsaid,cradlinghisswollenarmwiththeother.

“Youunderstandit?”

“No,”Toadsaid.

ButLittleWinddid,andhespoke to thebrave in theCrowlanguage.TheIndian ledthemdeeperintothevillage,toalargeteepeewherefiveolderwarriorssataroundafireinasemicircle.

“The chiefs,” Toad whispered. At a gesture from one, the white men all sat in asemicirclefacingthem.

“Thenbegan,”wroteJohnson,

themostprotractednegotiationsIeverexperiencedinmylife.TheIndianslovetotalkandareinnorush.Theircuriosity,theformalelaboratenessofceremonialspeech,andthelackofurgencywith regard to time peculiar to them, all conspired to ameeting of acquaintance that clearlywould take all night. Everything was discussed: who we were (including our names, and themeaningofournames);wherewehadcomefrom(thecities,themeaningsofthenamesofcities,whatrouteswehadtaken,howwehadchosentheroute,andwhatexperienceswehadhadonourjourney);whywewerehere (the reason for our interest in the bones, and howwe planned toexcavate them,andwhatweplanned todowith them);whatwewerewearingasclothingandwhy,themeaningofringsandtrinketsandbeltbuckles,andsoonadinfinitumetadnauseam.

Ifthepowwowseemedinterminable,itmusthaveinpartbeenbecauseofthetensionthewhites felt. Sternberg noted that “they didn’t care overly for our answers.” It soonemergedthattheyknewaboutCope,hadbeentoldthathewasunfriendlytoIndians,andhadkilledhisownfather.TheCrowhadbeenadvisedtokillhiminturn.

Copewas furious,butkepthis temper.Smilingpleasantly,he said to theothers, “Do

you see thevillainy, theblack scoundrel’s techniques, finally exposed to all eyes?Do IharassMarsh?Do I attempt at every juncture to impede his progress?Am I jealous ofhim?Iaskyou.Iaskyou.”

ThechiefscouldtellthatCopewasupset,andLittleWindhastenedtoassurethemofanerror.

TheIndiansinsistedtherewasnoerror:Copehadbeendescribedwellandtrue.

Whohassaidthesethingsabouthim?LittleWindasked.

RedCloudAgency.

RedCloudAgencyisaSiouxagency.

Thisisso.

TheSiouxareyourenemy.

Thisisso.

Howcanyoubelievethewordsofanenemy?

Thediscussiondraggedon,hourafterhour.Atlength,tocontrolhistemperorperhapshis nerves, Cope began to sketch. He drew the chief, and the likeness aroused greatinterest.Thechiefwantedthesketch,andCopegaveittohim.ThechiefwantedCope’spen.Coperefused.

“Professor,”Sternbergsaid,“Ithinkyou’dbettergivehimyourpen.”

“Iwilldonothingofthesort.”

“Professor...”

“Verywell.”Copehandedoverthepen.

Shortlybeforedawn,thediscussionturnedfromCopetoToad.Somekindofnewchiefwas called for, a very pale, very thinmanwith awild look in his eyes.His namewasWhiteDeer.WhiteDeerlookedatToad,andmutteredsomething,andleft.

TheIndiansthenannouncedtheywantedToadtoremaininthecamp,andfortheotherstoleave.

Coperefused.

“It’sallright,”Toadsaid.“Iwillserveasakindofhostage.”

“Theymaykillyou.”

“But if theykillme,”Toadpointedout, “they’ll almost certainlykill all of you soonafter.”

Intheend,Toadremained,andtheothersleft.

Fromtheircamp,theylookeddownontheIndianencampmentasdawnbroke.Thebraveshadbegunwhoopingandridingincircles;alargefirewasbeingbuilt.

“PoorToad,”Isaacsaid.“They’lltorturehimforsure.”

Copewatched throughhisglass,but thesmokeobscuredeverything.Nowachantingbegan;itkeptupuntilnineinthemorning,whenitabruptlystopped.

Apartyofbravesrodeuptothecamp,bringingToadwiththemonasparehorse.TheycameuponCopewashinghis false teeth ina tinbowl.TheIndianswereentrancedand,beforeToaddismounted,insistedthatCopepophislifeliketeethinandthentakethemoutagain.

Copedidthisseveraltimes,contrastingadazzlingsmilewithagaping,toothlesshole,andtheIndiansdepartedmuchentertained.

Dazed,Toadwatchedthemgo.

“Thatonechief,WhiteDeer,didmagiconmyhand,”hesaid,“tocureit.”

“Didithurt?”

“No,theyjustwavedfeathersoveritandchanted.ButIhadtoeatsomeawfulstuff.”

“Whatstuff?”

“Idon’tknow,butitwasawful.I’mverytirednow.”Hecurledupbeneaththewagon,andsleptforthenexttwelvehours.

Toad’s arm was improved the following morning. In three days he was cured. Eachmorning,theIndianswouldrideuptoseeCope.AndtheywouldwatchFunnyToothwashhis teeth.TheIndianswouldoftenhangaroundthecamp,but theynever tookanything.Andtheywereveryinterestedinwhatthewhitesweredoing:findingbones.

BoneCountry

With thesepreliminaryproblemsresolved,Copewas impatient tobegin thework.Thestudents found him standing in the dawn chill, glancing up at the cliffs near the camp,whichwerebeingstruckwith light for the first time thatday.Abruptly,he leaptupandsaid,“Comealong,comealong.Quicklynow,thisisthebesttimetolook.”

“Lookforwhat?”thestudentsasked,surprised.

“You’llknowsoonenough.”He led them to thecliff faceexposurenearest thecampandpointed.“Seeanything?”

They looked.Theysawbare,erodedrock,predominantlygray incolorwithpinkanddarkgraystriationshighlightedintheweakmorningsunlight.Thatwasalltheysaw.

“Nobones?”Copeasked.

Encouragedbythishint, theylookedhard,squintinginthelight.Toadpointed.“Howaboutupthere?”

Copeshookhishead.“Justembeddedboulders.”

Mortonpointed.“Neartherisethere?”

Copeshookhishead.“Toohigh,don’tlookupthere.”

Johnsontriedhisluck.“Overthere?”

Cope smiled. “Dead sagebrush.Well, it seemsyou can see everythingbut thebones.Now:lookinthemiddleofthecliff,foracliffthishighwillhaveitsCretaceouszonenearthemiddle—alowercliff,itmightbenearerthetop—butthisone,itwillbeinthemiddle—justbelowthatpinkstriationbandthere.Nowrunyoureyealongthebanduntilyouseeakindofroughness,seethere?Thatovalpatchthere?Thosearebones.”

Theylooked,andthentheysaw:thebonescaughtthesunlighteversodifferentlyfromtherock,roundededgesmoremutedthanjaggedstone,theircolorashadedifferent.Oncepointed out, it became easy: they saw another patch there—andmore there—and thereagain—andstillmore.“Werealized,”wroteJohnson,

thattheentireclifffacewasfairlystuffedtoburstingwithbones,whichpreviouslywereinvisibletous,yetnowwereasplainasthenoseonyourface.ButasProfessorCopesays,wehadtolearntorecognizethenoseonyourface,too.Helikestosay,“Nothingisobvious.”

Theywerediscoveringdinosaurs.In 1876, scientific acceptance of dinosaurs was still fairly recent; at the turn of the

century, men did not suspect the existence of these great reptiles at all, although theevidencewastheretosee.

Back in July 1806,WilliamClark, of the Lewis and Clark Expedition, explored thesouthbankoftheYellowstoneRiver,inwhatwouldlaterbecomeMontanaTerritory,andfoundafossil“semented[sic]withinthefaceoftherock.”Hedescribeditasabonethreeinches in circumference and three feet in length, and considered it the rib of a fish,althoughitwasprobablyadinosaurbone.

MoredinosaurboneswerefoundinConnecticutin1818;theywerebelievedtobetheremains of human beings; dinosaur footprints, discovered in the same region, weredescribedasthetracksof“Noah’sraven.”

ThetruemeaningofthesefossilswasfirstrecognizedinEngland.In1824,aneccentricEnglishclergymannamedBucklanddescribed“theMegalosaurusorGreatFossilLizardof Stonesfield.” Buckland imagined the fossil creature to bemore than forty feet long,“andwithabulkequaltothatofanelephantsevenfeethigh.”Butthisremarkablelizardwasconsideredanisolatedspecimen.

The following year, GideonMantell, an English physician, described “Iguanodon, anewly-discoveredFossilReptile.”Mantell’sdescriptionwasbasedlargelyonsometeethfound in anEnglishquarry.Originally the teethwere sent toBaronCuvier, thegreatestanatomist of his day; he pronounced them the incisors of a rhinoceros. Dissatisfied,Mantellremainedconvincedthat“Ihaddiscoveredtheteethofanunknownherbivorousreptile,”andeventuallydemonstratedthattheteethmostresembledthoseofaniguana,anAmericanlizard.

BaronCuvieradmittedhiserror,andwondered:“Dowenothavehereanewanimal,anherbivorous reptile . . . of another time?”Other fossil reptiles were unearthed in rapidsuccession: Hylaeosaurus in 1832; Macrodontophion in 1834; Thecodontosaurus andPaleosaurusin1836;Plateosaurus in1837.Witheachnewdiscoverycamethegrowingsuspicion that the bones represented a whole group of reptiles that had since vanishedfromtheearth.

Finally, in1841,anotherphysicianandanatomist,RichardOwen,proposed theentiregroupbecalledDinosauria,or“terriblelizards.”Thenotionbecamesowidelyacceptedthat in 1854, full-size reconstructions of dinosaurs were built in the Crystal Palace inSydenham, and attained wide popularity with the public. (Owen, knighted by QueenVictoria for his accomplishments, later became a bitter opponent of Darwin and thedoctrineofevolution.)

By1870, thefocusofdinosaurhuntingshiftedfromEuropetoNorthAmerica.Ithadbeenrecognizedsincethe1850sthattherewerelargenumbersoffossilsintheAmericanWest, but recovery of these giant bones was impractical until the completion of thetranscontinentalrailroadin1869.

Thefollowingyear,CopeandMarshbegantheirfuriouscompetitiontoacquirefossilsfromthisnewregion.TheyundertooktheirlaborswithalltheruthlessnessofaCarnegieoraRockefeller. Inpart thisaggressiveness—newtoscientificendeavors—reflected theprevailingvaluesoftheirage.Andinpart itwasarecognitionofthefact thatdinosaurswere no longermysterious. Cope andMarsh knew exactlywhat theywere about: theywerediscovering the full rangeofagreatorderofvanishedreptiles.Theyweremakingscientifichistory.

And they knew that fame and honor would accrue to the man who discovered anddescribedthelargestnumber.

Thetwomenwereconsumedbythesearch.“Huntingforbones,”wroteJohnson,“hasapeculiarfascination,notunlikehuntingforgold.Oneneverknowswhatonewillfind,andthepossibilities,thepotentialdiscoverieslyinginwait,fuelsthequest.”

Andtheydidindeedmakediscoveries.Whiletheydugthehillside,Copewaskeptbusyon the ground below, sketching, making notes, and classifying. He insisted that thestudentsbemeticulousinrecordingwhichboneswerefoundinproximitytowhichothers.Shovelandpickaxwereusedtoloosenthestone,buttheygavewaytothesmallertools,which appeared simple enough: hammer, chisel, pick, and brush. Despite the students’earnestness, therewas first agreatdealof technique tobe learned; theyhad to learn tochoose among the three weights of wide-head hammer, four widths of rock chisel(importedfromGermany,explainedCope,forthequalityofthecoldsteel),twosizesofsteelpointstopickatthestone,andavarietyofstiffbrushesforwhiskingawaydirtanddustandgravel.

“We’ve come too far not to do this the correct way,” Cope said. “The fossils don’talwaysgivethemselvesupeasily,too.”

One did not just bang a fossilized bone out of the rock, he explained to them. Onestudiedthepositionofthefossil,tappedthestonewithachiselwhennecessary,hammeredvigorously only rarely. To find the subtle demarcation between bone and stone, it wasnecessarytoseecolordifference.

“Sometimesithelpsjusttospitonit,”Copesaid.“Themoistureheightensthecontrast.”

“I’mgoingtodieofthirstprettyquickly,”mutteredGeorgeMorton.

“Anddon’tjustlookatwhatyouaredoing,”Copeinstructed.“Listen,too.Listentothesoundofthechiselhittingthestone.Thehigherthenote,theharderthestone.”

Healsodemonstratedtherightpositiontoextractthefossils,dependingupontheslopeoftherock.Theyworkedontheirbellies,ontheirknees,squatting,andsometimeswhilestanding.Whentherockfacewasespeciallysharp,theyhammeredinaspikeandsecuredthemselveswithropes.Theyweretounderstandhowtheangleofthesunrevealednotjustthefaceofthestonebutalsoitsfissuresandunexpecteddepths.

Johnson foundhimself recallinghowchallenging ithadbeen forhim to learn to takephotographs; extracting fossils from the grasp of stonewithout damaging themwas farmoredifficult.

Cope showed themhow toposition their toolsnext to thehand thatwoulduse thosetoolsandtoworkasefficientlyaspossible,forinadayeachstudentwouldswitchfromhammerandchiseltopicktobrushandbackagaininallcombinationshundredsoftimes.Left-handerskepttheirchiselstotheirright,brushestotheirleft.

“Theworkismoretiringthanyouexpect,”hetoldthem.

And,indeed,itwas.

“Myfingershurt,mywristshurt,myshouldershurt,andalsomykneesandfeet,”saidGeorgeMortonafterthefirstfewdays.

“Betteryouthanme,”Cookiesaid.

As the bones came down to the camp, Cope laid them on a dark wool blanket forcontrast, staring at them until he saw how they related to each other. In late July, heannounced a new duck-billedHadrosaurus; a week later, a flying reptile. And then inAugust they found aTitanosaurus, and finally the teeth of aChampsosaurus. “We arefindingwonderfuldinosaurs!”exultedCope.“Wonderful,marvelousdinosaurs!”

Theworkwasexhausting,backbreaking,sometimesdangerous.Foronething, thescaleofthelandscapewas,asintherestof theWest,deceptive.Whatappearedtobeasmallcliffexposureturnedout,onclimbing,tobefiveorsixhundredfeethigh.Scramblingupthese sheer crumbling faces, working halfway up the hill, maintaining balance on theincline,wasfatiguingintheextreme.Itwasastrangeworld:often,workingonthesehugerockyfaces,theyweresofaraparttheycouldhardlyseeeachother,butbecausethelandwas so quiet and the curving cliffs acted like giant funnels, they could hold clearconversations no louder than a whisper, even within the constant sound of thereverberatingpingsandsoftclicksofhammersstrikingchiselandchiselstrikingstone.

Atothertimes,thebroadersilenceanddesolationbecameoppressive.EspeciallyaftertheCrowmovedon,theywereuncomfortablyawareofthesilence.

AndSternberghadbeenright:intheend,theworstthingaboutthebadlandswasthedust.Harshly alkaline, it billowedupwith every stabof pick and shovel; it burned the eyes,stung the nose, caked the mouth, caused coughing spasms; it burned in open cuts; itcoveredclothesandchafedatelbowsandarmpitsandbacksofknees;itgrittedinsleepingbags;itdustedfood,sourandbitter,andflavoredcoffee;stirredbythewind,itbecameaconstantforce,asignatureofthisharshandforbiddingplace.

Theirhands,whichtheyneededinordertodoeverything,especiallydigfossils,weresoonscrapedandcalloused,thedustburninginanycracks.Copeinsistedtheythoroughlywashtheirhandsattheendofthedayanddispensedasmalldollopofyellowishemollienttorubintotheirpalmsandfingers.

“Smellsbad,”Johnsonsaid.“Whatisit?”

“Clarifiedbearfat.”

Butthedustwaseverywhere.Nothingtheytriedworked.Bandanasandfaceclothsdidnothelp,sincetheycouldnotprotecttheeyes.Cookiebuiltatenttotrytokeepthedustoffthefoodhewaspreparing,butitburneddownonthesecondday.Theycomplainedtoeachotherforawhile,andthenafterthesecondweek,theynolongermentionedit.Itwaslikeaconspiracyofsilence.Theywouldnolongertalkaboutthedust.

Once dug out, the fragile bones had to be lowered down with ropes in a difficult,painstakingprocess.One slip, and the fossilswouldbreak freeof the ropes and tumbledownthehillside,crashingtotheground,smashedbeyondvalue.

At such times, Cope turned waspish, reminding them that the fossils had “lain formillionsof years in perfect peace and remarkable preservation,waiting for you to dropthemlikeidiots!Idiots!”

ThesehotspeechesledthemtoanxiouslyawaitsomeslipbyCopehimself,butitneverhappened.Sternbergfinallysaidthat“exceptforhistemper,theprofessorisperfect,anditseemsbesttorecognizeit.”

Buttherockwasfragile,andbreaksinthefossilsdidoccur,evenwiththemostcarefulhandling.Mostfrustratingofallwasabreakdaysorweeksafterthefossilwasloweredtotheground.

ItwasSternbergwhofirstproposedasolution.

When they set out from Fort Benton, they had brought with them several hundredpoundsofrice.Asthedayswenton,itbecameclearthattheywouldnevereatalltherice(“at least not the way Stinky cooks it,” Isaac grumbled). Rather than leave it behind,Sternberg boiled the rice to a gelatinous paste, which he poured over the fossils. Thisnovelpreservative technique left the fossils looking likesnowyblocks—or,asheput it,“giganticcookies.”

But whatever they called it, the paste provided a protective covering. They had nofurtherbreaks.

AroundtheFire

Eachevening,whenthesunlightwasfadingandthelightwassoft,makingthesculpturedterrainlooklessstark,Copereviewedwiththemthefindsoftheday,andspokeofthelostworldinwhichthesegiantanimalsroamed.

“Cope could speak like an orator when he chose to,” noted Sternberg, “and of anevening, the dead gray rocks became dense green jungle, the trickling streams vastvegetation-choked lakes, the clear sky turned closewith hot rainclouds, and indeed theentire barren landscapebefore our eyeswas transformed into an ancient swamp. Itwasmysterious,whenhespokethatway.Wefeltgoose-bumpsandachillonthespine.”

Inpart,thatchillcamefromthelingeringtingeofheresy.UnlikeMarsh,Copewasnotan open Darwinian, but he appeared to believe in evolution, and certainly in greatantiquity.Mortonwasgoingtobeapreacher,likehisfather.HeaskedCope,“asamanofscience,”howoldtheworldwas.

Copesaidhehadnoidea,inthemildwayhehadwhenhewasconcealingsomething.Itwastheoppositesideofhissnappingtemper,thisalmostlazyindifference,thistranquil,calmvoice.ThismildnessovercameCopewheneverthediscussionmovedintoareasthatmightbeconsideredreligious.AdevoutQuaker (despitehispugilistic temperament),hefounditdifficulttotreadonthereligiousfeelingsofothers.

Wastheworld,Mortonasked,sixthousandyearsold,asBishopUssherhadsaid?

Agreatmanyseriousandinformedpeoplestillbelievedthisdate,despiteDarwinandthefussthatthenewscientistswhocalledthemselves“geologists”weremaking.Afterall,the trouble with what the scientists said was that they were always saying somethingdifferent. This year one idea, next year something else. Scientific opinion was everchanging, like the fashions of women’s dress, while the firm and fixed date 4004 BCinvitedtheattentionofthoseseekinggreaterverity.

No,Copesaid,hedidnotthinktheworldwassorecent.

Howold,then?askedMorton.Sixthousandyears?Tenthousandyears?

No,Copesaid,stilltranquil.

Thenhowmucholder?

Athousandthousandtimesasold,saidCope,hisvoicestilldreamy.

“Surely you’re joking!” Morton exclaimed. “Four billion years? That is patentlyabsurd.”

“Iknowofnoonewhowasthereatthetime,”Copesaidmildly.

“Butwhatabouttheageofthesun?”Mortonsaid,withasmuglook.

In1871,LordKelvin,themosteminentphysicistofhisday,posedaseriousobjectiontoDarwin’stheory.IthadnotbeenansweredbyDarwin,oranyoneelse,insubsequentyears.

Whateverelseonemightthinkofevolutionarytheory,itobviouslyimpliedasubstantialperiodoftime—atleastseveralhundredthousandyears—tocarryoutitseffectsonearth.At the time of Darwin’s publication, the oldest estimates of the age of the earthwerearound ten thousandyears.Darwinhimselfbelieved theearthwouldhave tobeat leastthree hundred thousand years old to allow enough time for evolution. The earthlyevidence,fromthenewstudyofgeology,wasconfusingandcontradictory,butitseemedatleastconceivablethattheearthmightbeseveralhundredthousandyearsold.

LordKelvintookadifferentapproachtothequestion.Heaskedhowlongthesunhadbeen burning.At this time, themass of the sunwaswell established; itwas obviouslyburning with the same processes of combustion as were found on earth; therefore onecould estimate the time it would take to consume the mass of the sun in a great fire.Kelvin’sanswerwasthatthesunwouldburnupentirelywithintwentythousandyears.

The fact that Lord Kelvin was a devoutly religious man and therefore opposed toevolution could not be thought to have biased his thinking. He had investigated theproblem from the impersonal vantage point of mathematics and physics. And he hadconcluded,irrefutably, that therewassimplynotenoughtimeforevolutionaryprocessestotakeplace.

Corroborating evidence derived from thewarmth of the earth. Frommine shafts andotherdrilling, itwasknown that the earth’s temperature increasedonedegree for everythousandfeetofdepth.Thisimpliedthatthecoreoftheearthwasstillquitehot.Butiftheearth had really formed hundreds of thousands of years ago, it would have long sincebecome cool. That was a clear implication of the second law of thermodynamics, andtherewasnodisputingit.

Therewasonlyoneescapefromthesephysicaldilemmas,andCopeechoedDarwininsuggestingit.“Perhaps,”hesaid,“wedonotknoweverythingabouttheenergysourcesofthesunandtheearth.”

“Youmean theremaybeanewformofenergy,asyetunknown toscience?”Mortonasked.“Thephysicistssaythatitisimpossible,that therulesgoverningtheuniversearefullyunderstoodbythem.”

“Perhapsthephysicistsarewrong,”Copesaid.

“Certainlysomeoneiswrong.”

“Thatistrue,”Copesaidevenly.

Ifhewasopen-mindedwhenlisteningtoMorton’sbeliefs,hewasequallysowithLittle

Wind,theSnakescout.

Early in the bone digging, Little Wind became agitated and objected to theirexcavations.Hesaidtheywouldallbekilled.

“Whowillkillus?”Sternberginquired.

“TheGreatSpirit,withlightning.”

“Why?”Sternbergasked.

“Becausewedisturbtheburialground.”

LittleWindexplainedthatthesewerethebonesofgiantsnakesthathadinhabitedtheearthinagespast,beforetheGreatSpirithadhuntedthemdownandkilledthemallwithboltsoflightningsothatmancouldliveontheplains.

TheGreatSpiritwouldnotwanttheserpentbonesdisturbed,andwouldnotlookkindlyontheiradventures.

Sternberg,whodidnotlikeLittleWindanyway,dulyreportedittoCope.

“Hemayberight,”Copesaid.

“It’snothingbutsavagesuperstition,”Sternbergsnorted.

“Superstition?Whichpartdoyoumean?”

“Allofit,”Sternbergsaid.“Theveryidea.”

Copesaid,“The Indians think these fossilsare thebonesof serpents,which is to sayreptiles.Wethinktheywerereptiles,too.Theythinkthesecreaturesweregigantic.Sodowe.Theythinkthesegiganticreptileslivedinthedistantpast.Sodowe.TheythinktheGreatSpiritkilledthem.Wesaywedon’tknowwhytheydisappeared—butsinceweoffernoexplanationofourown,howcanwebesuretheirsissuperstition?”

Sternbergwalkedaway,shakinghishead.

BadWater

Copechosehiscampsitesforconveniencetofossils,andnootherreason.Onedifficultywiththeirfirstsitewaslackofwater.NearbyBearCreekwassobadlypollutedtheydidnotdrawwater fromthereafter thefirstnight,when theyallexperienceddysenteryandcramps.Andthewaterelsewhereinthebadlandswas,inSternberg’swords,“likeadensesolutionofEpsomsalts.”

Sotheydrewalltheirwaterfromsprings.LittleWindknewseveral,thenearestatwo-mileridefromcamp.SinceJohnsonwasfussiestabout thewater,whichheusedforhisphotographic processes, it became his job to ride to and from the spring each day, andfetchthewater.

Someonealwaysaccompaniedhimontheseexcursions.Theyhadseennotroublewiththe Crows, and the Sioux were still presumed to be far south, but these were Indianhunting grounds, and they never knew when they might meet small parties of hostileIndians.Solitaryriderswerealwaysatrisk.

Nevertheless,forJohnsonitwasthemostexhilaratingpartoftheday.Torideoutunderthegreatdomeofbluesky,withtheplainsstretchinginalldirectionsaroundhim,wasanexperiencethatapproachedthemystical.

Usually,LittleWindrodewithhim.LittleWindlikedtogetoutofcamp, too,butfordifferent reasons. As the days passed and more bones were unearthed, he becameincreasinglyfearfuloftheretributionoftheGreatSpirit,or,ashesometimescalledit,theEverywhere Spirit—the spirit that existed in all things in the world, and was foundeverywhere.

They would usually arrive at the spring, located in flat prairie, around three in theafternoon,asthesunwascoolingandthelightturningyellow.Theyfilledtheirwaterbagsand slung themonto thehorses, andpaused todrinkdirectly from the stream, and thenrodeback.

One day as they reached the spring, LittleWind gestured for Johnson to stay somedistanceawaywhilehedismountedandinspectedthegroundaroundthespringclosely.

“Whatisit?”Johnsonsaid.

LittleWindwasmovingquicklyallaroundthespring,hisnoseinchesfromtheground.Occasionallyhepickedupaclodofprairiesod,smelledit,anddroppeditagain.

This behavior always filled Johnson with a mixture of amazement and irritation—amazementthatanIndiancouldreadthelandashereadabook,andirritationbecausehecouldnotlearntodoithimself,andhesuspectedthatLittleWind,knowingthis,addedatheatricaltouchtohisprocedures.

“Whatisit?”Johnsonaskedagain,annoyed.

“Horses,”LittleWindsaid.“Twohorses,twomen.Thismorning.”

“Indians?”Thewordcameoutmorenervouslythanhehadintended.

LittleWindshookhishead.“Horseshaveshoes.Menhaveboots.”

Theyhadseennowhitemenfornearlyamonth,excepttheirownparty.Therewaslittlereasonforwhitementobehere.

Johnsonfrowned.“Trappers?”

“Whattrappers?”LittleWindgesturedtotheflatexpanseoftheplainsinalldirections.“Nothingtotrap.”

“Buffalohunters?”Therewasstillatradeinbuffalohides,whichwerefashionedintorobesforsaleinthecities.

LittleWindshookhishead.“Buffalomendon’thuntonSiouxland.”

Thatwas true, Johnson thought.To invade theSioux lands looking forgoldwasonething,butbuffalohunterswouldnevertaketherisk.

“Thenwhoarethey?”

“Samemen.”

“Whatsamemen?”

“SamemenatDogCreek.”

Johnsondismounted.“Thesamemenwhosecampyoufound,backatDogCreek?Howdoyouknowthat?”

LittleWindpointedinthemud.“Thisonebootcrackheel.Sameheel.Sameman.”

“I’llbedamned,”Johnsonsaid.“We’rebeingfollowed.”

“Yes.”

“Well,”hesaid,“let’sgetthewaterandtellCope.Maybehe’llwanttodosomething.”

“Nousewaterhere.”LittleWindpointedtothehorses,whichwerestandingquietlybythespring.

“Idon’tgetit,”Johnsonsaid.

“Horsesnodrink,”LittleWindsaid.

Thehorses alwaysdrankas soonas they reached the spring.Thatwas the first thingtheydid,letthehorsesdrinkbeforetheyfilledtheirwaterbags.

ButLittleWindwasright:todaythehorseswerenotdrinking.

“I’llbe,”Johnsonsaid.

“Waternotsogood,”LittleWindsaid.Hebentclosetothewaterandsniffed.Suddenlyheplungedhisarmuptohisshoulderintothespring,andpulledoutgreatclumpsofapalegreen grass. He reached in again, pulled out more.With each clump he removed, thespringflowedmorefreely.

He named theweed for Johnson, and explained that it would cause sickness ifmendrankit.LittleWindwasspeakingquickly,andJohnsondidnotunderstanditall,exceptthatapparentlyitcausedfeversandvomitingandmenactedcrazy,iftheydidn’tdie.

“Badthing,”hesaid.“Tomorrowwaterisgood.”

Hestaredoffacrosstheplains.

“Wegofindthosewhitemen?”Johnsonsaid.

“Igo,”LittleWindsaid.

“Me,too,”Johnsonsaid.

Theyrodeatagallopfornearlyanhourintheyellowingafternoonlight,andsoontheywerefarfromcamp.Itwouldbedifficult,Johnsonrealized,tomakeitbackbynightfall.

Periodically, Little Wind would pause, dismount, check the ground, and mount upagain.

“Howmuchfarther?”

“Soon.”

Theyrodeon.

ThesundroppedbehindthepeaksoftheRockies,andstilltheyrode.Johnsonbegantoworry. He had never been out on the plains at night before, and Cope had repeatedlywarnedhimalwaystoreturntocampbeforedark.

“Howmuchfarther?”

“Soon.”

Theyrodeforperhapsfifteenminutesmoreandstoppedagain.LittleWindseemedtobestoppingmoreoften.Johnsonthoughtitwasbecauseitwastoodarktoseethegroundclearly.

“Howmuchfarther?”

“Youwantgoback?”

“Me?No,Iwasjustaskinghowmuchfarther.”

LittleWindsmiled.“Getdark,youafraid.”

“Don’tberidiculous.Iwasjustasking.Isitmuchfarther,doyouthink?”

“No,”LittleWindsaid.Hepointed.“There.”

Beyondafarridge,theysawathinlineofgraysmokeclimbingstraightintothesky.Acampfire.

“Leavehorses,”LittleWindsaid,dismounting.Hepulledupabunchofgrass, let thebladesfall in thewind.Theydriftedsouth.LittleWindnodded,andexplained that theymustapproachthecampdownwindortheothermen’shorseswouldsmellthem.

Theycreptforward,over thenextridge, layon theirstomachs,and lookeddownintothevalleybelow.

Inthedeepeningtwilight,twomen,atent,aglowingfire.Sixhorsespicketedbehindthetent.Oneofthemenwasstocky,theothertall.Theywerecookinganantelopetheyhadkilled.Johnsoncouldnotseetheirfaceswell.

Buthe found the sightof this solitary camp, surrounded in all directionsbymilesofopenplains,oddlydisturbing.Whyweretheyhere?

“Thesemenwantbones,”LittleWindsaid,echoinghisownthoughts.

And then the tallman leaned close to the fire ashe adjusted the legon the spit, andJohnsonsawafaceheknew.ItwasthetoughmanhehadspokentointheOmahatrainstation.ThemanMarshhadspokentonearthecornfields.NavyJoeBenedict.

Andthentheyheardamurmuringvoice.Thetentflapopened,andabalding,heavysetmanemerged.Hewasrubbingsomethinginhishands—spectacleshewascleaning.Theman spoke again, and even from a distance Johnson recognized the slight halt, theformalityofthespeech.

ItwasMarsh.

Copeclappedhishandsindelight.“So!ThelearnedprofessorofCopeologyhasfollowedushere!WhatbetterproofofwhatIhavebeensaying?Themanisnotascientist—heisadogin themanger.Hedoesnotpursuehisowndiscoveries—heseekstospyonmine.Ihaveneithertimenorinclinationtospyonhim.ButDaddyMarshcancomeallthewayfromYaleCollege to theTerritoryofMontana just tokeep trackofme!”He shookhishead.“Theasylumwillyetreceivehim.”

“Youseemamused,Professor,”Johnsonsaid.

“OfcourseIamamused!Notonlyismytheoryoftheman’sdementiaamplyconfirmed—butsolongasheistrackingme,hecannotbefindinganynewbonesofhisown!”

“Idoubtthatfollows,”Sternbergsaidsoberly.“Marshhasnothingifnotmoney,andhisstudents are not with him. He is probably paying his bone hunters to dig for himsimultaneouslyinthreeorfourterritories,evenaswespeak.”

Sternberg had done some work for Marsh several years before, in Kansas. He wasundoubtedlyright,andCopestoppedsmiling.

“Speakingoffinds,”Cookiesaid,“howdidhefindus?”

“Little Wind said that these are the same men that were following us back at DogCreek.”

Isaacleaptup.“See?Itoldyouwewerebeingfollowed!”

“Sitdown,J.C.,”Copesaid.Hewasfrowningnow,hisgoodhumorvanished.

“Whataretheydoinghere,anyway?”Cookiesaid.“They’renotonthesquare.They’regonnakillusandtakethebones.”

“They’renotgoingtokillus,”Copesaid.

“Wellthen,takethebones,forsure.”

“Theywouldn’tdare.EvenMarshwouldn’tdare.”

Butinthedarknessoftheplains,hesoundedunconvinced.Therewasasilence.Theylistenedtothemoanofthenightwind.

“Theypoisonedthewater,”Johnsonsaid.

“Yes,”Copesaid.“Theydid.”

“Iwouldn’tcallthatneighborly,”Cookiesaid.

“True...”

“You’vemadesomeimportantdiscoveries,Professor.Discoveriesanyscientist’dgivehisleftarmtoclaimashisown.”

“True.”

Therewasanotherlongsilence.

“Wesurelyarealongwayfromhome,outhere,”Isaacsaid.“Ifsomethinghappenedtous,who’dbethewiser?They’djustblame theIndians ifwenevershowedback inFortBenton.”

“TheyblameIndians.”LittleWindnodded.

“Quitetrue.”

“Betterdosomethingaboutthem,”Isaacsaid.

“You’reright,”Copesaidfinally.Hestaredatthecampfire.“Wewilldosomething.Wewillinvitethemtodinnertomorrownight.”

DinnerwithCopeandMarsh

ThesearchforfossilswasabandonedthenextdayinfeverishpreparationforMarsh.Thecamp was cleaned, clothes and bodies washed. Sternberg shot a deer for dinner andCookieroastedit.

Copewasbusywithpreparationsofhisown.Hepickedthroughthepilesoffossilstheyhadfound,selectingapiecehere,apiecethere,settingthemaside.

Johnsonaskedifhecouldhelp,butCopeshookhishead.“Thisisajobforanexpert.”

“YouareselectingfindstoshowMarsh?”

“Inaway.Iammakinganewcreature:Dinosaurusmarshiensisvulgaris.”

By the end of the day he had assembled from fragments a passable skull, with twohornedprojectionsthatstuckoutlaterallyfromthejawlikecurvingtusks.

Isaacsaiditlookedlikeawildboar,orawarthog.

“Exactly,”Copesaid,excited.“Aprehistoricporcinegiant.Apiglikedinosaur!Apigforapig!”

“It’snice,”Sternbergallowed,“butitwon’tstandclosescrutinyfromMarsh.”

“Itwon’thaveto.”

Copeorderedthemtolifttheskull,whichwasheldtogetherwithpaste,andunderhisinstructionstheymoveditfirstfartherfromthefire,thencloser,thenfartheragain.Nexttoone side, and to another. Cope stood by the fire, squinted, and then ordered it movedagain.

“He’slikeawomandecoratinghishouse,andwe’removin’thefurniture,”Cookiesaid,panting.

ItwaslateafternoonwhenCopepronouncedhimselfsatisfiedwiththeskull’sposition.Theyallwentofftocleanup,andLittleWindwasdispatchedtoinvitetheothercamptojoin them for dinner. He returned a few minutes later to say that three riders wereapproachingthecamp.

Copesmiledgrimly.“Ishouldhaveknownhe’dinvitehimself.”

“Therewas a theatrical aspect to bothmen,” observedSternberg,whohadworked forboth,“althoughitmanifesteddifferently.ProfessorMarshwasheavyandsolemn,amanof judiciouspauses.Hespokeslowlyandhadawayofmaking the listenerhangonhisnextwords. ProfessorCopewas the opposite—hiswords came in a tumbling rush, hismovementswerequickandnervous,andhecaptivatedattentionasahummingbirddoes,sobrilliantlyquickyoudidnotwanttomissanything.Atthismeeting—theonlyface-to-faceencounterIeverwitnessed—itwasclearnolovewaslostbetweenthem,thoughtheywereatpainstohidethisfactinfrostyEasternformality.”

“Towhatdoweowethishonor,ProfessorMarsh?”Copeaskedwhenthethreemenhadriddenintocampanddismounted.

“Asocialvisit,ProfessorCope,”Marshsaid.“Wehappenedtobeintheneighborhood.”

“Quiteextraordinary,ProfessorMarsh,consideringhowlargeaneighborhooditis.”

“Similarinterests,ProfessorCope,leaddownsimilarpaths.”

“Iamastonishedyouevenknewwewerehere.”

“Wedidn’tknow,”Marshsaid.“Butwesawyourcookfireandcametoinvestigate.”

“Yourattentionhonorsus,”Copesaid.“Youmuststaytodinner,ofcourse.”

“Wehavenowishtointrude,”Marshsaid,hiseyesdartingaroundthecamp.

“Andlikewise,Iamsurewehavenowishtodetainyouonyourjourney—”

“Since you insist,wewill be delighted to stay to dinner, ProfessorCope.We acceptwithgratitude.”

Cookieproducedsomedecentbourbon;astheydrank,Marshcontinuedtolookaroundthecamp.Hisgazefellonseveralfossils,andatlength,theunusualtuskedskullsetofftooneside.Hiseyeswidened.

“Iseeyouarelookingaround—”Copebegan.

“No,no—”

“Oursmuststrikeyouasaverysmallexpedition,comparedtothegrandscaleofyourownendeavors.”

“Youroutfitappearsefficientandcompact.”

“Wehavebeenfortunatetomakeoneortwosignificantfinds.”

“I’mcertainyouhave,”Marshsaid.Hespilledhisbourbonnervously, andwipedhischinwiththeheelofhishand.

“Asonecolleaguetoanother,perhapsyou’denjoyatourofourlittlecamp,ProfessorMarsh.”

Marsh’sexcitementwaspalpable,butallhesaidwas,“Oh,Idon’twanttopry.”

“Ican’ttemptyou?”

“Iwouldn’twanttobeaccusedofanythingimproper,”Marshsaid,smiling.

“On second thought,”Cope said, “you are correct as always. Let’s forgo a tour, andsimplyhavedinner.”

Inthatinstant,MarshshothimalookofsuchmurderoushatredthatitchilledJohnsontoseeit.

“Morewhiskey?”Copeasked.

“Yes,Iwillhavemore,”Marshsaid,andheextendedhisglass.

Dinnerwas a comedy of diplomacy.Marsh remindedCope of the details of their pastfriendship,whichhadbegun,ofcourse,inBerlin,ofallplaces,whenbothmenweremuchyounger and the Civil War raged. Cope hastened to add his own warm, confirminganecdotes;theyfellallovereachotherineagernesstodeclaretheirferventadmirationforoneanother.

“ProfessorCopehasprobablytoldyouhowIgothimhisfirstjob,”Marshsaid.

Theydemurredpolitely:theyhadnotheard.

“Well, not quite his first job,”Marsh said. “Professor Cope had quit his position aszoology professor atHaverford—quit rather suddenly, as I recall—and in 1868 hewaslookingtogowest.True,ProfessorCope?”

“True,ProfessorMarsh.”

“SoItookhimdowntoWashingtontomeetFerdinandHayden,whowasplanningtheGeological Survey expedition. He and Hayden liked each other, and Professor Copesignedonasexpeditionpaleontologist.”

“Verytrue.”

“Thoughyouneveractuallyaccompaniedtheexpedition,Ibelieve,”Marshsaid.

“No,”Cope said. “My baby daughterwas ill, andmy own health not excellent, so IworkedfromPhiladelphia,catalogingthebonestheexpeditionsentback.”

“Youhavethemostextraordinaryabilitytodrawdeductionsfromboneswithoutbenefitofhavingseenthemintheactualsiteorhavingdugthemoutyourself.”

Marshmanagedtoturnthiscomplimentintoaninsult.

“Youarenolesstalentedinjustthatway,ProfessorMarsh,”Copesaidquickly.“IoftenwishIhad, likeyou, theamplefunds frommultiplepatronsneeded topay for the largenetworkofbonehuntersandfossilscoutsyouemploy.Itmustbedifficultforyoutokeepup with the quantities of bones sent you in New Haven, and to write all the papersyourself.”

“Aproblemyoufaceaswell,”Marshsaid.“Iamamazedyouarenomorethanayearbehindinyourownreporting.Youmustoftenbeobligedtoworkwithgreathaste.”

“Withgreatspeed,certainly,”Copesaid.

“You always had a facile ability,” Marsh said, and he then reminisced about some

weeks they had spent as youngmen in Haddonfield, New Jersey, searching for fossilstogether.“Thoseweregreattimes,”hesaid,beaming.“Ofcoursewewereyoungerthen,anddidn’tknowwhatweknownow.”

“Buteven then,”Marshsaid,“I remember that ifwe founda fossil, Iwasobliged toponderitfordaystodeduceitsmeaning,whereasProfessorCopewouldsimplyglanceatit, snaphis fingers,andgive it aname.An impressivedisplayoferudition—despite theoccasionalerror.”

“I recall no errors,”Cope said, “though in the years since then, you have been kindenoughtohuntdownallmyerrorsandpointthemouttome.”

“Scienceisanexactingmistress,demandingtruthaboveall.”

“Formyself,I’vealwaysfeltthattruthisaby-productofaman’scharacter.Anhonestmanwillrevealthetruthwitheverybreathhetakes,whileadishonestmanwilldistortinthesameway.Morewhiskey?”

“IbelieveI’llhavewater,”Marshsaid.NavyJoeBenedict,sittingbyhisside,nudgedhim.“Onsecondthought,whiskeysoundsgood.”

“Youdon’twantwater?”

“Thewaterinthebadlandsdoesn’talwaysagreewithme.”

“That’swhywedrawoursfromaspring.Anyway,youweresaying,ProfessorMarsh,abouthonesty?”

“No,Ibelievehonestywasyoursubject,ProfessorCope.”

Johnsonlaterrecorded:

Our fascinationat seeing these legendarygiantsof paleontological sciencemeethead-to-headeventuallyfadedastheeveninggrewolder. Itwasof interest tonotehowlongtheyhadknowneachother,andhowsimilarweretheirbackgrounds.Bothmenhadlosttheirmothersininfancyandhadbeenraisedbystrictfathers.Bothmenhadevincedafascinationwithfossilsfromearlychildhood—a fascination that their fathers had opposed. Both men were difficult, lonelypersonalities—Marshbecausehehadgrownupona rural farm,Copebecausehehadbeenachildhoodprodigywhomadeanatomicalnotesattheageofsix.Bothmenhadfollowedparallelcareers, such that theymet inEurope,where theywerebothabroadstudying the fossilsof theContinent.Atthattime,theyhadbeengoodfriends,andnowwereimplacableenemies.

Asthehourspassed,interestintheirbanterfaded.Weweretiredfromtheexertionsoftheday,andready for sleep.OnMarsh’s side, his roughneck companions looked equally fatigued.AndstillCopeandMarshtalkedonintothenight,sniping,bickering,tradinginsultsaspleasantries.

Finally,Toadfellasleep,besidethefire.Hisloudsnoreswereinescapableproofthatthesetwohadlosttheiraudience,andhavinglosttheaudiencetowitnesstheirjibes,theyseemedtoloseinterestineachother.

Theeveninghaddragged toa seeminglyundramaticconclusion—nohollering,nogunfire—andtoomuchhadbeendrunkonallsides.MarshandCopeshookhands,butInoticedthatthehandshakewasextended;onemanwasholdingtheother’shandtightly,notreleasingit,as thetwomenstaredhatefullyintoeachother’seyes,thelightfromthefireflickeringoverboththeirfaces.Icouldnottellwhichmanwastheaggressorinthisinstant,butIcouldplainlyseeeachmansilentlyswearinghisundyingenmitytowardtheother.Thenthehandshakebrokeoffalmost

violentlyandMarshandhismenrodeoffintothenight.

“SleepwithYourGunsTonight,Boys”

Nosoonerwere theygoneover thenearest ridge thanCopewaswideawake,alertandenergized.

“Breakoutyourguns!”hesaid.“Sleepwithyourgunstonight,boys.”

“Why,whatdoyoumean?”

“We’llhavevisitorstonight,markmywords.”Copebunchedhisfistsinhispugilisticway.“Thatvertebratevulgaritywillbeback,crawling inonhisbelly likea snake foracloserlookatmypigskull.”

“Youdon’tmeantoshootatthem?”Isaacsaid,horrified.

“Ido,”Copesaid.“Theyhaveopposedusandimpededus,theyhavegotthearmyafterus,theyhavepoisonedourwaterandinsultedourpersons,andnowtheyaregoingtostealourfinds.Yes,Imeantoshootatthem.”

Thisseemedtothemextreme,butCopewasangryandwouldnotbetalkedoutofit.

Anhourpassed.Mostofthecampfellasleep.JohnsonwaslyingnexttoCope,andhistwistingandturningkepthimawake.

Thushewasawakewhenthefirstdarkfigurecreptovertheridge.

Copegaveasoftsigh.

Asecondfigure,thenathird.Thethirdwasheavyset,lumbering.

Copesighedagain,andswunghisriflearound.

Thefigurescrepttowardthecamp,andmadeforthefossilhead.

Coperaisedhisrifletoshoot.Hewasacrackshot,andforahorrifiedmomentJohnsonthoughthereallyintendedtokillhisrival.

“Now,Professor—”

“Johnson,” he said quietly, “I havehim inmy sights. It iswithinmypower to kill atrespassingsneakandthief.Rememberthisnight.”

AndCope raisedhis riflehigher into theair, and fired twiceat the sky, and shouted,“Indians!Indians!”

The cry brought the camp to its feet. Soon rifleswere discharged from all sides; thenightairwascloudedwithgunsmoke,andacridwiththesmellofpowder.

Across the camp, they heard the intruders scrambling up the ridge. There was anoccasionalshoutof“Damnyou!Damnyoureyes!”

Finally,adeep,distinctivevoicecried,“Justyourway,Cope!It’sadamnablefake!Justyourway!Afake!”

Andthethreemenweregone.

Thefiringstopped.

“IbelievewehaveseenthelastofOthyMarsh,”Copesaid.Smiling,herolledovertosleep.

MovingCamp

InearlyAugust,theywerevisitedbyapartyofsoldierspassingthroughthebadlandsontheirwaytotheMissouriRiver.SteamboatscameasfarupriverasCowIsland,wherethearmymaintainedasmallcamp.Thesoldierswereon theirwaytoreinforce thegarrisonthere.

TheywereyoungIrishandGermanboys,noolderthanthestudents,andtheyseemedamazedtofindwhitemenaliveintheregion.“Isurelywouldpulloutofhere,”onesaid.

Theybroughtnewsofthewar,anditwasnotgood:Custer’sdefeatwasstillunavenged;GeneralCrookhadfoughtaninconclusivebattleatthePowderRiverinWyomingbuthadseennoIndianssince;GeneralTerryhadnotengagedanylargepartiesofSiouxatall.Thewar,whichtheEasternnewspapershadconfidentlypredictedwouldbeoverinamatterofweeks,appearednowtobedraggingonindefinitely.Somegeneralswerepredictingthatitwouldnotberesolvedforatleastayear,andperhapsnotevenbytheendofthedecade.

“TroublewithIndians,”onesoldierexplained,“iswhentheywanttofindyoutheyfindyou—andwhentheydon’twantyoutofindthem,you’dneverknowtheywerethere.”Hepaused.“Itistheircountry,afterall,butIdidn’tsayit.”

Anothersoldierlookedattheirstackedcrates.“Youmininghere?”

“No,”Johnsonsaid.“These’rebones.We’rediggingfossilbones.”

“Sureyouare,”thesoldiersaid,grinningbroadly.HeofferedJohnsonadrinkfromhiscanteen,whichwasfilledwithbourbon.Johnsongasped;thesoldierlaughed.“Makesthemilesshorter,Icantellyou,”heexplained.

ThesoldiersgrazedtheirhorsesforanhourwithCope’spartyandthenwenton.

“I surely wouldn’t dawdle here much longer,” their Captain Lawson said. “Best weknow,SittingBull,CrazyHorse,andhisSioux’llmakeforCanadabeforewinter,whichmeansthey’llbehereanydaynow.Theyfindyouhere,they’llkillyouforsure.”

Andwiththatfinaladvice,herodeoff.

(Much later, Johnsonheard thatwhenSittingBullwentnorth,hekilled all thewhitemenhecameacross,among themthe troopsstationedatCowIsland, includingCaptainLawson.)

“Ithinkweoughttobegoing,”Isaacsaid,scratchinghischin.

“Notyet,”Copesaid.

“We’vefoundplentyofbones.”

“That’sso,”Cookiesaid.“Plentysofar.More’nenough.”

“Notyet,”Copesaid,inanicytonethatendedalldiscussion.AsSternbergnotedinhisaccount of the expedition, “We had long since learned therewas no purpose served inarguing with him when his mind was made up. Cope’s indomitable will could not beconquered.”

ButCope did decide to break camp andmove to another location. For the last threeweeks, theyhadbeenlocatedat thefootof thousand-foot-highshalecliffs.Hehadbeenscouting the area, and he felt there was a more promising fossil location three milesdistant.

“Where?”Sternbergsaid.

Copepointed.“Upontheplains.”

“Youmeanontheflattablelands?”

“That’sright.”

Isaacprotested:“But,Professor,it’lltakethreedaystomoveoutofthebadlands,findanewroute,andcomebackinupthere.”

“No,itwon’t.”

“Wecan’tscalethesecliffs.”

“Yes,wecan.”

“Amancan’twalkup,ahorsecan’trideup,andcertainlythiswagoncan’tbepulledupthosecliffs,Professor.”

“Yes,itcan.Iwillshowyou.”

Copeinsistedtheypackupatonce,andmovedtwomilestotheeast,whereheproudlypointedtoaslopingbankofshale.

Itwasmuchgentlerthanthesurroundingcliffs,butstillfartoosteeptonegotiate.Whiletherewere some level ridges, the shalewas loose and crumbling, affording treacherousfooting.

Cookie, the teamster, lookedat theproposed route and spat tobacco. “Can’tbedone,can’tbedone.”

“Itcan,”Copesaid,“anditwill.”

It took them fourteen hours to climb a thousand feet—backbreaking work, andcontinuouslydangerous.Usingshovelsandpicks,theydugatrailuptheside.Thentheyunloaded thewagonandputeverything theycouldon thehorsesandgot thehorsesup;nowonlythewagonremained.

Cookiedroveithalfwayuptheinclinefromthefloorbelow,butwhenhearrivedatalevelridgesonarrowthatonewheelwashangingoveremptyspace,herefusedtogoanyfarther.

ThisenragedCope,whosaidhewoulddrive thewagonhimself:“Notonlyareyouarevoltingcook,butyouareawretchedteamster!”Theothersquicklyinterceded,andIsaacclimbedontodrivethewagon.

Theyhadtounhitchtheleadhorses,andpullthewagonwiththeremainingtwoponies.

SternberglaterdescribeditinTheLifeofaFossilHunter:

Isaac had driven about thirty feet when the inevitable happened. I saw the wagon slowly begin to tip,pulling the ponies over sideways, and then thewhole outfit,wagon and horses, began to roll down theslope.Wheneverthewheelsstuckupintheair,theponiesdrewintheirfeettotheirbellies,andatthenextturn,stretchedouttheirlegsforanotherroll.

Myheartwas inmymouth for fear that Isaacwouldbekilled inoneof the turns, or that thewagonwouldrollover[the]precipicebelow,butafterthreecompleteturns,theylanded,thehorsesontheirfeet,thewagononitswheels,onalevelledgeofsandstone,andstoodthereasifnothinghadhappened.

Eventually they unhitched all the horses andpulled thewagonup on ropes, but theysucceeded,andlateinthedaytheymadecamp,ontheprairie.

CopesnappedatCookie,“Thisdinnerbetterbeyourbest.”

“Justwaitandsee,”Cookiesaid.Andheservedthemtheusualfareofhardtack,bacon,andbeans.

Despitethegrumbling,theirnewcampwasadecidedimprovement.Thebreezemadeitcooler, for they were on the open plains, wrote Johnson, with “a magnificent view ofmountainsineverydirection—tothewestthetoweringcraggyRockies,withwhitesnowgleamingon their peaks; to the south, east, andnorth, the JudithRiver,MedicineBow,Bearpaw, andSweetGrassMountains, completely encirclingus.Especially in the earlymorning,whentheairwasclearandwewouldseeherdsofdeerandelkandantelopeandthemountainsbeyond,itwasasightofsuchgloryassurelycannotbematchedelsewhereinallcreation.”

But the herds of deer and antelope were migrating northward, and the snow wascreepingdowntheslopesoftheRockiesasthedayspassed.Onemorningtheyawoketofind a thin carpet of snow had fallen during the night, and although it burned off bymidday, they could not ignore the inevitable fact. The seasonswere changing, fallwascoming,andwiththefall,theSioux.

“It’stimetoleave,Professor.”

“Notyet,”Copesaid.“Notjustyet.”

TheTeeth

Oneafternoon,Johnsoncameacrosssomeknobbyprotuberancesofrock,eachroughlythesizeofafist.Hewasworkinginapromisingdepositmidwayupthesideofashaleslope,andtheseknobsgot inhisway;hepulledseveraloutof theexposedsurface,andtheytumbleddownthehillside,narrowlymissingCope,whowasatthebaseofthecliffs,sketchinganewlydiscoveredAllosaurus legbone.Copeheard themcomingand tookapracticedsteptotheside.

“Heythere!”heshouteduptheslope.

“Sorry,Professor,”Johnsoncalledsheepishly.Oneortworockscontinuedtofall;Copemovedasideagaintheotherwayanddustedhimselfoff.

“Becareful!”

“Yes,sir.Sorry!”Johnsonrepeated.Gingerly,hereturnedtohiswork,diggingwithhispickaroundstillotherrocks,tryingtoprythemfreeand—

“Stop!”

Johnsonlookeddown.Copewasscramblingupthehillsidetowardhimlikeamadman,oneofthefallenrocksineachhand.

“Stop!Stop,Isay!”

“I’mbeingcareful,”Johnsonprotested.“ReallyI—”

“Wait!” Cope slid several yards down the slope. “Do nothing! Touch nothing!” Stillshouting,heslidbackwards,disappearinginadustcloud.

Johnsonwaited.After amoment, he sawProfessorCope scrambling out of the dust,comingupthehillwithfrenziedenergy.

Johnsonthoughthemustbeveryangry.Itwasfoolishandnearlyimpossibletoclimbstraightupthehill;theyhadalllearnedthatlongago.Thesurfacewastoosheerandtoofriable; a climberhad to zigzaghiswayup, and even thatwas sodifficult theyusuallypreferredadetourofasmuchasamiletofindaneasyroutetothetop,andfromtheretodescendtowheretheywantedtogo.

YetherewasCopescramblingstraightupasifhislifedependedupondoingso.“Wait!”

“I’mwaiting,Professor.”

“Don’tdoanything!”

“I’mnotdoinganything,Professor.”

AtlengthCopearrivedbesidehim,coveredindirt,gaspingforbreath.Buthedidnothesitate.Hewipedhisfacewithhissleeveandpeeredattheexcavation.

“Where isyourcamera?”hedemanded.“Whydon’tyouhaveyourcamera?Iwantapictureinsitu.”

“Oftheserocks?”Johnsonasked,astonished.

“Rocks?Youthinkthesearerocks?Theyarenothingofthesort.”

“Thenwhatarethey?”

“Theyareteeth!”Copeexclaimed.

Cope touched one, and tracedwith his finger the gentle hills and indentations of thecusppattern.Heplacedthetwoheheldnexttoeachother,thenfoundathirdatJohnson’sfeetandset it ina rowwith theother two; itwasclear fromtheir similarity insizeandformthattheywenttogether.

“Teeth,”herepeated.“Dinosaurteeth.”

“Buttheyareenormous!Thisdinosaurmustbeoffantasticsize.”

Foramomentthetwomensilentlycontemplatedjusthowlargesuchadinosaurmusthave been—the jaw needed to hold rows of such large teeth, the thick skull needed tomatchsuchamassive jaw, theenormousneck thewidthofastoutoak to liftandmovesuchaskullandjaw,thegiganticbackbonecommensuratetotheneck,witheachvertebraas big around as awagonwheel,with four staggeringly huge and thick legs to supportsuchabeast.Each tooth impliedanenormityofeveryboneandevery joint.Ananimalthatlargemightevenneedalongtailtocounterweightitsneck,infact.

Cope stared across the rocky expanse and beyond, into his own imagination andknowledge.Foramomenthisusualferociousconfidencegavewaytoquietwonder.“Thefull creaturemust be at least twice the dimensions of any previously known,” he said,almosttohimself.

Theyhadalreadymadeseveraldiscoveriesoflargedinosaurs,includingthreeexamplesof the genus Monoclonius, a horned dinosaur that resembled a gigantic rhinoceros.Monocloniussphenocerus,oneof the specimens,wasestimatedbyCope to standsevenfeettallatthehipjoint,andtobetwenty-fivefeetlong,includingthetail.

Yet thisnewdinosaurwasfar larger thanthat.Copemeasuredtheteethwithhissteelcalipers, scratchedsomecalculationsonhis sketchpad, and shookhis head. “It doesn’tseem possible,” he said, and measured again. And then he stood looking across theexpansesofrock,asifexpectingtoseethegiantdinosaurappearbeforehim,shakingtheground with each step. “If we are making discoveries such as this one,” he said toJohnson,“itmeansthatwehavebarelyscratchedwhatispossibletolearn.YouandIarethefirstmeninrecordedhistorytoglimpsetheseteeth.Theywillchangeeverythingwethink we know about these animals, and much as I hesitate to say such a thing, manbecomessmallerwhenwerealizewhatremarkablebeastswentbeforeus.”

JohnsonsawthenthatallthatwasdoneinCope’smission—allthatevenhe,Johnson,didnow—wouldhavemeaningtoscientistsinthefuture.

“Now,yourcamera,”Coperemindedhim.“Wemustrecordthismomentandplace.”

Johnson went off to collect his equipment, from the flat plains above. When hereturned,carefulnottofall,Copewasstillshakinghishead.“Ofcourseyoucan’tbesurefromteethalone,”hesaid.“Allometricfactorsmaybemisleading.”

“Howbigdoyoumakeit?”Johnsonasked.Heglancedatthesketchpad,nowcoveredwithcalculations,somescratchedoutanddoneagain.

“Seventy-five,possiblyonehundredfeetlong,withaheadperhapsthirtyfeetabovetheground.”

Andrighttherehegaveitthename,Brontosaurus,“thunderinglizard,”becauseitmusthavethunderedwhenitwalked.“Butperhaps,”hesaid,“IshouldcallitApatosaurus,or‘unreallizard.’Becauseitishardtobelievesuchathingeverexisted...”

Johnsontookseveralplates,upcloseandfromfartheraway,withCopeinallofthem.They hurried back to camp, told the others of their discovery, and then in the fadingtwilight paced out the dimensions ofBrontosaurus—a creature as long as three horse-drawnwagons,andas tall asa four-storybuilding. Itmade the imagination runwild. Itwas altogether astonishing, andCope announced that “this discovery alone justifies ourentiretimeintheWest,”andthattheyhadmade“amomentousdiscovery,intheseteeth.Theseare,”Copesaid,“theteethofdragons.”

Thetroubletheteethwouldsooncausethem,theycouldnothaveimagined.

AroundtheCampfire

Anydiscovery ledCope towaxphilosophical around the campfire at night.Eachmanhadexaminedthe teeth,felt theirridgesandknobs,weighedtheirheft inonehand.ThediscoveryofthegiganticBrontosaurusprovokedanunusualdegreeofspeculation.

“Therearesomanythingsinnaturewewouldneverimagine,”Copesaid.“AtthetimeofthisBrontosaurus,theglacialicehadrecededandourentireplanetwastropical.TherewerefigtreesinGreenland,palmtreesinAlaska.ThevastplainsofAmericawerethenvastlakes,andwherewearesittingnowwasatthebottomofalake.Theanimalswefindwere preserved because they died and sank to the bottom of the lake, where muddysedimentsiltedoverthem,andthatsedimentinturncompressedintorock.Butwhowouldhaveconceivedsuchthingsuntiltheevidenceforthemwasfound?”

Noonespoke.Theystaredatthecracklingfire.

“I am thirty-six years old, but at the time I was born,” Cope said, “dinosaurs wereunknown.Allthegenerationsofmankindhadbeenbornanddied,livedandinhabitedtheearth, and none ever suspected that long, long before them, life on our planet wasdominated by a race of gigantic reptilian creatures who held sway for millions uponmillionsofyears.”

GeorgeMortoncoughed.“Ifthisisso,thenwhataboutman?”

There was an uncomfortable silence. Most discussions of evolution sidestepped thequestionofman.Darwinhimselfhadnotdealtwithmanformorethanadecadeafterhisbookwaspublished.

“YouknowoftheGermanfindsintheNeanderValley?”Copeasked.“No?Well,backin ’56 they discovered a complete skull in Germany—heavy-boned, with brutish browridges.Thestrataisdisputed,butitseemstobeveryold.ImyselfsawthefindinEuropein’63.”

“IheardtheNeanderskullwasanape,oradegenerate,”Sternbergsaid.

“Thatisunlikely,”Copesaid.“ProfessorVenninDüsseldorfhasdevisedanewmethodofmeasuringthebrainsizeofskulls.It’squitesimple:hefillsthebraincasewithmustardseeds, then pours the seeds out into a measuring vessel. His researches show that theNeanderskullheldalargerbrainthanwepossesstoday.”

“YouaresayingthisNeanderskullishuman?”Mortonsaid.

“I don’t know,” Cope said. “But I do not see how one can believe that dinosaursevolved, and reptiles evolved, and mammals such as the horse evolved, but that mansprangfullydevelopedwithoutantecedents.”

“Aren’tyouaQuaker,ProfessorCope?”

Cope’sideaswerestillunacceptabletomostfaiths,includingtheReligiousSocietyofFriends,whichwastheQuakers’formalname.

“Imaynotbe,”Copesaid.“Religionexplainswhatmancannotexplain.ButwhenIseesomethingbeforemyeyes,andmyreligionhastenstoassuremethatIammistaken,thatIdonotseeitatall...No,ImaynolongerbeaQuaker,afterall.”

LeavingtheBadlands

ThemorningofAugust26wasdistinctlychillyastheysetoutontheone-dayjourneytoCowIsland, locatedatoneof thefewnatural fordsalonga two-hundred-milestretchoftheMissouriRiver,wheretheMissouriBreaksformedabarrieroneachside.Theislandalsoservedasasteamboatlanding,anditwashereCopeplannedtomeetthesteamboatthat came up from St. Louis. They were all eager to leave, and frankly worried aboutIndians,buttheyhadtoomanyfossilstotakewiththeminthewagon.Nothingwoulddobuttomaketwotrips.Copemarkedthemostpreciousbox,theonewiththeBrontosaurusteeth,withasubtleXononeside.

“I’mgoingtoleavethisonehere,”Copesaid,“forthesecondtrip.”

Johnsonsaidhedidn’tunderstand.Whynottakeitonthefirsttrip?

“The chanceswe get raided on our first leg are probably better than the chances thesecondloadwillgetdiscoveredhere,”hesaid.“PlusweshouldbeabletopickupsomeextrahandsatCowIslandtoprotectusonthesecondtrip.”

Theirinitialjourneywasuneventful;theyreachedCowIslandintheearlyeveninganddined with the army troops stationed there. Marsh and his men had gone down theMissouri on the previous steamer, after warning the troops of “Cope’s cutthroats andvagabonds,”whomightappearlater.

CaptainLawsonlaughed.“IthinkMr.Marshbearsnoloveforyourparty,”hesaid.

Copeaffirmedthatwasthecase.

Thesteamboatwasdueintwodays,buttheschedulewasuncertain,especiallysolateintheyear.Itwasimperativethattheymaketheirfinaltriptotheplainscampthefollowingday.Copewouldremain inCowIsland, repacking thefossils for thesteamboat journey,while LittleWind andCookie drove thewagon back in themorning under Sternberg’ssupervision.

Butearlythenextmorning,Sternbergawokewithseverechillsandfever,arecurrenceofhismalaria.IsaacwastoojumpyaboutIndianstogoback,CookieandLittleWindtoounreliable to go unsupervised. There was the question as to who would lead theexpedition.

Johnsonsaid,“I’llleadit.”

Itwasthemomenthehadbeenwaitingfor.Summerontheplainshadtoughenedhim,but he had always been under the supervision of older andmore experiencedmen.Helonged forachance toprovehimselfonhisown,and this short trip seemed theperfectopportunityforindependence,andafittingconclusiontothesummer’sadventures.

Toadfeltthesameway.Heimmediatelysaid,“I’llgo,too.”

“You twoshouldn’tmake the tripalone,”Copesaid.“Ihaven’tbeenable to findanyextrahands.Thesoldiersareunavailabletous.”

“Wewon’tbealone.We’llhaveCookieandLittleWind.”

Copefrowned.Hedrummedhisfingersnervouslyonhissketchbook.

“Please,Professor.It’simportantthatyourepackthefossils.Wewillbefine.Andthedayispassingaswestandherediscussingit.”

“Allright,”Copesaidfinally.“Thisisagainstmybetterjudgment,butallright.”

Delighted,JohnsonandToadleftatseven thatmorning,withCookieandLittleWinddrivingthewagon.

Cope organized the wooden boxes of fossils, repacking those not sufficiently safe tosuffer thedepredationsof thesteamboat’s stevedores. Isaac lookedafterSternberg,whowasdeliriousmostofthetime;heboiledhimateamadeofthebarkofwillowbranches,whichhesaidhelpedwithfevers.MortonassistedCope.

SixorsevenotherpassengerswaitedatCowIslandforthesteamboat.AmongthemwasaMormonfarmernamedTravisandhisyoungson.TheyhadcometoMontanatobringthegospeltothesettlers,buthadhadlittlesuccess,andweredisgruntled.

“Whatyougotinthosecratesthere?”Travisasked.

Copelookedup.“Fossilbones.”

“Whatfor?”

“Istudythem,”Copesaid.

Travislaughed.“Whystudyboneswhenyoucanstudylivinganimals?”

“Thesearethebonesofextinctanimals.”

“Thatcan’tbe.”

“Whynot?”Copeasked.

“AreyouaGod-fearingman?”

“Yes,Iam.”

“DoyoubelieveGodisperfect?”

“Yes,Ido.”

Travis laughed again. “Well then, you must agree there can be no extinct animals,because the good Lord in His perfection would never allow a line of His creatures to

becomeextinct.”

“Whynot?”Copeasked.

“Ijusttoldyou.”Travislookedannoyed.

“YoujusttoldmeyourbeliefabouthowGodgoesaboutHisbusiness.ButwhatifGodattainsHisperfectionbydegrees,castingasideHispastcreationsinordertocreatenewones?”

“Menmaydo that, becausemen are imperfect.Goddoes not, becauseHe is perfect.TherewasonlyoneCreation.DoyouthinkGodmademistakesinHisCreation?”

“Hemademan.Didn’tyoujustsaymanisimperfect?”

Travis glowered. “You’re one of those professors,” he said. “One of those educatedfoolswhohasdepartedfromrighteousnesstoblasphemy.”

Cope was in no mood for theological dispute. “Better an educated fool than anuneducatedfool,”hesnapped.

“You are doing thework of theDevil,” Travis said, and he kicked one of the fossilcrates.

“Dothatagain,”Copesaid,“andI’llbeatyourbrainsout.”

Traviskickedanothercrate.

Inalettertohiswife,Copewrote:

I amdreadfullyashamedofwhatoccurrednext, and canofferno excuse save the effort I hadexpendedincollectingthesefossils,theirpricelessvalue,andmyownfatigueafterasummerintheheatandbugsandsearingalkalioftheBadLands.Tobeconfrontedbythisstupidbigotwastoomuchforme,andmypatienceabandonedme.

Mortondescribedwhathappeneddirectly:

Withoutpreambleorwarning,CopefelluponthismanTravisandpoundedhimintoinsensibility.Itcouldnothave takenmore thanaminuteatmost, forProfessorCopewasofapugilisticdisposition.Betweenblows,hewouldsay“Howdareyoutouchmyfossils!Howdareyou!”andatother timeshewouldsayscornfully“Inthenameofreligion!”ThefightendedwhenthesoldierspulledCopeoffthepoorMormongentleman,whohadsaidnothingotherthanwhatagreatmanypeopleintheworldthoughttobeutterandindisputabletruth.

Thiswascertainlystillsoin1876.Muchearlierinthecentury,ThomasJeffersonhadcarefullyconcealedhisownviewthatfossilsrepresentedextinctcreatures.InJefferson’sday, public espousal of belief in extinction was considered heresy. Attitudes had sincechanged in many places, but not everywhere. It was still controversial to espouseevolutionincertainpartsoftheUnitedStates.

Soonafterthefightended,thesteamboat,theLizzieB.,roundedthebendandwhistledher imminent arrival. All eyes were on the boat, except for those of one soldier whoglancedbackacrosstheplainsandshouted,“Lookthere!Horses!”

Andfromacrosstheplains,tworiderlesshorsesapproached.

“Myheartsank,”Copewroteinhisjournal,“toimaginewhatthismightmean.”

Theyquicklymounted up and rode out tomeet them.As they came closer they sawCookie,bentover,clutchingthesaddle,neardeath.AhalfdozenIndianarrowspiercedhisbody;bloodstreamedfreelyfromhiswounds.TheotherhorsebelongedtoJohnson:therewasbloodonthesaddle,andarrowswerestuckintheleather.

ThearmysoldiersgotCookieoffthehorseandlaidhimontheground.Hislipswereswollenandcrusteddry;theygavehimsipsfromthecanteenuntilhecouldspeak.

“Whathappened?”Copesaid.

“Indians,”Cookiesaid.“DamnIndians.Nothingwecould—”

Andhecoughedblood,fitfully,writhingwiththeeffort,anddied.

“Wemustreturnatonceandsearchforsurvivors,”Copesaid.“Andourbones.”

CaptainLawsonshookhishead.Heyankedonearrowfromthesaddle.“These’reSiouxarrows,”hesaid.

“So?”

The captain nodded toward the plains. “There won’t be anything to go back for,Professor.I’msorry,butifyoufindyourfriendsatall—whichIdoubt—they’llbescalpedandmutilatedandlefttorotontheplains.”

“Theremustbesomethingwecando.”

“Burythis’unandsayaprayerfortheothersisaboutall,”CaptainLawsonsaid.

The nextmorning, theymournfully loaded their fossils onto the steamboat and headedbackdowntheMissouri.ThenearesttelegraphstationwasinBismarck,DakotaTerritory,which was nearly five hundredmiles to the east, on theMissouri.When theLizzie B.stoppedthere,CopesentthefollowingcabletoJohnson’sfamilyinPhiladelphia:

I PROFOUNDLY REGRET TO INFORM YOU OF THE DEATH OF YOUR SONWILLIAM AND THREE OTHERMEN

YESTERDAY,AUGUST27,INTHEBADLANDSOFTHEJUDITHBASIN,MONTANATERRITORY,ATTHEHANDSOFHOSTILESIOUXINDIANS.MYSINCERECONDOLENCES.

EDWARDDRINKERCOPE,U.S.PALEONTOLOGIST.

PartIIIDragonTeeth

OnthePlains

FromthejournalofWilliamJohnson:

Ourenthusiasmwasabsolute,aswesetoutonthemorningofAugust27tocollecttheremainderofthefossils.Therewerefourinourparty:LittleWind,theCrowscout,Toadandmyself,ridingalittle behind, surveying thegroundaheadwithwatchful eyes, and finallyCookie, the teamster,whippingandcursinghisanimalsashedrovethewagonacrosstheprairie.OurjourneywouldtakeustwelvemilestotheBadLands,andtwelvemilesbackagain.WerodequicklyinordertogetthereandbacktoCowIslandbydark.

Itwasaclear,chill,beautifulmorning.Featherycirruscloudsstreakedthebluedomeofthesky.TheRockyMountainsdirectlybeforeusgleamedwithwhitesnow,whichnowreacheddownfromthepeakstothedeepcrevices.Theplainsgrasswhisperedinagentlewind.Herdsofpaleantelopeleaptacrossthedistanthorizon.

Toadand I imaginedourselvesaspioneers, leadingour littleexpedition into thewilderness,into excitement and dangers to be met bravely. For two Eastern college students of eighteenyears, it was hugely exciting. We sat straight in our saddles; we scanned the horizon withnarrowedeyes;wekeptourhandsonourpistolbuttsandourmindsonthebusinessathand.

Asthemorningcontinued,wesawatremendousamountofgame—notonlyantelope,butelkandbisonaswell.Itwasfarmoregamethanwehadseeninourpreviousweeksontheplain,andwecommentedonittoeachother.

Wehadtravelednomorethanhalfthedistancetothecamp—perhapssixmilesorso,outintotheplains—whenCookiecalledforahalt.Irefused.“Nohaltsuntilwereachcamp,”Isaid.

“YoulittlebastardswillhaltifIsayso,”Cookiesaid.

IturnedandsawthatCookiewaslevelingashotgunatourmidsections.Thatgavehimadealofauthority.Wehalted.

“Whatisthemeaningofthis?”Idemanded,inaloudvoice.

“Shutup,youlittleblankingblankingso-and-so,”Cookiesaid,climbingoffthewagon.“Nowgetoffyourhorses,boys.”

IlookedatLittleWind,butheavoidedoureyes.

“Comeon,offofyourhorses!”Cookiesnarled,sowedismounted.

“Whatdoyoumeanbythisoutrage?”Toadsaid,blinkinghiseyesrapidly.

“Endoftheline,boys,”Cookiesaid,shakinghishead.“ThisiswhereIgetoff.”

“Whereyougetoff?”

“I can’t help it if you’re too stupid to see the noses on your faces.You seeingall the gametoday?”

“Whataboutit?”

“Didn’tyoueverwonderwhyyou’reseeingsomuchgame?It’sbeingdrivennorth,that’swhy.

Lookthere.”Hepointedtothesouth.

Welooked.Streakylinesofsmokeroseintotheskyinthedistance.

“That’s theSiouxcamp,youdamnfools.That’sSittingBull.”Cookiewas takingourhorses,mountingup.

Ilookedagain.Thefires—ifthatiswhattheywere—wereveryfaraway.“Butthatmustbeatleastadayawayfromhere,”Iprotested.“Wecanmakeourcamp,loadup,andbebacktoCowIslandbeforetheyreachus.”

“Youboysgo rightahead,”Cookie said.HewasmountedonToad’shorse, and leadingmyown.

I lookedatLittleWind, but hewouldnotmeetmy eyes.He shookhis head.“Baddaynow.ManySiouxwarriorsinSittingBullcamp.KillallCrows.Killallwhitemen.”

“You heard theman,”Cookie said. “Me, I valuemy scalp. See you, boys. Come on, LittleWind.”And he started to ride off to the north.Amoment later, LittleWindwheeled his horsearoundandrodeoffwithhim.

ToadandIstoodbythewagonandwatchedthemleave.

“They planned this,” Toad said. He shook his fist at them as they disappeared toward thehorizon.“Bastards!Bastards!”

Asforme,mygoodspiritsevaporated.Isuddenlyrealizedourpredicament—weweretwoboysaloneonthevastandemptyplainsoftheWest.“Whatdowedonow?”

Toadwas still angry. “Cope paid them in advance, otherwise they would never dare to dothis.”

“Iknow,”Isaid,“butwhatarewegoingtodonow?”

Toadsquintedatthelinesofsmoketothesouth.“Doyoureallythinkthosecampsareadayaway?”

“HowwouldIknow?”Icried.“Ijustsaidthatsotheywouldn’tleave.”

“Because the thing about Indians is,” Toad said, “that when they have a large camp, likeSittingBull’s,theykeephuntingandraidingpartiesoutinfrontofthemaincamp.”

“Howfaroutinfront?”Iasked.

“Sometimesone,twodays.”

Webothstaredatthefiresagain.“Imakeitsixfires,maybeseven,”Toadsaid.“Sothatcan’tbethemaincamp.Themaincamp’dhavehundredsoffires.”

Imadeupmyownmind.IwasnotgoingtoreturntoCowIslandwithoutthefossils.IcouldnotfacetheProfessor.“Wehavetogetthefossils,”Isaid.

“Right,”Toadsaid.

Weclimbedaboardthewagonandheadedwest.Ihadneverdrivenawagonbefore,butImadeatolerablejobofit.Besideme,Toadwhistlednervously.“Let’ssingasong,”hesuggested.

“Let’snot,”Isaid.Andsowedroveinsilence,withourheartsinourmouths.

Theygotlost.Theirowntrailfromthedaybeforeshouldhavebeeneasyenoughtofollow,butlarge

stretchesof theplainswereas flatandfeaturelessasanyocean,and they lost theirwayseveraltimes.

Theyexpectedtoreachtheplainscampbeforenoon,butinsteadfinallyfoundthecampinlateafternoon.Theyloadedthewagonwiththeremainingtenwoodencratesoffossils,whichweighed about a thousand pounds in all, plus some final supplies and Johnson’s

photographicequipment.Hewaspleasedtheyhadcomeback,foramongthefossilstheynowpackedwasofcoursetheboxwiththeX,containingthepreciousBrontosaurusteeth.“Couldn’tgohomewithoutthese,”hesaid.

Butby the timetheywereready toheadback, itwasafter fouro’clock,andgrowingdark.

TheywereprettysuretheycouldneverfindtheirwaytoCowIslandindarkness.Thatmeant they would have to spend the night on the plains—and in another day, theadvancingSiouxmightcomeuponthem.Theyweredebatingjustwhattodowhentheyheardthesavage,bloodcurdlingcriesofIndians.

“OhmyGod,”Toadsaid.

Adustcloud,stirredupbymanyriders,appearedontheeasternhorizon.Itwascomingtowardthem.

Theyscrambledaboardthewagon.Toadbrokeouttheriflesandloadedthem.

“Howmuchammunitionhavewegot?”Johnsonasked.

“Notenough,”Toadsaid.Hishandswereshaking,droppingshells.

Thewhoopinggrewlouder.Theycouldseeasinglerider,hunchedlowin thesaddle,pursuedbyadozenothers.Buttheyheardnogunshots.

“Maybetheydon’thaveanyguns,”Toadsaidhopefully.Atthatmoment,thefirstarrowwhistledpastthem.“Let’sgetoutofhere!”

“Whichway?”Johnsonsaid.

“Anyway!Awayfromthem!”

Johnson whipped up the team, and the horses responded with unaccustomedenthusiasm.Thewagonrumbledforwardatfrighteningspeed,bouncingandtossingovertheprairie,thecargocreakingandslidingaroundinthebed.Inthegrowingdarkness,theyheadedwest, away from theMissouriRiver, away fromCow Island, away fromCope,awayfromsafety.

TheIndiansclosedinonthem.Thesolitaryriderdrewabreastoftheirwagon,andtheysawitwasLittleWind.Hewassoakedinsweat;hishorselathered.LittleWindcameveryclosetothewagonandgracefullyleaptaboard.Hesmackedhispony,andsetitracingtothenorth.

SeveralIndianschasedit,butthemainpartycontinuedinpursuitofthewagon.

“DamnSioux!Damn,damnSioux!”LittleWindshouted,grabbingarifle.Morearrowsstreakedthroughtheair.LittleWindandToadfiredatthepursuingIndians.Glancingoverhisshoulder,Johnsonestimatedtherewereadozenwarriors,perhapsmore.

Theriderscamecloser,andeasilysurroundedthewagononthreesides.ToadandLittleWindfiredatthem,andbothhitoneatvirtuallythesametime,blastinghimbackwardsoffhishorse.AnotherveeredcloseruntilToadtookcarefulaimandfired;theSiouxwarriorclutchedhiseye,slumpedforward,armslimp,thentoppledsidewaysoffhishorse.

One Indian managed to climb aboard the wagon, as LittleWind had done. He was

swinging his tomahawk over Johnsonwhen LittleWind shot him in themouth. In thesameinstantthatthebladecutacrossJohnson’supperlip,thewarrior’sfaceburstredandhefellback,offthewagon,andwaslostinthedust.

Johnsongrabbedhisbleedingface,buttherewasnotimeforhorror;LittleWindturnedtohim.“Whereyoudrive?Gosouth!”

“South is the badlands!” It was already quite dark; it would be suicide to enter theabruptcliffsandgulliesofthebadlandsatnight.

“Gosouth!”

“We’lldieifwegosouth!”

“Wedieanyway!Gosouth!”

AndthenJohnsonrealizedwhathewasbeingtold.Theironlyhope,aslimhope,wastoheadwheretheIndianswouldnotfollow.Hewhippedtheteam,andthewagonplungedsouthward,towardthebadlands.

Amileofopenprairiestretchedaheadofthem,andtheIndiansagainsurroundedthemonallsides,whoopingandshouting.AnarrowsearedJohnson’sleg,pinninghistrouserlegtothewoodenwagonseat,buthefeltnopainanddroveon.Itwasdarkeranddarker;theirguns glowed brightlywith each discharge.The Indians, recognizing their plan, pursuedthemwithgreaterintensity.

SoonJohnsoncouldmakeout theerodeddark lineof thebadlandsat theedgeof theprairie. The flat plains just seemed to drop away into black nothingness. They wereapproachingatfrightfulspeed.

“Holdon,boys!”heshouted,andwithoutreininghishorses, thewagonplungedoverthelip,intodarkness.

Badlands

Silence,underawaningmoon.Water trickled over his face, onto his lips. He opened his eyes and saw LittleWind

leaningclose.Johnsonraisedhishead.

Thewagonsatupright.Thehorsessnortedsoftly.Theywereatthebaseofdarkcliffs,loominghigh.

Johnsonfeltapinchinginhisleg.Hetriedtomove.

“Stay,”LittleWindsaid.Hisvoicewastight.

“Issomethingwro—”

“Stay,”herepeated.Heputdownhiscanteenandheldoutanother.“Drink.”

Johnsonsipped,sputtered,coughed.Thewhiskeyburnedhisthroat,andsomesplashedontheslashabovehislip,makingthatburn,too.

“Drinkmore,”LittleWindsaid.HewascuttingtheclothofJohnson’strouserlegwithaknife.Johnsonstartedtolook.

“Nolook,”LittleWindsaid,butitwastoolate.

Thearrowhadpiercedthefleshofhisrightleg,passingundertheskin,pinninghimtotheseat.Theflesharoundthewoundwaspuffedandpurpleandugly.

Johnsonfeltawaveofdizzinessandnausea.LittleWindgrabbedhim.“Wait.Drink.”

Johnsontookabigdrink.Thedizzinessreturned.

“Ifix,”LittleWindsaid,bentoverJohnson’sleg.“Nolook.”

Johnsonstaredatthesky,atthemoon.Thincloudsdriftedpast.Hefeltthewhiskey.

“WhataboutToad?”

“Staynow.Nolook.”

“IsToadallright?”

“Noworrynow.”

“Whereishe?Letmetalktohim!”

“You feel hurting now,” Little Wind said, his body tensing. There was a whackingsound,andJohnsonfeltapainsosharphescreamed,hisvoiceechoingoffthedarkcliffs.Immediately he felt a searing, burning pain that was worse; he could not scream; hegaspedforbreath.

LittleWindheldthearrowup,bloodyinthemoonlight.

“Finishnow.Ifinish.”

Johnson started to get up, butLittleWindpushedhimback.Hegavehim the arrow.“You keep.” Johnson felt warm blood pouring from the open wound; Little Windbandageditwithastripofclothcutfromhisbandana.

“Good.Goodnow.”

Johnsonpushedup,feltpainashestood,butitwasbearable;hewasallright.“Where’sToad?”

LittleWindshookhishead.

Toadwasstretchedoutinthebackofthewagon.Onearrowhadpiercedsidewaysallthewaythroughhisneck;twootherswerelodgedinhischest.Toad’seyesstaredtotheleft;hismouthgapedopen,asifhewerestillsurprisedtobedead.

Johnsonhadneverseenadeadmanbefore,andfeltoddasheclosedToad’seyesandturned away. Hewas not sad somuch as he felt that he was not here in this desolateWesternplace, thathewasnot alonewith some Indian scout, thathewasnot inmortaldanger.Hismindsimplyrefusedtoacceptit.Hesoughtsomethingtodo,andsaid,“Well,webetterburyhim.”

“No!”LittleWindseemedhorrified.

“Whynot?”

“Siouxfindhim.”

“Notifweburyhim,LittleWind.”

“Siouxfindplace,theydighim,takescalp,takefingers.Womencome,takemore.”Hepointedtohiscrotch.

Johnsonshivered.“WherearetheSiouxnow?”

LittleWindpointedtotheplainsabovethecliffs.

“Theyleave,ortheystay?”

“Theystay.Theycomeinmorning.Maybebringmorewarriors.”

WearinessovercameJohnson,andhislegthrobbed.“We’llleaveassoonasit’slight.”

“No.Leavenow.”

Johnsonlookedup.Thecloudswereheavier,andtherewasafaintblueringcirclingthemoon.

“It’llbepitch-darkinafewminutes.Therewon’tevenbestarlight.”

“Mustleave,”insistedLittleWind.

“It’s a miracle we’ve survived this far, but we can’t go on through the badlands indarkness.”

“Leavenow,”LittleWindsaid.

“Butwe’lldie.”

“Wedieanyway.Leavenow.”

Theymovedthroughutterblackness.Johnson drove thewagon,with LittleWindwalking a few paces ahead. LittleWind

carriedalongstickandahandfulofrocks.Whenhecouldnotsee the terrainahead,hethrewrocks.

Sometimes,ittookalongtimefortherockstoland,andwhenthesoundcameback,itwasdistantandhollowandechoing.ThenLittleWindwouldedge forward, tapping thegroundwiththesticklikeablindmanuntilhefoundtheedgeoftheprecipice.Hewouldthenpointthewagoninadifferentdirection.

Theirprogresswasexhausting,andpainfullyslow.Johnsoncouldnotbelievetheyweremakingmorethanafewhundredyardsinanhour’s time; itseemedpointless.Atdawn,theIndianswouldchargedowntheravines,pickuptheirtrail,andfindtheminamatterofminutes.

“Whatisthepoint?”hewoulddemandwhenthethrobbinginhislegbecameespeciallybad.

“Lookatsky,”LittleWindwouldsay.

“Iseethesky.It’sblack.Theskyisblack.”

LittleWindsaidnothing.

“Whataboutthedamnedsky?”hedemanded.

ButLittleWindexplainednofurther.

Shortlybeforedawn,itbegantosnow.TheyhadreachedBearCreek,attheedgeofthebadlands,andtheypausedtowaterthe

team.

“Snowgood,”LittleWindsaid.“Unkpapawarriorsseesnow,knowtheyfollowuseasy.Theywait,staywarmbyfireone,twohoursinmorning.”

“Andmeanwhile,wegolikehell.”

LittleWindnodded.“Golikehell.”

FromBearCreektheyheadedwestacrossopenprairie,asfastas theycouldwith thehorses.Thewagonjoltedovertheprairie;thepaininhislegwassevere.

“Wherearewegoing,FortBenton?”

LittleWindshookhishead.“AllwhitemengotoFortBenton.”

“YoumeantheSiouxexpectustogothere?”

Henodded.

“Thenwherearewegoing?”

“SacredMountains.”

“Whatsacredmountains?”Johnsonasked,alarmed.

“ThunderMountainsofGreatSpirit.”

“Whyarewegoingthere?”

LittleWinddidnotanswer.

“Howfarawayarethesesacredmountains?Whatwillwedowhenwegetthere?”

“Fourdays.Youwait,”LittleWindsaid.“Youfindmanywhitemen.”

“Butwhyareyougoingthere?”

Johnsonnoticednow thatLittleWind’sbuckskin shirtwas seeping red, stainingwithblood.

“LittleWind,areyouhurt?”

Inahighfalsettovoice,LittleWindbegantochantasong.Hedidnotspeakagain.

Theyturnedsouth,acrosstheplains.

LittleWind died silently on the third night. Johnson awoke at dawn to find him lyingstifflybythesmolderingcampfire,hisfacecoveredwithsnow,hisskincoldtothetouch.

Usinghisrifleforsupport,JohnsondraggedLittleWind’sbodytothewagon,painfullyhoisteditupintothebed,nexttoToad’s,anddroveon.Hewasfeverish,hungry,andoftendelirious.Hewassurehewaslost,buthedidnotcare.Hebegantoremindhimselftokeepsitting up, even as his mind separated itself from his ordeal, creating distracting andconfusingvisions.AtonepointhebelievedthatthewagonwasapproachingRittenhouseSquareinPhiladelphia,andthathewassearchingunsuccessfullyforhisfamily’smansion.

Early in the fourthday,he foundaclearwagon track, freshlyused.The trackwoundeastward,towardarangeoflowpurplehills.

Hewentintothehills.Ashecontinuedon,hefoundplaceswheretimberhadbeencutand initials hadbeen carved in trees—evidenceofwhitemen. Itwasvery cold and thesnowwas falling heavilywhen he climbed a final ridge and saw a town in the gulleybelow—asinglemuddystreetofsquare,utilitarianwoodenbuildings.Hewhippedupthehorsesandrodedowntoit.

Andthatwashow,onAugust31,1876,WilliamJohnson,nearlyfaintingfromhunger,thirst,exhaustion,andbloodloss,rodewithawagonloadofbones,andthedeadbodiesof

awhitemanandaSnakescout,intothetownofDeadwoodGulch.

Deadwood

Deadwood presented a bleak aspect: a single street of unpainted wooden buildingssurroundedbybarehills—the treeshadbeen cut down toprovide lumber for the town.Everythingwascoveredinathincrustofdirtysnow.Butdespitethedrearyappearance,the town had the charged excitement of a boomtown. The main street of Deadwoodconsistedoftheusualmining-townvariety—atinshop,acarpentershop,threedrygoodsstores, four stables, six grocery stores, a Chinatown with four Chinese laundries, andseventy-fivesaloons.Andinthecenterofitall,boastingawoodensecond-storybalcony,stoodtheGrandCentralHotel.

Johnson staggered up the front steps, and the next thing he knew hewas lying on apadded bench inside the hotel, attended to by the proprietor, an older man with thickglassesandthinninggreasedhair.

“Youngfellow,”he joked,“Iseenmen inworseshape,butapercentageof themwasdead.”

“Food?”Johnsoncroaked.

“Wegotplentyoffoodhere.I’mgoingtohelpyouintothediningroomandwe’llgetsomevittlesintoyou.Yougotanymoney?”

Anhour later, hewas feelingdistinctlybetter and lookedup fromhis plate. “Thatwasgood.Whatwasit?”

Thewomanclearingthetablesaid,“That’sbuffalotongue.”

The proprietor, who was named Sam Perkins, looked in. Considering the roughsurroundings,hewasextremelypolite.“I’mthinkingyouneedaroom,youngman.”

Johnsonnodded.

“Fourdollars,payable inadvance.Andabathcanbeobtaineddown the streetat theDeadwoodpublicbaths.”

“Muchobliged,”Johnsonsaid.

“Thatprettyslashonyourfaceisgoingtohealbyitself,leaveascar,butthatlegneedsattention.”

“Iaminagreement,”saidJohnsonwearily.

PerkinsaskedwhereJohnsonhadcomefrom.HesaidhehadcomefromthebadlandsofMontananearFortBenton.Perkinslookedathimindisbelief,butsaidonlythatitwasalongwaytocome.

Johnson stood up and asked if therewas someplace he could store the crates on hiswagon.Perkinssaidhehadaroomintheback,availabletohotelguests,andthatonlyhehadthekeytothelockonitsdoor.“Whatdoyouhavetostore?”

“Bones,”Johnsonsaid,realizingthewarmfoodhadgivenhimsomestrength.

“Youmean,animalbones?”

“That’sright.”

“Youmakingsoup?”

Johnsondidn’tappreciatethejoke.“Thesearevaluabletome.”

Perkinssaidhedidn’t think thatanyone inDeadwoodwouldbe interested in stealinghisbones.

Johnsonsaidhehadgonethroughhellandbackforthesebones,andhehadtwodeadbodiesinhiswagontoproveit,andhewasn’ttakinganychances.Couldhepleasestorehisbonesinthestoreroom?

“Howmuchspaceyouneed?Itain’tabarn.”

“Igottenwoodboxesofbonesandthensomeothersupplies.”

“Well,let’sseethem.”

Perkins followedJohnsonbackoutonto thestreet, looked in thewagon,andnodded.While Johnson started moving crates, Perkins inspected the snow-covered bodies. Hebrushedthesnowaway.

“Thisone’sanIndian.”

“That’sright.”

PerkinssquintedatJohnson.“Howlongyouhadthesetwowithyou?”

“One’sbeendeadalmostaweek.TheIndiandiedyesterday.”

Perkinsscratchedhischin.Heasked,“Youthinkingofburyingyourfriend?”

“NowI’vegothimawayfromtheSioux,IguessIwill.”

“There’sagraveyardatthenorthendoftown.WhatabouttheIndian?”

“I’llburyhim,too.”

“Notinthegraveyard.”

“He’saSnake.”

“Goodforhim,”Perkinssaid.“Wedon’thavenoproblemwithSnakesthatisalive,butyoucan’tburyanyIndianinthegraveyard.”

“Whynot?”

“Townwon’tstandforit.”

Johnsonglancedattheunpaintedwoodbuildings.Thetowndidn’tseemtohavebeentherelongenoughtohaveformedacivicopiniononanysubject,buthesimplyaskedwhynot.

“He’saheathen.”

“He’saSnake,andIdidn’tburyhimforthesamereasonIdidn’tburythewhiteman.Ifthe Sioux found the grave, they’d dig him up andmutilate him. This Indian ledme tosafety.Iowehimadecentburial.”

“That’s fine,youdowhatyouwantwithhim,”Perkinssaid,“longasyoudon’tburyhiminthegraveyard.Youdon’twanttocausetrouble.NotinDeadwood.”

Johnsonwastootiredtoargue.Hecarriedthecratesoffossilsinside,stackingthemtotakeupaslittlespaceaspossible,andmadesurePerkinslockedtheroomafterheexited.Thenheaskedtheproprietortoarrangeforhisbath,andwentofftoburythebodies.

IttookalongtimetodigtheholeforToadinthegraveyardattheendoftown.Hehadtouseapickbeforeshovelingouttherockyearth.HedraggedToadoutofthewagonandintothegrave,whichdidn’tlookcomfortable,evenforadeadman.“I’msorry,Toad,”hesaidaloud.“I’lltellyourfamilywhenIgetthechance.”

Whenthefirstshovelofearth landedonToad’sface,Johnsonstopped.I’mnotwhoIusedtobe,hethought.Thenhefinishedfillinginthegrave.

HetookLittleWind’sbodyoutsidethetown,alongasideroad,anddugagravebeneathaspreadingfir treeon theslopeofahill.Thegroundwaseasier todig in this location,whichmadehimthinkthetownshouldhavelocatedthegraveyardthereinstead.Thehillfacednorth,andfromthesiteyoucouldnotseeanysignofhabitationorwhitemen.

Thenhesatdownandcrieduntilhewastoocoldtostayoutanymore.Hereturnedtotown,hadhisbath,carefullycleaningandbandaginghiswoundedleg.Thenhepulledonhisdirty,blood-crustedclothesagain.

Inhishotelroom,therewasasmallmirrorabovethewashbasin,andheinspectedtheslashabovehislipforthefirsttime.Theedgesofthewoundhadstartedtohealbuthadn’tclosedup.Therewouldbequiteascar.

Thebedwasathinstrawmattressoverasimplelumberframe.

Hesleptforthirtyhours,straightthrough.

FromJohnson’sjournal:

WhenIwentdowntoeatinthehoteldiningroom,twodayslater,IdiscoveredthatIhadbecomethe most famous person in Deadwood. Over antelope steaks, the five other hotel guests—allrough miners—plied me with bourbon and questions about my recent activities. Like theproprietor,Mr. Perkins, theywere exceedingly polite in theirmanner, and everyone kept theirhandsonthetablewhentheyate.ButInoticed,politeornot,thattheydidnotbelievemystory.

Ittooksometimetolearnwhy.ApparentlyanyonewhoclaimedtohavecrossedfromMontanaintoDakotawasonthefaceofitaliar,sinceanyonewhotrieditwouldbecertaintodieatthehandsoftheSioux.ButthefactwasIhadencounterednoIndiansatallsincetheattackonthewagon;SittingBull’sSiouxmusthavebeentothenorthofuswhenwehadmadeourcrossing.

ButinDeadwood,thestorywasnotbelieved,andthisdrewattentiononmy“bones,”whichIhadstored.OneinterestedguestwasahardcustomercalledBrokenNoseJackMcCall,whosemonikerwaslikelytheresultofabarroomaltercation.BrokenNosealsohadoneeyethatlookedsteadfastlytotheleft,withapalebluecasttoit,likeabirdofprey.Whetherbecauseofthiseye,orsomeotherreason,hewasverymean,butnotsomeanashiscompanion,BlackDickCurry,whohadasnaketattooonhisleftwristandtheunlikelynickname“theMiner’sFriend.”WhenIaskedPerkinswhyhewascalledtheMiner’sFriend,theproprietorsaiditwasakindofjoke.

“Whatdoyoumean,ajoke?”Iasked.

“Wecan’tgetproofofit,butmostfolksreckonDickCurryandhisbrothers,ClemandBill,arethehighwaymenwhorob thestagecoachesandgoldshipmentsgoing fromDeadwooddown toLaramieandCheyenne,”Perkinsexplained.

“We’renearCheyenne?”Iasked,suddenlyexcited.ForthehundredthtimeIcursedmylackofgeographicalknowledge.

“Neartothereasanywhere,”theproprietorsaid.

“Iwanttogothere,”Isaid.

“Nobodykeepingyouhere,isthere?”

Inhighexcitement, thinkingofLucienne,he returned tohis roomtopack.Butafterheunlocked thedoor,hediscovered the roomhadbeen searched, andhis personal articlesscatteredaround.Hiswalletwasmissing;allhismoneywasgone.

HewentdownstairstoPerkins,atthedesk.

“I’vebeenrobbed.”

“How can that be?”Perkins said, and accompanied himupstairs. Perkins viewed theroomwithequanimity.“Justoneoftheboys,burdenedwithcuriosity,checkingoutyourstory.Theydidn’ttakeanything,didthey?”

“Yes,theytookmywallet.”

“Howcanthatbe?”Perkinssaid.

“Itwashere,inmyroom.”

“Youleftyourwalletinyourroom?”

“Iwasonlygoingdownstairstodinner.”

“Mr.Johnson,”Perkinssaidgravely,“you’reinDeadwood.Youcan’tleaveyourmoneyunattendedforabreath.”

“Well,Idid.”

“Thatisaproblem,”Perkinssaid.

“Youbettercallthetownmarshalandreporttherobbery.”

“Mr.Johnson,there’snomarshalinDeadwood.”

“Nomarshal?”

“Mr. Johnson, there was no town here this time last year.We surely haven’t gottenaroundtohiringamarshal.Besides,Idon’tthinktheboys’dstandforone.They’dkillhimfirstthing.Justtwoweeksback,BillHickokwaskilledhere.”

“WildBillHickok?”

“That’shim.”Perkins explained thatHickokwasplaying cards inNuttal andMann’sSaloonwhenJackMcCallcameinandshothimthroughthebackofthehead.ThebulletpassedthroughHickok’sheadandlodgedinthewristofanotherplayer.Hickokwasdeadbeforehishandstouchedhisguns.

“TheJackMcCallIhaddinnerwith?”

“That’s him.Most folks figure Jackwas hired to shootWildBill by folkswhowereafraidhe’dbehiredastownmarshal.NowIreckonnobody’seagerforthejob.”

“Thenwhokeepsthelawhere?”

“Thereisnolawhere,”Perkinssaid.“ThisisDeadwood.”Hewasspeakingslowly,asiftoastupidchild.“JudgeHarlanpresidesovertheinquests,whenhe’ssoberenough,butother’n that, there’s no law at all, and people like it that way. Hell, every saloon inDeadwoodistechnicallyagainstthelaw;thisisIndianterritory,andyoucan’tsellspiritsinIndianterritory.”

“Allright,”Johnsonsaid.“Whereisthetelegraphoffice?I’llwiremyfatherforfunds,payyou,andbegone.”

Perkinsshookhishead.

“Notelegraphoffice?”

“NotinDeadwood,Mr.Johnson.Notyet,anyway.”

“WhatdoIdoaboutmystolenmoney?”

“That is a problem,” Perkins agreed. “You been here three days now, you owe sixdollarsplusyourdinner tonight, that’sadollarmore.AndyoustabledyourhorseswithColonelRamsay?”

“Yes,downthestreet.”

“Well,he’sgoingtowanttwodollarsaday,sothatmakessixoreightdollarsmoreyouowehim.Ireckonyoucansellhimyourwagonandteamtosquareit.”

“IfIsellmywagonandteam,howcanIleavewithmybones?”

“Thatisaproblem,”Perkinssaid.“Itsurelyis.”

“Iknowitisaproblem!”Johnsonbegantoshout.

“Now,Mr.Johnson,keepacoolhead,”Perkinssaidsoothingly.“YoustillintendingtogotoLaramieandCheyenne?”

“That’sright.”

“Thenthatwagonisnogoodtoyou,anyhow.”

“Whynot?”

“Mr. Johnson,why don’t you come downstairs and allowme to pour you a drink? Isuspectthere’soneortwofactsthatoughttomakeyouracquaintance.”

Thefactswerethese:ThereweretworoadstoDeadwood,northandsouth.

Johnsonhaddriven intoDeadwoodunmolestedonlybecausehehadarrived fromthenorth.Nobodywaseverexpectedfromthenorth;theroutewasbadandtherewerehostileIndians in the north, and consequently the road was unattended by brigands andhighwaymen.

On the other hand, the road toLaramie andCheyenne ran south.And that roadwasthickwiththieves.Theysometimespreyedonemigrantscominguptoseektheirfortune,buttheyespeciallypreyedonanythingmovingsouthoutofDeadwood.

Inaddition,thereweremaraudingbandsofIndians,assistedbywhitebandits,suchasthenotorious“PersimmonsBill,”whowassaidtohaveledthesavagesresponsibleforthemassacreoftheentireMetzpartyinRedCanyonearlierthatyear.

Thestagecoachlinehadstartedupthatspringwithasinglearmedguard,ormessenger,riding shotgun upwith the driver. Pretty soon they laid on twomessengers, then three.Latelytherewereneverlessthanfour.AndwhentheGoldStagewentsouthonceaweek,ittraveledinaconvoywithadozenheavilyarmedguards.

Even then, theydidn’t alwaysmake it through.Sometimes, theyweredrivenback toDeadwood,andsometimestheywerekilledandthegoldstolen.

“Youmeantheguardswerekilled?”

“Guards and passengers both,” Perkins said. “These highwaymen just naturally killanyonetheycomeacross.It’stheirwayofdoingbusiness.”

“That’sappalling!”

“Yep.It’sbad,too.”

“HowamIgoingtoleave?”

“Well,thisiswhatI’vebeentryingtoexplain,”Perkinssaidpatiently.“It’sagooddealeasiertocometoDeadwoodthantoleave.”

“WhatcanIdo?”

“Well, comespring, things shouldcooldownabit.TheysayWellsFargowill start acoachline,andtheyhaveexperiencecleaningupdesperadoes.You’llbesafethen.”

“Inthespring?ButthisisSeptember.”

“Ibelieveso,”Perkinssaid.

“You’retryingtotellmeI’mstuckhereinDeadwooduntilspring?”

“Ibelieveso,”Perkinssaid,pouringhimanotherdrink.

LifeinDeadwood

There was a good deal of gunfire during the late hours, and Johnson spent a restlessnight.Heawokewithanachinghead;Perkinsgavehimstrongblackcoffee,andhewentouttoseewhathecoulddotoraisefunds.

The snow hadmelted during the night; the streetwas now ankle deepwith stinkingmud,thewoodenbuildingsstreakedwithdamp.Deadwoodlookedespeciallydreary,andthe prospect of remaining there for six or seven months depressed him. Nor were hisspirits improvedwhen he saw a deadman lying on his back in themuddy street. Fliesbuzzed around the body; three or four loungers stood over it, smoking cigars anddiscussing its former owner, but no onemade any attempt tomove the corpse, and thepassingteamsofhorsesjustwheeledpastit.

Johnsonstopped.“Whathappened?”

“That’sWillyJackson.Hewasinafracaslastnight.”

“Afracas?”

“IbelieveheengagedindisputingwithBlackDickCurry,andtheysettleditoutsideinthestreet.”

Anothermansaid,“Willyalwaysdiddrinkovermuch.”

“YoumeanDickshothim?”

“Ain’tthefirsttime.Dicklikestokill.Doesitwhenhecan.”

“Youjustgoingtoleavehimthere?”

“Idon’tknowwho’llmovehim,”onesaid.

“Well,he’sgotnorelativestofretoverhim.Hehadabrother,buthediedofdysenteryabouttwomonthsback.Theyhadasmallclaimcoupleofmileseastofhere.”

“Whateverhappenedtothatclaim?”onemanasked,flickinghiscigar.

“Idon’tbelieveitamountedtonothing.”

“Neverdidhaveluck.”

“No,Willyneverdid.”

Johnsonsaid,“Sothebodywilljuststayhere?”

Onemanjerkedathumbtothestorebehindthem.ThesignreadKIMSINGWASHINGANDIRONING.“Well,he’sinfrontofSing’splace,IreckonSing’llmovehimbeforehegetstooripeandruinsbusiness.”

“Sing’sson’llmovehim.”

“Tooheavyfortheson,Iimagine.He’sonlyabouteleven.”

“Naw,thatlittle’unisstrong.”

“Notthatstrong.”

“HemovedoldJakewhenthecarriageranhimdown.”

“That’sso,hedidmoveJake.”

TheywerestilldiscussingitwhenJohnsonwalkedon.

At Colonel Ramsay’s stables, he offered his wagon and team for sale. Cope hadpurchased theminFortBentonfor the inflatedpriceof$180;Johnson thoughthecouldgetfortyorperhapsfiftydollars.

ColonelRamsayofferedten.

Afteralongcomplaint,Johnsonagreedtoit.RamsaythenexplainedJohnsonowedsixalready,andplunkeddownthedifference—foursilverdollars—onthecountertop.

“Thisisanoutrage,”Johnsonsaid.

Silently,Ramsaypickedoneofthefourdollarsoffthecounter.

“What’sthatfor?”

“That’sforinsultingme,”Ramsaysaid.“Caretodoitagain?”

ColonelRamsaywasahard-bittenmanwelloversixfeettall.Heworealong-barreledColtsix-shooteroneachhip.

Johnsontooktheremainingthreedollars,andturnedtoleave.

“You got amouth, you little bastard,”Ramsay said. “Iwas you, I’d learn to keep itshut.”

“I appreciate the advice,” Johnson saidquietly.Hewasbeginning tounderstandwhyeveryoneinDeadwoodwassopolite,soalmostpreternaturallycalm.

He nextwent to theBlackHillsOverland andMail Express, at the north end of thestreet.TheagentthereinformedhimthatthefaretoCheyennewaseightdollarsbyregularcoach,andthirtydollarsbytheexpresscoach.

“Whydoestheexpresscostsomuchmore?”

“Yourexpresscoachispulledbyateamofsix.Standardcoachispulledbyateamoftwo,andit’sslower.”

“That’stheonlydifference?”

“Well,oflatetheslowcoachhasn’tbeenmakingitthroughregular.”

“Oh.”

Johnsonthenexplainedthathehadsomefreighttotransportaswell.Theagentnodded.“Mostfolksdo.Ifit’sgold,it’soneandahalfpercentofappraisedvalue.”

“It’snotgold.”

“Wellthen,itgoesatfreightrate,fivecentsapound.Howmuchyougot?”

“Aboutathousandpounds.”

“Athousandpounds!Whatonearthyougotweighsathousandpounds?”

“Bones,”Johnsonsaid.

“That’shighlyunusual,”theagentsaid.“Idon’tknowaswecouldaccommodateyou.”Hescratchedfiguresonasheetofpaper.“These,ah,bonescanrideuptop?”

“Iguesstheycan,ifthey’resafeupthere.”

Atfivecentsperpound,Johnsonfigured,thecostwouldbefiftydollars.

“Beeightydollars,plusfivedollarsloadingfee.”

Morethanheexpected.“Oh,fiftyforthefreightandthirtyfortheexpress.Eight-fiveinall?”

Theclerknodded.“Youwanttobookpassage?”

“Notrightnow.”

“Youknowwheretofindusifyoudo,”hesaid,andturnedaway.

AsJohnsonwasleaving,hepausedatthedoor.“Abouttheexpresscoach,”hesaid.

“Yes?”

“Howoftendoesitgetthrough?”

“Well,itgetsthroughmostly,”theagentsaid.“It’syourbestbet,noquestionofthat.”

“Buthowoften?”

Theagentshrugged.“I’dsaythreeoutoffivegetthrough.Afewofthemgetventilatedontheway,butmostlythey’refine.”

“Thankyou,”Johnsonsaid.

“Don’t mention it,” the agent said. “You sure you don’t got gold nuggets in themboxes?”

Theagentwasn’ttheonlyonewhohadheardabouttheboxesofbones.AllofDeadwoodhad, and therewas plenty of speculation. Itwas known, for example, that Johnson hadarrivedinDeadwoodwithadeadIndian.SinceIndiansknewbetter thananywhitemanwherethegoldwasintheirsacredBlackHills,manypeoplefiguredtheIndianhadshownJohnsonthegold,andthenJohnsonhadkilledhimandhisownpartnerandmadeoffwiththeore,nowdisguisedascratesof“bones.”

Otherswereequallysure thecratesdidn’tcontaingold, sinceJohnsonhadn’t taken itacrossthestreettotheassayer,whichwastheonlysensiblethingtodowithgold.Butthecratesmightstillbeplentyvaluable,containingjewelsorevencashmoney.

But in that case, why didn’t he take them to the Deadwood bank? Here, the onlypossibleexplanationwasthatthecratescontainedsomerecognizablestolentreasurethatwouldbeidentifiedatoncebythebankers.Whatthattreasuremightbewashardtosay,buteverybodytalkedaboutitagreatdeal.

“Ithinkyoumightwanttomovethosebones,”saidSamPerkins.“Peoplearetalking.Ican’tguaranteetheywon’tgetstolenfromthestoreroom.”

“CanIcarrythemuptomyownroom?”

“Nobodywillhelpyou,ifthat’swhatyou’reasking.”

“Iwasn’taskingthat.”

“Suityourself.Youwanttosleepinthesameroomwithalotofanimalbones,nobodywillsaynothing.”

Sothatiswhathedid.Tenboxes,upthestairs,stackedcarefullyagainstthewall,moreorlessblockingallthelightfromhisonewindow.

“Course everybody knows you moved them upstairs,” said Perkins, tagging along.“Thatmakesthemlookevenmorevaluable.”

“Ithoughtofthat.”

“Thepostsinthatwallaregood,butanybodycouldbustopenthatdoor.”

“Icouldbuildathicktimberslidelockontheinside,sameasastabledoor.”

Perkinsnodded.“Thatkeepsthoseboxessafewhenyouareintheroom,butwhataboutwhenyouain’t?”

“Cuttwoholesaroundthepost,oneinthewallandoneinthedoor,useachainwithapadlock.”

“Yougotagoodpadlock?”

“Nope.”

“Ido,butyougot tobuy it fromme.Tendollars.CameoffaSiouxCityandPacificboxcardoorthatcaughtfire.Heavierthanitlooks.”

“Iwouldbemuchobliged.”

“Youwouldbefurtherobliged,financiallyspeaking.”

“Yes.”

“SoIexpectyou’llhavetogetajob,”Perkinssaid.“Youneedtoraiseoverahundreddollars,pluswhatyouoweme.That’sagooddealofmoneytocomebyhonestly.”

Johnsondidn’tneedtobetoldthat.

“Anyworkyoucando,usefulwork?”

“Idugallsummer.”

“Everybody here can dig. That’s the only reason folks come to the Black Hills—tomine.No,Imeancanyoucookorshoehorsesordocarpentry,anythinglikethat.Askill.”

“No.Iamastudent.”Johnsonlookedatthecratesoffossils.Herestedhishandonone,touchedit.Hecouldleavethefossilshere.HecouldtakethestagefromDeadwoodtoFortLaramie,andfromtherecablehomeformoney.HecouldtellCope—assumingCopewasstill alive—that the fossils had been lost. A story formed in his mind: they had beenambushed, the wagon had overturned, fallen over a cliff, all the fossils were lost orsmashed.Itwasapity,butitcouldn’tbehelped.

Anyway,he thought, these fossilsweren’t so important, for theentireAmericanWestwas full of fossils.Wherever you dug into a cliff, you found old bones of one sort oranother. There were certainly far more fossils than gold in this wilderness. These fewwouldn’tbemissed.AttherateCopeandMarshwerecollectingbones,inayearortwothesewouldhardlyevenberemembered.

Anotherideacametohim:leavethefossilshereinDeadwood,gotoLaramie,wireformoney,andwithproperfundsreturntoDeadwood,collectthefossils,andleaveagain.

ButheknewthatifheevergotoutofDeadwoodalive,he’dnevercomeback.Notforanything.Hemusteithertakethemnow,orturntailandrunwithoutthem.

“Dragon teeth,” he said softly, touching the crate, remembering themoment of theirdiscovery.

“What’sthat?”saidPerkins.

“Nothing,”Johnsonsaid.Tryashemight,hecouldnotdiminishtheimportanceofthefossilsinhismind.Itwasnotmerelythathehaddugthemwithhisownhands,hisownsweat.Itwasnotmerelythatmenhaddied,thathisfriendsandcompanionshaddied,inthecourseoffindingthem.ItwasbecauseofwhatCopehadsaid.

Thesefossilsweretheremainsofthelargestcreaturesthateverwalkedonthefaceoftheearth—creaturesunsuspectedbyscience,unknowntomankind,until theirlittlepartyhaddugthemupinthemiddleoftheMontanabadlands.

“Withallmyheart,”hewroteinhisjournal,

Iwishtoleavetheseaccursedrocksrighthereinthisaccursedtownrighthereinthisaccursedwilderness.Withallmyheart,IwishtoleavethemandgohometoPhiladelphiaandneverthinkagain in my life of Cope or Marsh or rock strata or dinosaur genera or any other of thisexhaustingandtediousbusiness.Andtomyhorror,IfindIcannot.Imusttakethembackwithme,orstaywiththemasamotherhenstayswithhereggs.Damnallprinciples.

WhileJohnsonwasexaminingthefossils,Perkinspointedtoajumbleofmaterialunderatarp.“Thisyours,too?What’sallthis?”

“That’sphotographicequipment,”Johnsonsaidabsently.

“Knowhowtouseit?”

“Sure.”

“Wellthen,yourtroublesareover!”

“How’sthat?”

“Wehadamanwhomadephotographicpictures.Hetookhiscameraoutontheroadsouthoutoftownlastspring.Justhimandahorse,totakephotosoftheland.Why,Idonotknow.Ain’tnothingthere.Thenextstagecoachfoundhimonhisback,withtheturkeyvulturesonhim.Thatcamerawasinathousandpieces.”

“Whathappenedtoallhisplatesandchemicals?”

“Westillgotthem,butnobodyknowswhattodowiththem.”

TheBlackHillsArtGallery

“Howquicklycanone’sdisadvantagesbeturnedtoprofit!”Johnsonwroteinhisjournal.

Withtheopeningofmystudio,theBlackHillsArtGallery,myeverycharacterflawisperceivedinanewlight.Before,myEasternhabitswereseenaslackingmasculinity;nowtheyareproofofartistry.Before,mydisinterest inminingwasviewedwith suspicion;now,with relief.Before, Ihadnothingthatanyonewanted;now,Icanprovidewhateveryonewillpaydearlytopossess—aportrait.

JohnsonrentedalocationinthesouthbendofDeadwood,becausethelightwasstrongerthere formore of the day; the BlackHillsArtGallerywas located behindKim Sing’slaundry,andbusinesswasbrisk.

Johnson charged two dollars for a portrait and later, as demand increased, raised hisprices to three.Hecouldnevergetused to thedemand: “In this rudeandbleak setting,hardmenwantnothingmorethantositaslikedeath,andwalkawaywiththeirlikeness.”

The lifeofaminerwasbackbreakingandexhausting;all thesemenhadcomea longanddangerouswaytoseektheirfortuneintheruggedwilderness,anditwasclearthatfewwouldsucceed.Photographsprovidedatangiblerealitytomenwhowerefarfromhome,fearfulandtired;theywereposedproofsofsuccess,souvenirstosendtosweetheartsandlovedones,orsimplywaysofremembering,ofgraspingamomentinaswiftlychanginganduncertainworld.

His business was not limited to portraits. When the weather was bright, he madeexcursionstoplacerminesoutsidetown,tophotographmenworkingattheirclaims;forthishechargedtendollars.

Meanwhile,mostof thebusinesses in townhiredhim toportray their establishments.Thereweremomentsofminortriumph:onSeptember4,heterselyrecords:

Photograph of Colonel Ramsay Stablery. Charged $25 because of “large plate required.”Hehatedtopay!F11,at22sec.,dullday.

Andhewasapparentlypleasedtobecomeafullcitizenofthetown.Asthedayspassed,“Foggy” Johnson (a contraction of “photographer”?) became a familiar figure inDeadwood,knowntoeveryone.

He also acquired the frustrations of commercial photographers everywhere. On

September9:

Broken Nose Jack McCall, a notorious gunman, returned to complain of his portrait madeyesterday.Heshowedittohisinamorata,Sarah,whosaiditdidnotflatterhim,sohewasbacktodemandamoresympatheticversion.Mr.McCallhasafacelikeahatchet,asneerthatwouldkillacowfromfright,apox-scarredcomplexion,andawall-eye.ItoldhimpolitelythatIhaddonethebestIcould,considering.

HedischargedhispistolsintheArtGallery,untilIofferedtotryagainatnocharge.

Hesatoncemore,andhewantedadifferentpose,withhischinrestingonhishand.Buttheeffectofhisposewastoportrayhimasapensive,effeminatescholar.Itwaswhollyunsuitedtohis station in life,buthewouldhearnodisagreementabout thepose.Uponmy retiring to thedarkroom,BrokenNosewaitedoutside,allowingmetoheartheclickingofhispistolchambersashe reloadedhis revolver, in anticipationofmy latest effort. Such is the natureof art critics inDeadwood,andundersuchcircumstances,myworksurpassedmyownexpectations,althoughIlostadealofsweatbeforeBrokenNoseandSarahpronouncedthemselvessatisfied.

ApparentlyJohnsonknewtherudimentsofretouchingphotographs;bythejudicioususeofpencils,itwaspossibletosoftensignsofscarringandtomakeotheradjustments.

Noteveryonewantedhispicturetaken.On September 12, Johnson was hired to photograph the interior of the Deadwood

Melodeon Saloon, a drinking and gambling establishment at the south end of themainstreet.Interiorsweredark,andheoftenhadtowaitseveraldaysforstronglighttocarryout a commission. But a few days later the weather was sunny, and he arrived at twoo’clockintheafternoonwithhisequipmentandsetuptomakeanexposure.

TheMelodeonSaloonwasadingyplace,withalongbaronthebackwallandthreeorfour rough tables forplayingcards.Johnsonwentaround throwingback thecurtainsonthe windows, flooding it with light. The patrons groaned and cursed. The proprietor,LeanderSamuels,criedout,“Now,gents,beeasy!”

Johnsonduckedunder theclothofhiscamera tocompose the shot, andavoice said,“Whatthehellyoudoing,Foggy?”

“Takingapicture,”Johnsonsaid.

“Likehell.”

Johnson looked up. Black Dick, theMiner’s Friend, had risen from one of the cardtables.Hishandrestedonhisgun.

“Now,Dick,”saidMr.Samuels,“it’sjustapicture.”

“It’sdisturbingmypeace.”

“Now,Dick—”Mr.Samuelsbegan.

“I’ve said my say,” Dick threatened. “I’m playing cards now and I don’t want nopicture.”

“Perhapsyou’dliketostepoutsidewhilethepictureismade,”Johnsonsaid.

“Perhapsyou’dliketostepoutsidewithme,”Dicksaid.

“Nothankyou,sir,”Johnsonsaid.

“Thenyoujusttakeyourselfandyourcontraptionout,anddon’tcomeback.”

“Now,Dick,IhiredFoggy.Iwantapictureforthewallbehindthebar,Ithinkit’dlookfine.”

“That’sallright,”Dicksaid.“Hecancomebackanytimehelikes,longasI’mnothere.Noonetakesmylikeness.”HepokedafingeratJohnson,showingoffthesnaketattooonhiswrist,whichhewasvainabout.“Nowyourememberthat.Andyougitout.”

Johnsongotout.

ThatwasthefirstsureindicationthatBlackDickwasawantedmansomewhereorother.Nobody in Deadwoodwas surprised to hear it, and themystery it added to Dick onlyincreasedhisreputation.

ButitwasalsothebeginningoftroublebetweenJohnsonandthethreeCurrybrothers—Dick,Clem,andBill—thatwouldlatercausehimsomuchmisery.

Butwhile his business prospered, hedidn’t havemuch time to amasshis profits.OnSeptember13hewrote:

I amgenerally informed that themountain roads closewith snowbyThanksgiving latest, andperhapsbyNovemberfirst.ImustbereadytomakemydeparturebeforetheendofOctober,orremainuntilthefollowingspring.EachdayIrecordmyaccountsandmycosts.Forthelifeofme,IdonotseehowIcanpossiblymakeenoughmoneyintimetoleave.

Hisjournalforthenextfewdayswasfilledwithdespairingcomments,buttwodaysafterthat,Johnson’sfortunesagainunderwentadazzlingchange.

“Myprayersareanswered!”hewrote.“Thearmyhascometotown!”

TheArmyArrives

On September 14, 1876, two thousand miners lined the streets of Deadwood, firingpistolsintotheairandshoutingtheirwelcomeasGeneralGeorgeCrookandhiscolumnofthe2ndCavalryrodethroughthetown.“Itwouldbehardtoimagineamorepopularsighttothelocals,”wroteJohnson,“foreveryoneherefearsIndians,andGeneralCrookhaswagedasuccessfulwaragainstthemsincespring.”

The arriving army presented a notably rugged appearance after their months on theplains.WhenGeneralCrook signed into theGrandCentralHotel, Perkins, in his politeway,suggestedthatthegeneralmightwishtovisittheDeadwoodbaths,andperhapsalsotoobtainasetofnewclothingfromadrygoodsstore.GeneralCrooktookthehint,andwascleanedupwhenhesteppedontotheGrandCentralbalconyandmadeabriefspeechtothethrongofminersbelow.

Johnsonviewedthefestivities,whichranlongintothenight,withanentirelydifferentperspective.“Hereatlast,”hewrote,“ismytickettocivilization!”

Johnson askedCrook’s quartermaster,LieutenantClark, about joining the cavalry forthemarchsouth.Clarksaid thatwouldbe fine,buthewouldhave tosquare itwith thegeneral himself.Wondering how to meet the man, Johnson thought perhaps he shouldoffertotakehispicture.

“Generalhatespictures,”Clarkadvisedhim.“Don’tdoit.Goupdirectlyandjustaskhim.”

“Verywell,”Johnsonsaid.

“Oneotherthing,”Clarksaid.“Don’tshakehands.Generalhatestoshakehands.”

“Verywell,”Johnsonsaid.

Major General George Crook was every inch a military man: short-cropped hair;piercingeyes;afull,flowingbeard;andramrod-erectpostureashesatinhischairinthedining room. Johnson waited until the man had finished his coffee and some of hisadmirers had departed for the gambling halls before he approached and explained hissituation.

Crook listened patiently to Johnson’s tale, but before long hewas shaking his head,murmuring thathecouldnot takeciviliansonamilitaryexpeditionwithall thehazardsinvolved—hewassorry,butitwasimpossible.ThenJohnsonmentionedthefossilbones

hewishedtotakehome.

“Fossilbones?”

“Yes,General.”

Crooksaid,“Youhavebeendiggingfossilbones?”

“Yes,General.”

“AndyouarefromYale?”

“Yes,General.”

His wholemanner changed. “Then youmust be associated with ProfessorMarsh ofYale,”hesaid.

Afterthebriefesthesitation,JohnsonsaidthathewasindeedassociatedwithProfessorMarsh.

“Marvelousman.Charming, intelligentman,”Crooksaid.“Imethim inWyoming in’72,wewenthuntingtogether.Outstandingman.Remarkableman.”

“Nonequitelikehim,”Johnsonagreed.

“You’rewithhisparty?”

“Iwas.Ibecameseparatedfromit.”

“Damnedbad luck,”Crook said. “Well, anything I cando forMarsh, Iwill.Youarewelcometojoinmycolumn,andwewillseeyourfossilbonessafelytoCheyenne.”

“Thankyou,General!”

“Haveyourbones loadedonasuitablewagon.QuartermasterClarkwillassistyou inanywayyouneed.Wemarchatdawn,dayaftertomorrow.Happytohaveyouwithus.”

“Thankyou,General!”

LastDayinDeadwood

On September 15, his last full day in Deadwood, Johnson undertook two final photoassignments.

Inthemorning,herodeouttoNegroGulchtophotographthecoloredminerswhohadmadeafabulousstrikethere.Sixminershadbeentakingoutnearlytwothousanddollarsadayforweeks; theirorewasshippedhome,and theyhadalreadysold theirclaim.Nowtheywere posing, putting on their old work clothes and standing by the flume for thephotograph,thendressingagainintheirnewdudsandburningtheoldclothes.

Theywere in high spirits, andwanted the picture to take to St. Louis. For his part,Johnsonwaspleasedtoseeminerssowelldisciplinedthattheyweretakingtheirfindingshomewiththem.Mostlefttheirearningsinthesaloonsoronthegreenfeltofthegamingtables,butthesemenweredifferent.“Theyareeversocheerful,”Johnsonwrote,nodoubtcheerfulhimself,“andIwishthemthebestofluckintheirjourneyhome.”

Intheafternoon,hephotographedthefacadeoftheGrandCentralHotelforitsowner,SamPerkins.“Youphotographedeveryoneelse,”Perkinssaid,“andsinceyou’releavingtown,it’stheleastyoucando.”

Johnsonwasobliged to setuphis camera across the street.Hadhe setupcloser, thepassinghorses andcarriageswouldhavekickedmud in the lens.The intervening streettraffic would appear to obstruct the view of the hotel, but Johnson knew that movingobjects—horses and wagons—would not leave more than a ghostly streak in a timeexposure;forallintentsandpurposes,thehotelwouldappeartostandonanemptystreet.

Indeed,itwasaproblemwhenphotographerstriedtorepresentthebusystreetactivityoftowns,becausethemovementofhorsesandpedestriansandwagonswastooquickforthefilmtorecord.

Johnsonmadehisusualexposure—F11and22seconds—andthen,sincethelightwasespeciallystrongandhehadaspareplatethatwaswetandwaiting,hedecidedtotrytocapturethestreetlifeofDeadwoodinafinalquickshot.HeexposedthelastplateatF3.5and2seconds.

JohnsondevelopedbothplatesinhisdarkroomattheBlackHillsArtGalleryand,whiletheyweredrying,purchasedasuitablewagontotransporthisboneswiththecavalry.Thenhewenttothehoteltoloadthefossils,andhavehisfinaldinnerinDeadwood.

Hearrivedjustintimetoseeabodycarriedoutintothestreet.

NormanH. “TexasTom”Walshhadbeen found strangled inhis roomon the secondflooroftheGrandCentralHotel.TexasTomwasashort,feistymanwhowasrumoredtobe amember of theCurry gangof stage robbers. Suspicionofmurder naturally fell onBlackDickCurry,alsostayingin thehotelat the time,butnoonewasbraveenoughtomakeanaccusation.

Forhispart,BlackDickclaimedtohavespentallafternoonin theMelodeonSaloon,andtobeinnocentofanyknowledgeofwhatmighthavehappenedtoTexasTom.

And there the matter might have ended, had not Sam Perkins decided to stop byJohnson’stableandask,duringdinner,aboutthehotelportrait.

“Didyoumakeittoday?”Perkinsasked.

“Idid.”

“Andhowdiditturnout?”

“Verynicely,”Johnsonsaid.“Iwillhaveaprintforyoutomorrow.”

“Whattime’dyoutakeit?”Perkinsasked.

“Musthavebeenaboutthreeo’clockintheafternoon.”

“Aren’tthereshadowsthen?I’dhatetheplacetolookalldepressing,withshadows.”

“There were some shadows,” Johnson said, but he explained that shadows made apicturelookbetter,givingitmoredepthandcharacter.

It was then that Johnson noticed that BlackDickwas listening to their conversationwithinterest.

“Where’dyoutakethepicturefrom?”Perkinsasked.

“Acrossthestreet.”

“Where,overbyDonohue’sstore?”

“No,farthersouth,byKimSing’s.”

“What’reyoufellersyammeringonabout?”BlackDickasked.

“Foggytookaportraitpictureofthehoteltoday.”

“Didhe.”Thevoicewentcold.“Whenwasthat?”

Johnsoninstantlyfeltdangerinthesituation,butPerkinswasoblivioustoit.“What’dyoujustsay,Foggy,’boutthreeo’clock?”

“Somethingaboutthere,”Johnsonsaid.

Dickcockedhishead;hefixedJohnsonwithawatchfuleye.“Foggy,Iwarnedyouonceaboutphotographin’whenIwasaround.”

“Butyouweren’taround,Dick,”Perkinssaid.“Remember,youtoldJudgeHarlanthatyouwereatthesaloonallafternoon.”

“I know what I told Judge Harlan,” Dick growled. He turned slowly to Johnson.

“Where’dyoutakethepicturefrom,Foggy?”

“Acrossthestreet.”

“Turnoutgood?”

“No, as a matter of fact it didn’t turn out at all. I’m going to have to take it againtomorrow.”HekickedPerkinsunderthetableashesaidit.

“Ithoughtyourpicturesalwaysturnedout.”

“Notalways.”

“Where’sthepictureyoudidtoday?”

“Iscrubbedtheglassplate.Itwasn’tanygood.”

Dicknodded.“Allright,then.”Andheturnedbacktohismeal.

“Youthinkin’whatI’mthinkin’?”Perkinsaskedlater.“Yep,”Johnsonsaid.

“TexasTomhadaroomrightatthefrontofthehotel,facingoutonthestreet.Middleoftheafternoon,sunlightwouldshinerightin.Didyoulookrealcloseatyourpicture?”

“No,”Johnsonsaid.“Ididn’t.”

Atthatmoment,JudgeHarlancamein,puffing.TheyquicklytoldhimtheconversationwithBlackDick.“Ican’tseeas there’sanycaseagainstDickatall,”hesaid.“I’ve justcome from the Melodeon. Everybody swears Dick Curry was playing faro there allafternoon,justlikehesays.”

“Well,hemusthavepaidthemoff!”

“There’s twentyormoreseenhim. Idoubthepaid ’emall,” JudgeHarlansaid.“No,Dickwasthereallright.”

“ThenwhokilledTexasTom?”

“I’llworryoveritattheinquest,inthemorning,”JudgeHarlansaid.

Johnson intended topack after dinner, but curiosity—andPerkins’s urging—ledhim tothe Black Hills Art Gallery instead. “Where are they?” Perkins asked when they hadlockedthedoorbehindthem.

Theyinspectedthetwoexposedplates.

ThefirstexposurewasasJohnsonhadremembered—adesertedhotel,withnopeoplevisibleatall.

Thesecondplateshowedhorsesinthestreetsandpeoplewalkingthroughthemud.

“Canyouseethewindow?”Perkinsasked.

“Not really,”Johnsonsaid, squinting,holding theplate toakerosene lantern.“Ican’tsee.”

“Ithinkthere’ssomethingthere,”Perkinssaid.“Youhaveaglass?”

Johnsonheldamagnifyingglasstotheplate.

Clearlyvisibleinthesecond-floorwindowweretwofigures.Onewasbeingstrangledbyasecondman,whostoodbehindhim.

“I’llbedamned,”Perkinssaid.“Youtookapictureofthemurder!”

“Can’tseemuch,though,”Johnsonsaid.

“Makeitbigger,”Perkinssaid.

“Ihavetopack,”Johnsonsaid.“I’mleavingwiththecavalryatdawn.”

“Cavalry’sdrunkinthesaloonsallovertown,”Perkinssaid,“andthey’llneverleaveatdawn.Makeitbigger.”

Johnsonhadnoenlargingequipment,buthemanaged to rigan impromptuoutfit andexposedaprint.Theybothpeeredintothedevelopingtrayastheimageslowlyappeared.

In thewindow,TexasTom struggled, his back archedwith effort, his face contorted.Twohandsgrippedhisneck,butthekiller’sbodywasblockedbythecurtaintotheleft,andthekiller’sheadwasindeepshadow.

“Better,”Perkinssaid.“Butwestillcan’tseewhoitis.”

Theymadeanotherprint,andthenanotherstilllarger.Theworkbecameslowerastheeveningprogressed.Theriggedsystemwassensitivetovibrationatgreatmagnification,andPerkinswassoexcitedhecouldnotstandstillduringthelongexposure.

Shortlybeforemidnight, theygotaclearone.Atgreatmagnification, thepicturewasspeckledandgrainy.Butonedetailcamethrough.Therewasatattooontheleftwristofthestranglingarm:itshowedacurledsnake.

“WegottotellJudgeHarlan,”Perkinsinsisted.

“Igottopack,”Johnsonsaid,“andIgottogetsomesleepbeforeIleavetomorrow.”

“Butthisismurder!”

“ThisisDeadwood,”Johnsonsaid.“Happensallthetime.”

“You’rejustgoingtoleave?”

“Iam.”

“Thengivemetheplate,andI’llgotellJudgeHarlan.”

“Suityourself,”Johnsonsaid,andgavehimtheplate.

BackintheGrandCentralHotellobby,hepassedBlackDickCurryhimself.Dickwasdrunk.

“Howdy,Foggy,”Dicksaid.

“Howdy,Dick,”Johnsonsaid,andhewentuptohisroom.Itwas,heobservedinhisjournal,afineironiclasttouchtohislastdayinnotoriousDeadwood.

HehadbeenpackingforhalfanhourwhenPerkinsshowedup inhis roomwithJudgeHarlan.

“Youtakethispicture?”JudgeHarlansaid.

“Idid,Judge.”

“Youdoctorthispictureinanyway,penciltouch-upsorwhatever?”

“No,Judge.”

“That’sfine,”JudgeHarlansaid.“Wegothimdeadtorights.”

“I’mgladforyou,”Johnsonsaid.

“Inquest will settle it in the morning,” Judge Harlan said. “Be there at ten o’clock,Foggy.”

JohnsonsaidhewasleavingtownwithGeneralCrook’scavalry.

“I’m afraid you can’t,” Judge Harlan said. “In fact, you’re at some risk right heretonight.We’regonnahavetotakeyouintoprotectivecustody.”

“What’reyoutalkingabout?”Johnsonasked.

“I’mtalkingaboutjail,”JudgeHarlansaid.

TheNextDayinDeadwood

Jailwasanabandonedmineshaftattheedgeoftown.Itwasfittedwithironbarsandasolidlock.Afterspendinganightinthefreezingcold,Johnsonwasabletolookthroughthebarsandwatch thecavalryunder thecommandofGeneralGeorgeCrookridesouthoutofDeadwood.

Heshoutedtothem—shouteduntilhewashoarse—butnoonepaidanyattention.Noonecametolethimoutofjailuntilnearlynoon,whenJudgeHarlanshowedup,groaningandshakinghishead.

“What’sthetrouble?”Johnsonsaid.

“Bitmuchtodrinklastnight,” the judgesaid.Heheld thedoorwide.“You’refree togo.”

“Whatabouttheinquest?”

“Inquest’sbeencancelled.”

“What?”

JudgeHarlannodded.“BlackDickCurryhightaileditoutoftown.Seemshegotwordofwhatwas coming, and chose the better part of valor, as Shakespearewould say.Aninquest’sbesidethepoint,withDickgone.You’refreetogo.”

“But thecavalry’sahalfdayaheadofmenow,” Johnsonsaid. “I cannevercatchupwiththem.”

“True,” the judge said. “I’m real sorry for the inconvenience, son. I guess you’ll bestayingwithusinDeadwoodawhilelonger,afterall.”

ThestoryofJohnson’sincriminatingphotograph,andhowhehadcometomissleavingwiththecavalry,wentthroughthetown.Ithadseriousconsequences.

ThefirstwastoworsenrelationsbetweenJohnsonandBlackDickCurry,theMiner’sFriend.AlltheCurrybrothersnowwereopenlyhostiletohim,especiallyasJudgeHarlanseemeduninterested in setting another inquest into thedeathofTexasTom.When theywereintown,whichwaswhenevertherewasnostageleavingDeadwoodforadayorso,theystayedattheGrandCentralHotel.Andwhentheyate,whichwasseldom,theytook

theirmealsthere.

Johnson irritated Dick, who announced that Johnson behaved superior to everybodyelse,withwhathecalled“hisPhil-a-del-phiaways.‘Pass thebutter,wouldyouplease?’Faugh!Can’tbearhisfairy-airyways.”

Asthedayspassed,DicktooktobullyingJohnson, to theamusementofhisbrothers.Johnsonboreitquietly;therewasnothinghecoulddosinceDickwasonlytooreadytotakeanargumentoutintothestreetandsettleitwithpistols.Hewasasteadyshot,evenwhendrunk,andkilledamaneveryfewdays.

NooneintownwhoknewDickwouldgoupagainsthim,andcertainlyJohnsondidnotintendto.ButitgotsobadthathewouldleavethediningroombeforefinishinghismealifDickentered.

AndthentherewasthebusinessofMissEmily.

Emily

WomeninDeadwoodwerefew,andnobetterthantheyneededtobe.Mostofthemlivedinahousecalled theCricket,downat theendof thesouthbend,where theyplied theirtradeunder thecoldwatchfuleyeofMrs.Marshall,whosmokedopiumandowned thehouse. Others were independent, like Calamity Jane, who in recent weeks hadmade agreatshowofmourningthedeathofBillHickok,muchtothedisgustofHickok’sfriends.Calamity Jane was so masculine she often wore a soldier’s uniform and traveledundetected with the boys in blue, giving them service in the field; she had gone withCuster’s 7th Cavalry on more than one occasion. But she was so male that she oftenboastedthat“givemeadildointhedark,andnowomancantellmefromatrueman.”Asoneobservernoted,thisleftJane’sappealsomewhatobscure.

AfewDeadwoodminershadbrought theirwivesandfamilies,but theydidnotoftenshowintown.ColonelRamsayhadafatsquawwifenamedSen-a-lise;Mr.Samuelshadawife, too,butshewasconsumptiveandalwaysstayedindoors.Sofor themostpart,thefeminineelementwasprovidedby theCricketwomen,and thegirlswhoworked in thesaloons. In thewordsofoneDeadwoodvisitor, theywere“pleasantwomenofacertainage, but in appearance as hard andmean as the rest of the landscape of thatwretchedminingtown.Theonesthatrantablesinthesaloonssmokedandsworewiththebestofthemen,andwere so full of tricks that seasonedgamblers avoided them, andpreferredmenasdealers.”

Intothishard-bittenworld,MissEmilyCharlotteWilliamsappearedasafloatingvisionofloveliness.

Shearrivedonenoononaminer’sbuckboard,dressedentirelyinwhite,herblondhairtiedbackfetchingly.Shewasyoung—thoughperhapsafewyearsolderthanJohnson;shewas immaculate; she was delicate and fresh and sweet, and possessed some notablecurvatures. When she took a room at the Grand Central Hotel, she became the mostinterestingnewarrivalsinceyoungFoggyhadshowedupwithawagonloadofmysteriouscratesandtwodeadmencoveredinsnow.

NewsofMissEmily,herlovelyappearanceandhertenderstory,racedaroundthetown.Perkins’sdiningroom,neverbeforefull,waspackedthatnightaseveryonecametogetalookatthecreature.

Shewasanorphan,thedaughterofapreacher, theReverendWilliams,whohadbeen

killedinthenearbytownofGayvillewhilebuildingachurch.Atfirstitwassaidthathehadbeenshotbyadevilishdesperado,butitlaterturnedouthehadfallenfromtheroofunderconstructionandbrokenhisneck.

Inhergrief,itwasalsosaid,MissEmilyhadcollectedherfewbelongings,andsetoutto findherbrotherTomWilliams,whomsheknew tobeprospecting somewhere in theBlackHills.ShehadalreadybeentoMontanaCityandCrookCity,andhadnotsucceededinfindinghim.NowshewasinDeadwood,wheresheplannedtostaythreeorfourdays,perhapsmore.

ThemenintheGrandCentralHotelthatnighthadbathed,andwerewearingthecleanestclothes they owned; Johnson recorded in his journal that “itwas amusing, to see thesehard men preen and puff up their chests while they tried to eat their soup withoutslurping.”

But therewasagooddealof tension in the roomaswell,whichwas increasedwhenBlackDickwentovertoMissEmily’stable(theobjectofalleyeswasdiningalone)andintroducedhimself.Heofferedtoescortheraroundthetownthatevening;withadmirablepoise she thanked him but said shewould be retiring early.He offered to assist her infinding her brother; she thanked him but said that she had already hadmany offers ofassistance.

Dickwasbeingwatchedbyalltheothers,andknewit.Hesweated;hisfaceturnedredandheglowered.

“SeemsIcan’tbeofhelptoyou,then,isthatit?”

“Iappreciateyourcourteousoffer,Isurelydo,”shesaidsoftly.

Dick appeared somewhat mollified as he stomped back to his table and huddled,commiserating,withhisbrothers.

Andtherethemattermighthaverested,hadnotMissEmilyturnedtoJohnson,andsaidinhersweetestvoice,“Oh,areyoutheyoungphotographerIhaveheardsomuchabout?”

Johnsonsaidhewas.

“Ishouldappreciateseeingyourgalleryofpictures,”shesaid.“Perhapsmybrotherisamongthem.”

“I will be happy to show them to you in the morning,” Johnson answered, and sherespondedwithagracefulsmile.

BlackDicklookedfittokill—Johnson,inparticular.

“There isnogreaterpleasure than towinwhateveryonedesires,”Johnsonnoted inhispages;hewenttobedahappyman.Hehadbecomeaccustomedtosleepingintheroomnexttothestackedcrates,accustomednotonlytothefinepowderthatfellfromthemanddustedthefloor,butalsotothetomb-likedarknessoftheroomitselfandastrangesenseofintimacytobesleepingwiththebonesofthegreatcreaturesthemselves.Andofcourse

theimmenseteeth,theteethofactualdragonsthatoncewalkedtheearth.Hefoundtheirpresenceoddlycomforting.

AndtomorrowwouldbringhisappointmentwithEmily.

Buthishappinesswasshort-lived.Emilywasdisappointedbyhispictures,notfindingherdearbrotheramongthem.

“Perhapsyoucouldlookagain,”hesuggested.Shehadgonethroughthemveryquickly.

“No,no,Iknowheisnottobefoundinthese.”Sheprowledhisshoprestlessly,lookingaround.“Haveyoushownmeallyouhave?”

“AllIhavetakeninDeadwood,yes.”

Shepointedtoacornershelf.“Youhaven’tshownmethose.”

“Those are frommy time in the badlands.Your brother is not among those plates, Iassureyou.”

“ButIaminterestedtosee.Bringthemhere,andcomesitbesideme,andtellmeaboutthebadlands.”

Shewassocharminghecouldnotpossiblyrefuseher.Hebroughtdowntheplatesandshowedherhispictures,whichseemednowtobelongtoanotherlifetime.

“Whoisthismanwiththetinypick?”

“That’sProfessorCope,withhisgeologicalhammer.”

“Andthatbesidehim?”

“That’saskullofasaber-toothtiger.”

“Andthisman?”

“That’sCookie.Ourteamsterandcook.”

“Andthis?IshestandingwithanIndian?”

“That’sCharlieSternbergandLittleWind.HewasaSnakescout.Hedied.”

“Ohdear.Andthisisthebadlands?Itlookslikethedesert.”

“Yes,youcanseehowerodeditis.”

“Howlongdidyouspendthere?”

“Sixweeks.”

“Andwhywouldyougotosuchaplace?”

“Well,wherethereiserosion,thebonesstickoutandareeasiertouncover.”

“Youwentthereforbones?”

“Yes,ofcourse.”

“Howveryodd,”shesaid.“Didbonespayyoualot?”

“No,Ipaidmyownway.”

“Youpaidyourownway?”Shepointedtothedesolatepicture.“Togothere?”

“It’salongstory,”hesaid.“Yousee,ImadeabetatYaleandthenIhadtogo.”

Buthecouldtellshewasnotlisteninganymore.Shethumbedthroughtheglassplates,holdingeachtothelight,glancingquickly,goingontothenext.

“Whatdoyouhopetofind?”heasked,watchingher.

“Itisallsostrangetome,”shesaid.“Iwasmerelycuriousaboutyou.Here,putthemback.”

Ashereplacedthemontheshelf,shesaid,“Anddidyoufindbones?”

“Ohyes,lotsofthem.”

“Wherearetheynow?”

“HalfweretakendowntheMissouriRiverbysteamer.Ihavetheotherhalf.”

“Youhavethem?Where?”

“Inthehotel.”

“CanIseethesebones?”

Somethingabouthermannermadehimsuspicious.“Whywouldyouwanttodothat?”

“Iamjustcurioustoseethem,nowthatyouhavementionedthem.”

“Everyoneinthetowniscurioustoseethem.”

“Ofcourse,ifitistoomuchtrouble—”

“Ohno,”Johnsonsaid.“It’snotrouble.”

Inhisroom,heopenedonecrateforhertosee.Somegrittydirtfelltothefloor.“That’sjustoldrocks!”shesaid,peeringatthepiecesofblackshale.

“No,no,thisisafossil.Lookhere,”hesaid,andhetracedtheshapeofadinosaurleg.Itwasaperfectspecimen.

“ButIthoughtyouhadfoundoldbones,notrock.”

“Fossilbonesarerock.”

“There’snoneedtosnip.”

“I’msorry,Emily.Butyousee,thesethingshavenovalueatallinDeadwood.Theyareboneswhichhavelainintheearthformillionsofyearsandwhichbelongedtocreatureslong gone. This bone is from the leg of an animal with a horn on its nose, like arhinoceros,butmuchlarger.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Thatseemswonderful,Bill,”shesaid,havingdecided tocallhimby thatname.Her

gentleenthusiasmtouchedhim.Shewasthefirstsympatheticpersonhehadcomeacrossinalongtime.“Iknow,”he said, “butnoonebelievesme.Themore I explain them, themore they

disbelieve.And eventually theywill break in and smash them all, if I don’t get out ofDeadwoodfirst.”

And despite himself, tears rolled down one cheek, and he turned away, so that shewouldnotseehimcry.

“Why,Bill,what’sthematter?”shesaid,sittingdownclosetohimonthebed.

“It’snothing,”hesaid,wipinghisfaceandturningback.“Itisjustthat—Ineveraskedfor this job, I just came west and now I am stuck with these bones and they are myresponsibility,andIwanttokeepthemsafesotheprofessorcanstudythem,andpeopleneverbelieveme.”

“Ibelieveyou,”shesaid.

“ThenyouaretheonlyoneinDeadwoodwhodoes.”

“ShallItellyouasecretofmyown?”shesaid.“Iamnotreallyanorphan.”

Hepaused,waiting.

“IamfromWhitewood,whereIhavelivedsincethesummer.”

Hestillsaidnothing.

Shebitherlip.“Dickputmeuptoit.”

“Putyouuptowhat?”heasked,wonderinghowsheknewDick.

“Hethoughtyouwouldconfideinalady,andtellmewhatthecratesreallycontained.”

“Soyousaidyouwouldaskme?”hesaid,feelinghurt.

Shelookeddown,asifashamed.“Iwascuriousmyself,too.”

“Theyreallycontainbones.”

“Iseethat,now.”

“I don’t want them—I don’t want anything to do with them—but they are myresponsibility.”

“I believe you.” She frowned. “Now I must convince Dick. He is a hard man, youknow.”

“Iknow.”

“ButIwilltalktohim,”shesaid.“Iwillseeyouatdinner.”

ThatnightintheGrandCentraldiningroomthereweretwonewvisitors.Atfirstglance,theyseemedtobetwins,sosimilarwastheirappearance:theywerebothtall, lean,wirymen in their twenties, with identical broadmustaches, and identical clean white shirts.Theywerequiet,self-containedmenwhoemanatedaforcefulcalmness.

“Knowwhothosetwoare?”PerkinswhisperedtoJohnson,overcoffee.

“No.”

“That’sWyattEarpandhisbrotherMorganEarp.Wyatt’staller.”

Atthementionoftheirnames,thetwomenlookedoveratJohnson’stableandnoddedpolitely.

“Thishere’sFoggyJohnson,he’saphotographerfromYaleCollege,”Perkinssaid.

“Howdy,”theEarpbrotherssaid,andwentbacktotheirdinner.

Johnson didn’t recognize the names, but Perkins’s manner suggested that they wereimportantandfamousmen.Johnsonwhispered,“Whoarethey?”

“They’refromKansas,”Perkinssaid.“AbileneandDodgeCity?”

Johnsonshookhishead.

“They’refamousgunfighters,”Perkinswhispered.“Bothof’em.”

Johnsonstillhadnonotionoftheirimportance,butanynewvisitortoDeadwoodwasfair game for a photograph, and after dinner he suggested it. In his journal, Johnsonrecorded his first conversation with the famous Earp brothers. It was not exactly adramatichighpoint.

“Howwouldyougentslikeaphotograph?”Johnsonasked.

“Aphotograph?Couldbe,”WyattEarpsaid.Seenclose,hewasboyishandslender.Hehadasteadymanner,asteadygaze,analmostsleepycalmness.“What’llitcost?”

“Fourbucks,”Johnsonsaid.

TheEarpbrothersexchangedasilentglance.

“Nothanks,”WyattEarpsaid.

Emily’sNews

“It’s no good,” shewhispered to him outside on the porch of the hotel before dinner.“TheCurryboysarerattledbytheEarpbrothersarriving.Itmakesthemjumpy.Sothey’recomingforyourbonestonight.Theyboastedaboutit.”

“They’renotgoingtogetthem,”Johnsonsaid.

“Ibelievethey’reinthehabitofgettingwhatevertheywant.”

“Notthistime.”

“What’reyougoingtodo?”

“I’llstandguardoverthem,”Johnsonsaid,reachingforhisgun.

“Iwouldn’t.”

“WhatdoyouthinkIshoulddo?”

“Bestthingisstepaside,letthemhave’em.”

“Ican’tdothat,Emily.”

“They’rehardmen.”

“Iknowthat.ButImustguardthebones.”

“They’rejustbones.”

“No,they’renot.”

Hesawhereyeslightup.“They’revaluable,then?”

“They’repriceless.Itoldyou.”

“Tellmereally.Whatarethey,really?”

“Emily,theyreallyarebones.LikeItoldyou.”

Shelookeddisgusted.“Ifitwasme,Iwouldn’triskmylifeforabunchofoldbones.”

“It’snotyou,andthesebonesareimportant.Theyarehistoricalbonesandimportanttoscience.”

“TheCurryboysdon’tcareahootforscience,andthey’dbehappytokillyouin thebargain.”

“Iknowit.ButIgottokeepthebones.”

“Thenyoubettergethelp,Bill.”

HefoundthefamousgunfighterWyattEarpintheMelodeonSaloon,playingblackjack.Johnsondrewhimaside.

“Mr.Earp,couldIhireyourservicesforthenight?”

“Iimagineso,”Earpsaid.“Inwhatcapacity?”

“As a guard,” Johnson said, and explained about his fossil bones, the room, and theCurrybrothers.

“That’sfine,”Earpsaidwhenhehadhearditall.“Iwillwantfivedollars.”

Johnsonagreed.

“Inadvance.”

Johnsonpaidhim,rightthereinthesaloon.“ButIcancountonyou?”

“Yousurelycan,”WyattEarpsaid.“Iwillmeetyouinyourroomatteno’clocktonight.Bringammunitionandplentyofwhiskey, anddon’tworryany further.YouhaveWyattEarponyoursidenow.Yourproblemsareover.”

HehaddinnerwithEmily,inthehoteldiningroom.

“Iwishyouwouldgivethisup,”shesaid.

Theywereexactlyhissentiments.Buthesaid,“Ican’t,Emily.”

Shekissedhimlightlyonthecheek.

“Thengoodluck,Bill.IhopeIseeyoutomorrow.”

“Restassured,”hesaid,andsmiledbravelyforher.

Shewentuptoherroom.Hewenttohisroomandlockedhimselfin.

Itwasnineo’clockintheevening.

Ten o’clock passed, and ten thirty. He shook his pocket watch, wondering if it wasrunningright.Finally,heunlockedtheroom,andwentdownintothehotellobby.

Apimplyboywasbehindthedeskasnightclerk.“Howdy,Mr.Johnson.”

“Howdy,Edwin.YouseenMr.Earp?”

“Nottonight,Ihaven’t.ButIknowofhiswhereabouts.”

“Whatdoyouknow?”

“He’sattheMelodeon,playingblackjack.”

“HewasattheMelodeonthisafternoon.”

“Well,he’sstillthere.”

Johnsonlookedatthewallclock.It,too,saidtenthirty.“Hewassupposedtomeetmehere.”

“Probablyforgot,”Edwinsaid.

“Wehadanarrangement.”

“Probablydrinking,”Edwinsaid.

“Canyougooverthereandgethimforme?”

“IwishIcould.ButIhavetostayhere.Don’tworry,Mr.Earpisaresponsiblesort.Ifhesayshe’llcome,I’msurehe’llbealongshortly.”

Johnsonnoddedandlockedhimselfbackinhisroom.

Andwaited. If they come in thedoor, he thought, Ibetterbe ready.Heput a loadedpistolintoeachofhisbootsatthefootofthebed.

The hours dragged by.Atmidnight, hewent out again in hiswool socks to ask aboutEarp,butEdwinwasasleepandEarp’skeywasonthewallbehindhim,whichmeanthehadnotyetreturnedfromthesaloon.

Johnsonwentbacktohisroomandwaited.

Allaroundhim,thehotelwassilent.

Hestaredatthehandsofhiswatch.Helistenedtoittick,andhewaited.

Attwo,therewasascratchingonthewall.Hejumpedup,raisinghisgun.

Heheardthescratchingagain.

“Who’sthere!”

Therewasnoreply.Morescratching.

“Getaway!”hesaid,hisvoicequavering.

He heard a low squeaking, and the scratchingmoved quickly off.He recognized thesoundnow.

“Rats.”

He slumped back down, tense and exhausted. He was sweating. His hands wereshaking.Thiswas not his line of business.He didn’t have the nerve for it.WherewasWyattEarp,anyway?

“Ican’tfigurewhatyou’resohotabout,”Earpsaid,thenextday.“Wehadadeal,”Johnsonsaid.“That’swhatI’msohotabout.”Hehadnotsleptatall

thenightbefore;hewasangryandtired.

“Yes,wedid,”Earpsaid.“ToprotectyourfossilsfromtheCurryboys.”

“AndIpaidyouinadvance.”

“Yes,youdid.”

“Andwherewereyou?”

“DoingwhatIwashiredtodo,”Earpsaid.“Iplayedblackjackallnight.WiththeCurryboys.”

Johnsonsighed.Hewastootiredtoargue.

“Well,whatdoyouexpectmetodo,”Earpsaid.“Leave’emtocomeandsitinthedarkwithyou?”

“It’sjustthatIdidn’tknow.”

“Youlookpeaked,”Earpsaidsympathetically.“Yougogetsleep.”

Johnsonnodded,startedbacktothehotel.

“Youwanttohiremeagaintonight?”Earpcalledtohim.

“Yes,”Johnsonsaid.

“That’llbefivedollars,”Earpsaid.

“I’mnotpayingyoufivedollarstoplayblackjack,”Johnsonsaid.

Earpshrugged.“Suityourself,boy.”

Thatnightheput the loadedpistols andextrabullets inhisboots again.Hemusthavefallen asleep after midnight, because he awoke to the sound of wood splintering. Thebrokendooropened,andafigureslidintotheroom.Thedoorclosedagain.Itwaspitch-darkbecauseofthecratesblockingthewindow.

“Foggy,”avoicewhispered.

“Wyatt?”Johnsonwhispered.

The sharp clock of a gun being cocked. A footstep. Silence. Breathing in the dark.Johnsonrealizedhemadeaneasytargetandeasedoutofthebedandbeneathit.Hetookoneofthepistolsoutofitsbootandflungthebootagainstthewall.

Atthesoundoftheboothittingthewall,therewasatongueofflameasthemanfiredatthenoise.Someoneyelledimmediatelyelsewhereinthehotel.

“Yougetout,whoeveryouare!”Johnsonsaid,theroomfilledwithsmokenow.“Ihavealoadedgun,yougetonout.”

Silence.Anotherfootstep.Breathing.

“Thatyou,Foggyboy?”

Thedooropenedagainandanothermancamein.

“He’sinhisbed,”cameavoice.

“Foggy, we are going to light a lamp now. Just sit still and we will get this allstraightenedout.”

Instead, themenopened fire intohisbed, splintering the frame. Johnsongrabbedhissecondpistolandliftedbothguns,emptyingeachwithoutskill.

He heard wood splintering, groaning, something falling, then maybe the door beingopened.

Hepausedtoreload,fumblinginthedarkness.Heheardbreathing—hewassureofit.Thatmadehimnervous.Hecouldimaginethekillersquattingthere,listeningtoJohnson’spanicked exhalations, listening to the clink of the bullets going into the chambers,focusingonthesound,locatingJohnson...

Hefinishedreloading.Stillnothing.

“Oh,Carmella,”cameasadandtiredvoice.“IknowI’vebeen—”Theman’sbreathingbecamelabored.“If’nIcanjustgetmybreathgood...”Hecoughedandtherewasakickagainstthefloor.Thenacrackling,chokingnoise.Thennothing.

Inhisjournal,Johnsonwrote,

IapprehendedthenthatIhadkilledaman,buttheroomwastoodarktoseewhoitwas.Iwaitedthereonthefloorwithmygunsreadyincasetheothershootistcameback,andIresolvedtofirefirstandaskquestionsafterward.ButthenIheardMr.Perkins, theproprietor,callingfromthehallway. I answered back. I told him I wasn’t going to shoot, and then he appeared in thedoorwaywithalamp,throwinglightacrosstheroomanddowntothefloor,whereabigmanlaydead,hisbloodawetrugbeneathhim.

Therewerethreeneatbulletwoundsintheman’sbroadback.

Perkins rolled the body over. In the guttering light of the lamp, he looked into thesightlesseyesofClemCurry.“Deadasadoornail,”hemuttered.

Thehallwayfilledwithvoices,andthenheadspokedtheirwaythroughthedoorwaytogawk.

“Standback,folks,standback.”

JudgeHarlan pushed roughly through the onlookers into the room.Harlanwas in illhumor,probably,Johnsonthought,becausehehadbeencalledoutofbed.Itturnedouttobenothingof thesort.“I leftahellofapokergame,” the judgesaid,“todealwith thisheremurder.”

Hestaredatthebody.

“That’sClemCurry,isn’tit?”

Johnsonsaiditwas.

“No loss to the community, as far as I’m concerned,” the judge said. “Whatwas hedoinghere?”

“Robbingme,”Johnsonsaid.

“Figures,” JudgeHarlansaid.He tookadrink fromahip flask,passed it to Johnson.“Whoshothim?”

Johnsonsaidhehad.

“Well,”thejudgesaid,“asfarasitmatterstome,that’sfine.Theonlytroubleis,youshothimintheback.”

Johnsonexplainedthatitwasdark,andhecouldnotsee.

“Iamsureofit,”thejudgesaid.“Buttheproblemis,youshothimthreetimesintheback.”

Johnsonsaidhehadn’tintendedtokillanyoneatall.

“Iamsureofit.Youhavenoproblemwithme,butyoumayhavesomedifficultywhenBlackDickhearsofit,tomorroworthenextday,dependingifhe’sintown.”

ThishadalreadyoccurredtoJohnson,andhedidnotliketothinkaboutittoolong.

“YouplanningtoleaveDeadwood?”thejudgesaid.

“Notjustyet,”Johnsonsaid.

JudgeHarlantookanotherpullfromtheflask.“Iwould,”hesaid.“Myself,I’dbegonebeforedaybreak.”

“Well,damnme,”SamPerkinssaid,fingeringthebulletholesinthewallafterthecrowdhadleft.“Yousurelyhadsomehotworkhere,Mr.Johnson.”

“Theydidn’tgetthebones.”

“That’sso,buttheygoteveryoneofmyguestsoutofbedinthemiddleofthenight,Mr.Johnson.”

“I’msorryaboutthat.”

“ScaredEdwinthenightclerksobadhewethistrousers.I’mnotfooling.”

“I’msorry.”

“Ican’trunahotelthisway,Mr.Johnson.TheGrandCentralhasitsreputation.Iwantthesebonesoutofheretoday,”Perkinssaid.

“Mr.Perkins—”

“Today,”Perkinssaid,“andthat’sfinal.AndI’llchargeyoutorepairthebulletholes.That’llbeonyourbill.”

“WhereamIgoingtomovethemto?”

“Ain’tmyproblem.”

“Mr.Perkins,thesebonesarevaluabletoscience.”

“We’realongwayfromscience.Justget’emoutofhere.”

MovingtheBones

With the crates loaded inhiswagon thenextmorning,hewent first to theDeadwoodbank,buttheyhadnospacetostoreanythingbutgolddust.

ThenhetriedSutter’sDryGoods.Mr.Sutterhadastrongroominthebackwherehestoredhisfirearmsforsale.Mr.Sutterrefusedoutright.ButJohnsontooktheopportunitytobuymorebulletsforhisguns.

TheNationalHotelwasnot asparticular as theGrandCentral, andwasknown tobeaccommodating.Butthemanatthedesksaidhehadnostoragefacilities.

Fielder’sSaloon andGamingHousewas open around the clock, and the scene of somanyaltercationsthatFielderkeptanarmedguardtomaintainorder.Hehadabackroomthatwaslargeenough.

Fieldersaidno.

“It’sjustbones,Mr.Fielder.”

“Maybeso,maybenot.Whateveritis,theCurryboysareafter’em.Iwantnopartofit.”

ColonelRamsaywas feisty, andhadplentyof room inhis stables.He just shookhisheadwhenJohnsonaskedhim.

“IseverybodyafraidoftheCurrybrothers?”

“Everybodywithsense,”Ramsaysaid.

Theafternoonwasdrawingtoanend,thelightstartingtofail,andthetemperatureintownwasdroppingquickly. Johnsonwentback tohis photo studio, theBlackHillsArtGallery, but he had no customers. It seemed he had become extremely unpopularovernight. He was looking around the studio, trying to see whether he could store thebonesthere,whenhislandlord,KimSing,cameinfromthelaundrywithhisyoungson,theonewhohaddraggedawaythedeadbodyoutofthestreet.

Singnoddedandsmiled,butasusual saidnothing.Thesonsaid,“Youneedplace tostoresomethings?”

Theboy’sEnglishwasprettygood.“Yes,Ido.What’syourname?”

“Kang.”

“Ilikeyourbootsthere,Kang.”

Theboysmiled.Chineseboysneverwore leatherboots.His fathersaidsomething tohim.“YoustoreyourthingsinChineseTown.”

“Ican?”

“Yes.Youcan.”

“Itwouldhavetobeasafeplace.”

“Yes.LingChowhastoolshed,verystrongandjustnew,ithaslockandnowindowsexceptsmallwindowsatthetop.”

“Whereisit?”

“BehindLingChowrestaurant.”

In the middle of Chinatown. It would be perfect. Johnson felt a rush of gratitude.“That’sverykindofyou,Iappreciateyourofferverymuch.Nooneelseinthistownwilleven—”

“Tendollaranight.”

“What?”

“Tendollaranight.Okay?”

“Ican’taffordtendollarsanight!”

Unblinking:“Youcan.”

“That’soutrageous.”

“That’stheprice.Okay?”

Johnsonthoughtitover.“Okay,”hesaid.“Okay.”

“Atthistime,Istillhadmorethanathousandpoundsoffossils,”Johnsonlaterrecalled.

Tenboxesweighingaboutahundredpoundseach.IhiredKimSing’sboy,Kang,tohelpmewiththewagon.Ipaidhimtwodollarsfortheafternoon,andheearnedit.Hekeptsaying,“Whatisthis?”and I kept tellinghim itwasoldbones.Butmystorydidn’t getmorepersuasive. I alsodidn’tknowthereweresomanyChinameninDeadwood.Itseemedtometheirsmoothimpassivefaceswereeverywhere,watchingme,commentingtoeachother,standingfourdeeparoundthetoolshed,peeringfromwindowsinthesurroundingbuildings.

Finallywhenallthecrateswerestackedneatlyinthetoolshed,Kanglookedatthemandsaid,“Whyyoucaresomuch?”

IsaidIdidn’tknowanymore.ThenIwenttotheGrandCentralfordinner,andreturnedtothetoolshedatnightfall,tokeepmyeveningwatchoverthedinosaurbones.

He did not have long to wait. Around ten, shadowy figures appeared around the hightransomwindows.Johnsoncockedhisgun.Therewereseveralfiguresoutside;heheardwhisperedvoices.

Thewindowcreakedopen.Ahandreacheddown.Johnsonsawadarkheadappearin

thenarrowglass.Heaimedhisgun.

“Getaway,youbastards!”

Asharpgigglestartledhim.Theywerekids,Chinesekids.Heloweredhisgun.

“Getaway.Goon,getaway.”

Thegigglingcontinued.Scrapingfootsteps,andhewasaloneagain.Hesighed.Itwasagoodthinghehadn’tshothastily,hethought.

Therewasmorescraping.

“Didn’tyouhearme?Getoutofhere!”

Probably they didn’t speak English, he thought. But most of the young ones hadpassableEnglish.AndtheolderonesspokealotmoreEnglishthantheywerewillingtoadmittheydid.

Anotherheadatthewindow,shadowy.

“Getaway,youkids!”

“Mr.Johnson.”ItwasKang.

“Yes?”

“Ihavethebadnewsforyou.”

“What?”

“I thinkeverybodyknowyouhere.People in laundry say talkingyoumoveboxes tothisplace.”

Johnson froze. Of course they knew. He’dmerely exchanged one room in town foranother.“Kang,youknowmywagon?”

“Yes,yes.”

“It’satthestable.Canyougetitandbringithere?”

“Yes.”

Itseemedhereturnedonlyafewminuteslater.

“Tellyourfriendstoloadtheboxesasfastaspossible.”

Kangdid that, and soon thewagonwas loaded. Johnsongave themadollar and toldthemtorunaway.“Kang,staywithme.”

ChineseTownwaslargerthanitlooked,withnewstreetsbeingbuiltconstantly.Kangshowedhimhowtoguidethewagonthroughthenarrowlanes.Atonepointtheystoppedasfourhorsemenwentbyinahurryinthestreetahead.

“Lookforyou,Ithink,”saidKang.

Theyeasedoutontoasideroad,andinafewminutestheycametothetallpinewhereJohnson had buried Little Wind. The ground was still soft, and he and Kang gentlyexhumedLittleWind,holdingtheirbreathsastheypulledhimoutofthehole.Thestenchwaswretched.The tenboxes tookup thespaceofabout twomoregraves,andJohnson

widened the hole he hadmade for LittleWind and stacked the boxes as evenly as hecould.ThenhelaidLittleWindontopoftheboxes,asifheweresleepingatopthem.

IfIhadmycameraanditwasdaytime,Iwouldtakeaphotographofthat,Johnsontoldhimself.

HepiledthedirtbackoverLittleWind,spreadingitaroundsotheexcesswouldnotbesoapparent,thenbrushedpineneedlesoverthespot.

“Thisisoursecret,”hetoldKang.

“Yes,butitcanbeabettersecret.”

“Yes,ofcourse.”Johnsonpulledafive-dollargoldpiecefromhispocket.“Youdonottellanyone.”

“No,no.”

Buthedidnottrusttheboynottotalk.“WhenIleave,Kang,Iwillpayyouanotherfivedollarsifyouhavekeptthesecret.”

“Anotherfivedollar?”

“Yes,thedayIleaveDeadwood.”

AShootout

BlackDickshowedupinarageattheGrandHotelatbreakfasttimethesamemorning.Hekickedopenthedoor.“Whereisthelittlebastard?”

HisgazefellonJohnson.

“I’mnotashootingman,”Johnsonsaid,ascalmlyashecould.

“Nocowardis.”

“Youmayholdwhateveropinionyoulike.”

“YoushotClemintheback.Youareayellow-belliedsnake.”

“Hewasrobbingmyproperty.”

Dickspat.“Youshothimintheback,yousonofapoxywhore.”

Johnsonshookhishead.“Iwon’tbeprovoked.”

“Then hear this,” Dick said. “You meet me outside now, or I’ll go to that shed inChineseTownandplugeveryoneofyourpreciouscrateswithdynamiteandblow’emtosmithereens.MightblowupsomeofthoseChinamenwhohelpedyou,too.”

“Youwouldn’tdare.”

“Ican’tseewhomightstopme.Youcaretowatchmeblowyourpreciousbones?”

Johnsonfeltastrangedeepfuryfillhim.Allhisfrustrations,all thedifficultiesofhisweeksinDeadwood,overwhelmedhim.Hewasgladhehadmovedthecrates.Hebegantobreathedeeply,slowly.Hisfacefeltoddlytight.

“No,”Johnsonsaid.Hestood.“I’llseeyououtside,Dick.”

“That’sfine,”Dicksaid.“I’llbewaitingonyou.”

AndDickleft,slammingthedoorbehindhim.

Johnson sat in the hotel dining room.The other breakfasters looked at him.Nobodyspoke.Sunlightcameinthroughthewindows.Heheardabirdchirping.

Heheardtherattleofwagonsinthestreetoutside,thepeopleshoutingtoeachothertoclearout,thattherewasgoingtobesomegunplay.HeheardMrs.Wilson’spianolessonsinthenextbuilding,achildplayingscales.

Johnsonfeltcompletelyunreal.

Minuteslater,WyattEarphurriedintothediningroom.“What’sthisfoolishnessaboutyouandDickCurry?”

“It’strue.”

Earpstaredathimamoment,thensaid,“Takemyadviceandbackout.”

“I’mnotbackingout,”Johnsonsaid.

“Canyoushoot?”

“Notrealgood.”

“That’sunfortunate.”

“ButI’mgoingupagainsthimanyway.”

“Youwantsomeadvice,oryouwanttodieyourownway?”

“Iwillbegratefulforanyadvice,”Johnsonsaid.Henoticedthathislipwasquivering,hishandshaking.

“Sitdown,”Earpsaid.“Ibeenthroughlotsofthese,andit’salwaysthesame.YougetapistoleerlikeDick,heisprettyfullofhimself,andhehasshotamanor two.He’sfast.Butmostlyhisvictimshavebeendrunkorscaredorboth.”

“Isurelyamscared.”

“That’sfine.Justremember,mostofthesegunmenarecowardsandbullies,theyhaveatrickthatworksforthem.Youmustavoidhistricks.”

“Suchaswhat?Whattricks?”

“Someof’emtryandrushyou,someof’emtryanddistractyou—theysmokeacigar,tossitaway,expectingyoureyesnaturallytofollowit.Someof’emtryandtalktoyou.Someof’emyawn,trytogetyoutoyawn.Tricks.”

“WhatshouldIdo?”Johnson’sheartwashammeringsoloudlyhecouldhardlyhearhisownvoice.

“Whenyougoout there, you takeyour time.Andnever takeyour eyesoff him—hemaytryandshootyouwhileyou’resteppingintothestreet.Nevertakeyoureyesoffhim.Thentakeyourposition,putyourfeetwide,getyourbalance.Don’tlethimengageyouintalk.Concentrateonhim.Nevertakeyoureyesoffhim,nomatterwhathedoes.Watchhiseyes. You’ll see in his eyes when he’s going to make his play, even before his handmoves.”

“HowwillIseeit?”

“You’llseeit,don’tworry.Lethimfirefirst,youdrawdeliberate,youaimdeliberate,andyousqueezeoffoneshotrighttothemiddleofhisstomach.Don’tdoanythingfancylikeaimforthehead.Makeitcount.Shoothiminthestomachandkillhim.”

“OhGod.”Therealityofitwassettlinginonhim.

“Yousureyouwon’tbackout?”

“No!”

“Fine,”Earpsaid.“Ibelieveyou’llcomeout.Dick’scocky,he thinksyou’reamark.Youcan’taskforbetterthanacockymantogoupagainst.”

“I’mgladtohearofit.”

“You’llcomeout,”Earpsaidagain.“Isyourgunloaded?”

“No.”

“Betterloadit,boy.”

Johnsonsteppedoutofthehotelintothemorninglight.ThemainstreetofDeadwoodwasdeserted.Therewassilence,exceptforMrs.Wilson’spianolesson,monotonousscales.

BlackDickwasatthenorthendofthestreet,waiting.Hepuffedonacigar.Hisbroadhatputhisfaceindeepshadow.Johnsonhadtroubleseeinghiseyes.Hehesitated.

“Comeonout,Foggy,”Dickcalled.

Johnsonsteppedawayfromthehotel,intothestreet.Hefelthisfeetsquishinthemud.Hedidnotlookdown.

Keepyoureyesonhim.Nevertakeyoureyesoffhim.

Johnsonmovedtothemiddleofthestreet,stopped.

Getyourbalance,getyourfeetwide.

Clearly,heheardMrs.Wilson’svoicesay,“No,no,Charlotte.Tempo.”

Concentrate.Concentrateonhim.

Theywerethirtyfeetapart,onthemainstreetofDeadwoodinthemorningsunshine.

Dicklaughed.“Comecloser,Foggy.”

“This’lldo,”Johnsonsaid.

“Ican’thardlyseeyou,Foggy.”

Don’tlethimtalktoyou.Watchhim.

“Iseefine,”Johnsonsaid.

Dicklaughed.Thelaughtrailedoffintosilence.

Watchhiseyes.Watchhiseyes.

“Anylastrequests,Foggy?”

Johnsondidnotanswer.Hefelthisheartpoundinginhischest.

BlackDickthrewhiscigaraway.Itsailedthroughtheair,sputteredinthemud.

Nomatterwhathedoes,nevertakeyoureyesoffhim.

Dickdrew.

Ithappenedveryfast,Dick’sbodywasobscuredbyacloudofdenseblacksmoke,andtwobulletswhizzedpastJohnsonbeforehisowngunwasout,andhefeltthethirdknockhishatoffasheaimedandfired.Hisgunbuckedinhishand.Heheardascreamofpain.

“Sonofabitch!I’mhit!”

Johnsonpeeredthroughthesmoke,moreconfusedthananythingelse.Atfirsthecouldseenothing;Dickseemedtohavedisappearedentirelyfromthestreet.

Thenthesmokeclearedandhesawthefigurewrithinginthemud.

“Youshotme!Damn!Youshotme!”

Johnsonstoodandstared.Dickstruggledtohisfeet,clutchinghisbleedingshoulder,hiswoundedarmhanginglimply.Hewascoveredinmud.

“Damnyou!”

Finishhim,thoughtJohnson.

But he had already killed a man and didn’t have the heart to shoot again now. HewatchedasDick staggeredacross the street and swungontohis horse. “I’ll get you forthis!I’llgetyou,”hecried,andherodeoutoftown.

Johnsonwatchedhimgo.Heheardscatteredcheersandapplausefromthesurroundingbuildings.Hefeltdizzy,andhislegswentwatery.

“Youdidgood,”Earpsaid,“exceptingyoudidn’tkillhim.”“I’mnotagunman.”

“That’sfine,”Earpsaid.“Butmark,youshouldhavekilledhim.Itdidn’tlooktomehiswoundsweremortal,andnowyouhaveanenemyforlife.”

“Icouldn’tkillhim,Wyatt.”

Earplookedathimforawhile.“You’readown-Easter,that’sthetrouble.Haven’tgotanycommonsense.You’regonnahavetogetoutoftownpronto,youknow.”

“Whyisthat?”

“Because,boy,youhaveareputationnow.”

Johnsonlaughed.“EverybodyintownknowswhoIam.”

“Notanymore,”Earpsaid.

ItturnedoutthatFoggyBillJohnson,themanwhogunneddownClemCurryandthenwentupagainsthisbrotherDick,was indeedanotoriouscelebrity inDeadwood.Everymanwhofanciedhimselfsharpwithagunwassuddenlyaskingtomeethim.

After twodaysof extricatinghimself fromgunfights, Johnson realized thatEarpwasright.HewouldhavetoleaveDeadwoodsoon.Hehadjustenoughmoneytobuyfareandfreightontheexpressstage,andpurchasedhisticketforthefollowingday.Whenthelightwas low,he tookoneof thehorsesandchecked to see thatLittleWind’sgravehadnot

beendisturbed.Sofar,ithadn’t.Thegroundhadhardenedupinthecoldandhehadleftnotracks.Evenso,heforcedhimselftoleaveimmediately,lesthebenoticed.Earp,meanwhile,hadgrowntiredofgamblingandadesultorycourtingofMissEmily.

He had expected Deadwood to offer him a position as marshal, but no offer wasforthcoming,sohewasgoingtoheadsouthforthewinter.

“When’reyouleaving?”Johnsonasked.

“What’sittoyou?”

“Perhapsyoucouldridewithme.”

“With you and your bones?”Earp laughed. “Boy, every bandito and desperado fromheretoCheyenneisjustwaitingforyoutoleaveDeadwoodwiththosebones.”

“I’dbesuretomakeitifyourodewithme.”

“IthinkI’llwait,toescortMissEmily.”

“MissEmilymightcometomorrow,too,especiallyifyouwereridingwithus.”

Earpfixedhimwithasteadylook.“What’sinitforme,boy?”

“Ibetthestagewouldpayyouasamessenger.”Amessengerwasaguard;theymadegoodmoney.

“Can’tyoudoanybetterthanthat?”

“Iguessnot.”

There was a silence. Finally, Earp said, “Tell you what. If I get you through toCheyenne,yougivemehalfyourshipment.”

“Halfmybones?”

“That’s right,” he said, smiling broadly and winking. “Half your bones. How’s thatsound?”

“Irealizedthen,”JohnsonwroteontheeveningofSeptember28,

thatMr.Earpwaslikealltheothers,anddidnotbelievethatthesecratescontainedbonesatall.Iwasfacedwithamoraldilemma.Mr.Earphadbeenfriendlytomeandhelpfulmorethanonce.Iwasaskinghimtofacerealdangerandhethoughthewasriskinghislifefortreasure.Itwasmyobligationtodisabusehimofhisgreedymisconception.ButIhadreceivedquiteaneducationoutWest,onethatYalehadbeenunabletoprovide.Amanhastolookoutforhimself,I’dlearned.SoallIsaidtohimwas,“Mr.Earp,youhavecutyourselfadeal.”

ThestagewouldleaveDeadwoodthefollowingmorning.

He woke a few hours past midnight. It was time to retrieve the crates of bones. ByprearrangementhehadhiredKangtohelphimagain,sincenowhitemanwouldwanttodigupadeadIndian.Theyrodethewagonoutoftown,andthefirstthingtheydidwas

excavateLittleWind,whodidnotsmellquiteasbadashehadbefore,becauseofthecoldair.

One by one the crates went into the wagon. They were dirty andmoist from beingundergroundbutappearedotherwise fine.This time Johnson filled inmostof thegravebeforereturningLittleWindtotheearth.Hepausedatthesightofhim.ThegrotesquerywasnotLittleWind’srotting,grayvisage,Johnsonrealized;itwasthathehadnowburiedthispoormanthreetimes.LittleWindhaddiedtoprotecthim,andinreturn,hehadnotlethimrestinpeace.

TheCheyenneRoad

Onceintown,hecontinuedtothestagecoachstation.Thecoachwasalreadythere.Ithadstarted tosnowagain,andachillwindmoaned throughDeadwoodGulch.Johnsonwasglad to be leaving, and methodically hoisted the crates onto the coach. Despite theassurancesoftheagent,thebonescouldnotallrideuptopwiththeenormouslyfatdriver,TinyTimEdwards. Johnsonwas obliged to purchase an extra passenger seat and placesomeoftheminside.Fortunately,theonlypassengerswereMissEmilyandhimself.

ThentheyhadtowaitforWyattEarp,whowasnowheretobefound.JohnsonstoodinthesnowwithMissEmily,lookingupanddownthebleakstreetofDeadwood.

“Maybehe’snotcomingafterall,”Johnsonsaid.

“Ithinkhewillcome,”MissEmilysaid.

Whiletheywaited,aredheadedboyranuptoJohnson.“Mr.Johnson?”

“That’sright.”

TheboygaveJohnsonanote,andscamperedaway.Johnsonopenedit,readitquickly,andcrumpledit.

“Whatisit?”MissEmilyasked.

“Justagood-byefromJudgeHarlan.”

Around nine they saw the Earp brothers coming down the street toward them. Theybothappearedheavilyburdened.“Whentheywerecloser,”Johnsonwrote,“IsawthattheEarpshadobtainedacollectionoffirearms.IhadneverseenWyattEarpwearingagunbefore—heseldomwentarmedinpublic—butnowhecarriedaveritablearsenal.”

EarpwaslatebecausehehadtowaitforSutter’sDryGoodstoopen,toobtainguns.Hecarried two sawed-off shotguns, threePierce repeating rifles, fourColt revolvers, and adozenboxesofammunition.

Johnsonsaid,“Itappearsyouareexpectingsomewarmwork.”

EarptoldMissEmilytoclimbintothestage;thenhesaid,“Idon’twanttoalarmherany.”AndthenhetoldJohnsonthathethoughttheyfaced“adealoftrouble,andnopointinpretendingitwon’tcome.”

JohnsonshowedEarpthenote,whichread:

“That’sfine,”Earpsaid.“We’rereadyforhim.”

Wyatt’sbrotherMorganhadmadealucrativedealtohaulfirewoodandwasplanningtostayinDeadwoodforthewinter,butsaidthathewouldridewithWyattandthestageasfarasCusterCity,fiftymilestothesouth.

TinyTim leanedover thebox.“Yougentsgonnapalaverallday,orareyou ready tocrackleather?”

“Weare,”Earpsaid.

“Thenclimbaboardthisitem.Can’tgonowherestandinginthestreet,canyou?”

Johnsonclimbedonto thestagewithMissEmily,and for the tenth time thatmorningattendedtohiscrates,cinchingthemdowntightly.MorganEarpclimbedontothetopofthestage,andWyattrodeshotgun.

AChineseboyincowboybootscamerunningtowardthestagecoach.ItwasKang,withaworriedlookonhisface.

Johnsonfishedinhispocketandfoundafive-dollargoldpiece.

“Kang!”

He leaned out the open door and flipped the glittering coin high into the air. Kangcaught it on the runwith remarkablegrace. Johnsonnodded at him, knowinghewouldneverseetheboyagain.

Timsnappedhiswhips,thehorsessnorted,andtheygallopedoutofDeadwoodintheswirlingsnow.

Itwasa three-day journey toFortLaramie:oneday toCusterCity, in thecenterof theBlack Hills; a second day through the treacherous Red Canyon to the Red Canyonstagecoach station at the southern edge of theBlackHills; and the third day across theWyomingplainstothenewlybuiltironbridgethatcrossedthePlatteRiveratLaramie.

Earpassuredhim the tripwouldget saferas theywent, and if they reachedLaramie,they would be entirely safe; from then on, the road from Laramie to Cheyenne waspatrolledbycavalry.

IftheyreachedLaramie.

“Three obstacles stood between us and our destination,” Johnson later wrote in hisjournal:

ThefirstwasBlackDickandhisgangofruffians.Wecouldexpecttomeetthemduringthefirstday.SecondwasPersimmonsBillandhisrenegadeIndians.WecouldexpecttomeettheminRedCanyonon the secondday.And the thirdobstaclewas themost dangerous of all—andwhollyunanticipatedbyme.

Johnsonhadsteeledhimselfforadangerousjourney,buthewasunpreparedforitssheerphysicalhazards.

TheBlackHillsroadswerebad,necessitatingslowtravel.Drop-offswereprecipitous,andthefact that thecoachswayedominouslynear thecrumblingedgeunder its loadofbones did not reassure them.Several creeks—theBearButte,Elk, andBoxelder—weretransformedfromtherecentsnowsintoswollen,ragingrivers.Thefactthatthecoachwassoheavilyladenmadethecrossingsespeciallydangerous.

AsTinyexplained it, “This itemgets stuck in thequicksand,middleof the river,wedon’tgoanywheres lesswe rideback for anextra team,pull this itemout, and that’s afact.”

Andalongwiththedifficulties,theylivedunderthecontinuousthreatofattackatanymoment.Thetensionwasnerve-racking,forthesmallestimpedimentcouldbedangerous.

Aroundnoon,thecoachstopped.Johnsonlookedout.“Whyarewestopping?”

“Keepyourheadin,”Earpsnapped,“ifyoudon’twanttoloseit.Fallentreeupahead.”

“So?”

MorganEarppeeredoverfromthetopofthecoach.“MissEmily?I’dbemuchobliged,ma’am,ifyouwouldgetyourselflowandstaythereuntilwe’removingagain.”

“It’sjustafallentree,”Johnsonsaid.SoilwasthininmanyplacesintheBlackHills,andtreesoftenfellacrosstheroad.

“Maybeso,”Earpsaid.“Maybenot.”Hepointedoutthathighhillssurroundedtheroadonallsides.Thetreescamerighttotheroad,providinggoodclosecover.“Ifthey’regoingforus,this’dbeagoodplace.”

TinyTimgot down off the box andwent forward to inspect the fallen tree. Johnsonheardthesharpclash-clackofshotgunsbeingcocked.

“Istherereallydanger?”MissEmilyasked.Shedidnotseemtheleastanxious.

“Iguessthereis,”Johnsonsaid.Hewithdrewhispistol,lookeddownthebarrel,spunthechambers.

Besidehim,MissEmilygavealittleshiverofexcitement.

Butthetreewasasmallone,fallenbynaturalcauses.Tinymovedit,andtheydroveon.Anhourlater,nearSilverPeakandPactola,theycameuponarockslideandrepeatedtheprocedure,butagain,theyhadnotrouble.

“Whentheattackfinallycame,”Johnsonwrote,“itwasalmostarelief.”

WyattEarpshouted,“Youbelow!Headsin!”andhisshotgunroared.

Itwasansweredbygunfirefrombehindthem.

TheywereatthebottomofSandCreekGulch.Theroadranstraighthere,withroomonbothsidesforhorsementokeepupanddischargetheirgunsintotheopencoach.

TheyheardMorganEarp,directlyabovethem,scrapingovertheroofofthecoach,andtheyfeltitswayashetookapositionneartheback.Therewasmorefiring.Wyattcalleddistinctly, “Get down,Morg, I’m shooting.” There was more firing. Tiny whipped thehorses,cursedthem.

Bulletsthunkedintothewoodofthecoach;JohnsonandEmilyduckeddown,butthecratesof fossils, precariously strapped to the seat above, threatened to tumble downonthem. Johnson got up on his knees and tried to cinch them tighter. A horseman rodealongsidethecoach,aimedatJohnson—andinasuddenexplosiondisappearedfromthehorse.

Astonished,Johnsonlookedout.

“Foggy!Getyourheadin!I’mshooting!”

Johnson ducked back in, and Earp’s shotgun blasted past the open window. Moregunshotsfromridersoutsidesplinteredthedoorpostsofthecarriage;therewasascream.

Cursingandshouting,Tinywhipped thehorses; thecoach rockedand joltedover therough road; inside the carriage, Johnson andMiss Emily collided and bounced againsteach other “in a manner which would be embarrassing were circumstances not soexigent,”Johnsonlaterwrote.“Thenextperiod—itseemedhours,thoughitwasprobablyaminuteor two—wasanervousblendofwhiningbullets, gallopinghorses, shouts andscreams,joltsandgunshots—untilfinallyourcoachroundedabend,andwewereoutofSandCreekGulch,andtheshootingdiedoff,andweweresafelyonourwayoncemore.

“WehadsurvivedtheattackofthenotoriousCurrygang!”

“Only a damn foolwould think so,”Wyatt saidwhen they stopped to rest and changehorsesattheTigervillecoachstation.

“Why,wasn’tthattheCurrygangattackingus?Anddidn’twegetaway?”

“Look,boy,”Wyattsaid.“Iknowyou’refrombackEast,butnobody’sthatstupid.”Hereloadedhisshotgunsashespoke.

Johnsondidn’t understand, soMorganEarp explained. “BlackDickwantsyouprettybad,andhewouldn’triskallinsuchanill-madeattack.”

Johnson,whohadfoundtheattackterrifying,said,“Whywasitill-made?”

“Riskiest attack there is, on horseback,” Morgan said. “Riders can’t shoot worth adamn, the coach is alwaysmoving, and unless they can shoot one of the horses in theteam, it’s very likely to get away, just as we did. There’s no certainty in a horsebackattack.”

“Thenwhy’dtheytryone?”

“Toputusatourease,”Wyattsaid.“Toputusoffourguard.Youmarkmywords,theyknowwehavetostopandchangeteamsatTigerville.Rightnowthey’reridinglikehelltosetupagain.”

“Setupwhere?”

“IfIknewthat,”Wyattsaid,“Iwouldn’tbeworried.Whatdoyouthink,Morg?”

“SomewherebetweenhereandSheridan,Ifigure,”MorganEarpsaid.

“That’swhatIfigure,too,”WyattEarpsaid,crackinghisshotgunclosed.“Andthenexttime,they’llreallymeanbusiness.”

TheSecondAttack

Halfanhourfartheron,theyhaltedattheedgeofthepinewoods,beforethesandybanksofSpringCreek.Themeanderingwaterwas deceptively low, andmore than a hundredyardswide.Thelate-afternoonsunglowedofftheslow,peacefulripples.Onthefarbank,thepinewoodswerethickanddark.

Theywatchedtheriversilentlyforseveralminutes.Finally,Johnsonpokedhisheadouttoaskwhytheywerewaiting.MorganEarp,ontopofthestage,leanedoverandtappedhimonthehead,andheldhisfingertohislips,tobesilent.

Johnsonsatbackinthecoach,rubbedhishead,andlookedquestioninglyatMissEmily.

MissEmilyshrugged,andslappedamosquito.

SeveralminutespassedbeforeWyattEarpsaidtoTiny,“How’sitlooktoyou?”

“Dunno,”Tinysaid.

Earppeeredatthetracksonthesandyriverbank.“Lotofhorsespassedhererecently.”

“That’susual,”Tinysaid.“Sheridan’sjustacoupleofmilessouthontheotherside.”

Theyfellsilentagain,waiting,listeningtothequietgurgleofthewater,thewindinthepines.

“Youknow,there’susuallybirdshereaboutsatSpringCreek,”Tinysaidfinally.

“Tooquiet?”Earpsaid.

“I’dsaytooquiet.”

“How’sthebottom?”Earpasked,lookingattheriver.

“Neverknowtillyougetthere.Youwanttomakeaplay?”

“IguessIdo,”Earpsaid.Heswungdownoffthebox,walkedback,andlookedintothecoachatJohnsonandMissEmily.

“We’regoingtotrytocrossthecreek,”hesaidquietly.“Ifwegetacross,fine.Ifwegettrouble,youstaydown,nomatterwhatyouseeorhear.Morgknowswhattodo.Lethimhandlethings.Okay?”

Theynodded.Johnson’sthroatwasdry.“Youthinkit’satrap?”

Earpshrugged.“It’sagoodplaceforone.”

Heclimbedbackontotheboxandcockedhisshotgun.Tinywhippedupthehorses,andtheystartedacrossatbreakneckspeed,thecoachlurchingasthewheelshitthesoftsandybanks,andthensplashingandjouncingoverrocksintheriverbed.

Andthentheshootingstarted.Johnsonheardthewhinnyofthehorses,andwithafinallurchthecoachstoppedabruptly,rightinthemiddleoftheriver,andTinyshouted,“Thattearsit!”andMorganEarpbeganfiringrapidly.“I’llcoveryou,Wyatt.”

JohnsonandMissEmilyduckeddown.Bulletswhinedallaroundthem,andthecoachrockedasthemenmovedabovethem.JohnsonpeekedoverthesillandsawWyattEarprunning,splashingthroughtherivertowardthefarshore.

“He’sleaving!Wyatt’sleavingus!”Johnsoncried,andthenafusilladesenthimdivingforcoveragain.

“Hewouldn’tabandonus,”Emilysaid.

“Hejustdid!”Johnsonshouted.Hewascompletelypanicked.SuddenlythecoachdoorswungopenandJohnsonscreamedasTinythrewhimselfin,landingontopofthem.

Tiny was gasping and white-faced; he pulled the door shut as a half dozen bulletssplinteredthewood.

“What’shappening?”Johnsonasked.

“Ain’tnoplaceformeoutthere,”Tinysaid.

“Butwhat’shappening?”

“We’re stuck in the middle of the damn river, that’s what’s happening,” Tiny said.“Theykilledoneoftheteam,soweain’tgoingnowhere,andtheEarpboysareshootingawaylikeblazes.Wyatttookoff.”

“Theyhaveaplan?”

“Isurelyhopeso,”Tinysaid.“’CauseIdon’t.”Asthegunfirecontinued,heclaspedhishandstogetherandclosedhiseyes.Hislipstwitched.

“What’reyoudoing?”

“Praying,”Tinysaid.“Youbetter,too.’CauseifBlackDicktakesthisstage,he’lljustnaturallykillusall.”

Inthereddishafternoonlight,thestagecoachsatimmobileinthemiddleofSpringCreek.Ontopof thestage,MorganEarplayflatandfired into the treesontheoppositeshore.Wyattmadeitsafelytothefarbank,andplungedintothepinewoodsopposite.

Almost immediately, the shooting from the far side diminished: the Curry gang hadsomethingnewtoworryaboutnow.

Then from the far shore there was a shotgun blast and a loud scream, agonizing. Ittrailedawayintosilence.Afteramoment,anothershotgunblast,andastrangledcry.

TheCurrygangstoppedfiringatthecoach.

Thenavoicecried,“Don’tshoot,Wyatt,pleasedon’t—”andanotherblast.

Suddenly half a dozen voices on the far shorewere shouting to each other, and thentheyheardhorsesgallopingoff.

Andthennothing.

MorganEarpknockedontheroofofthecoach.“It’sfinished,”hesaid.“They’regone.Youcanbreathenow.”

Thepassengers insidestruggled to their feet,brushed themselvesoff. Johnson lookedoutandsawWyattEarpstandingonthefarbank,grinning.Hissawed-offshotgunhunglooselyinhishand.

He walked slowly back through the stream toward them. “First rule of abushwhacking,”hesaid.“Alwaysruntowardthedirectionoffire,notaway.”

“Howmany’dyoukill?”Johnsonasked.“Allofthem?”

Earpgrinnedagain.“Noneofthem.”

“Noneofthem?”

“Thosewoods’rethick;youcan’tseetenfeetaheadofyou.I’dneverfind’eminthere.But I knew theywere spread out along the bank and probably couldn’t see each otherdirectly.SoIjustshotmygunafewtimes,andmadeafewhideouscries.”

“Wyattcanreallymakehideouscries,”Morgansaid.

“That’sso,”Wyattsaid.“TheCurrygangpanickedandran.”

“Youmeanyoujusttrickedthem?”Johnsonsaid.Inastrangewayhefeltdisappointed.

“Listen,”WyattEarpsaid.“OnereasonI’mstillaliveisIdon’tgoaskingfortrouble.These boys are none too quick, and they got an active imagination. Besides, we got abiggerproblemthangettingridoftheCurryboys.”

“Wedo?”

“Yeah.Wegottogetthiscoachoutoftheriver.”

“Whyisthataproblem?”

Earpsighed.“Boy,youevertriedtomoveadeadhorse?”

Ittookanhourtocuttheanimalloose,andfloatitdownstream.Johnsonwatchedthedarkcarcassdriftwiththecurrentuntil ithaddisappeared.With thefiveremaininghorsesoftheteam,theymanagedtohaulthecoachoutofthesandandontothefarshore.Bythenitwasdark,andtheydrovequicklytoSheridan,wheretheyobtainedafreshteam.

Sheridanwasasmalltownoffiftywoodenhouses,butitseemedeveryonehadturnedouttogreetthem;Johnsonwassurprisedtoseemoneychanginghands.

Earpcollectedalotofit.

“What’sgoingon?”

“Theywerewageringonwhetherwe’dmakeit,”Earpsaid.“Ihadafewbetsmyself.”

“Whichway’dyoubet?”

Earpjustsmiledandnoddedtoasaloon.“Youknow,itwouldbesportingforyoutogoinsidewithmeandbuyaroundofwhiskey.”

“Youthinkweshoulddrinkatatimelikethis?”

“Wewon’tseeanymoretroubleuntilRedCanyon,”Earpsaid,“andI’mthirsty.”

RedCanyon

TheyreachedthetownofCusteratteno’clockatnight.Thenightwasdark,andJohnsonwasdisappointed;hecouldn’tseemuchofthemostfamousplaceintheBlackHills,theGordonStockadeatFrenchCreek.

Justoneyearbefore,in1875,thefirstminersoftheGordonpartyhadbuiltlogcabinssurroundedbyawoodenfencetenfeethigh.TheyhadenteredtheBlackHillsindefianceoftheIndiantreaty,andtheyintendedtopanforgoldandholdofftheIndianswiththeirstockade. Ithad takenacavalryexpedition fromFortLaramie toget themout; in thosedaysthearmywasstillenforcingtheIndiantreaty,andthestockadestooddeserted.

Now, everyone at Custer was talking about the new Indian treaty. Although thegovernmentwasstillfightingtheSiouxinthefield,thecostofthewarwashigh—alreadyinexcessof$15million—anditwasanelectionyear.Boththeexpenseofthefightingandthe legitimacy of the government’s position were hot campaign issues in Washington.Therefore,theGreatWhiteFatherpreferredtoconcludethewarpeacefully,bynegotiatinga new treaty, and to this end, government negotiators had arranged tomeetwith SiouxchieftainsinSheridan.

But even specially picked chiefs were disgusted by the new proposals. Most of thegovernment negotiators agreed with them. One of them, now on his way back toWashington,said toJohnson that itwas“thehardestdamnthingIeverdid inmylife. Idon’tcarehowmanyfeathersamanwearsinhishair,he’sstillaman.Oneofthem,RedLegs, lookedatmeandsaid, ‘Doyou think this is fair?Wouldyousignsuchapaper?’AndIcouldnotmeethiseyes.Itmademesick.

“You know what Thomas Jefferson said?” the man continued. “In 1803, ThomasJeffersonsaidthatitwouldtakeathousandyearsbeforetheWestwasfullysettled.Andit’llbesettledinless’nahundredyears.That’sprogress.”

Johnsonrecordedinhisjournalthat“heseemedanhonestmansenttodoadishonestjob, and now he could not forgive himself for carrying out the instructions of hisgovernment.Hewasdrunkwhenwearrived,anddrinkingmorewhenweleft.”

MorganEarpleftthematCuster,andtheywentonwithouthim.Bymidnight,theyhadpassedFourmileRanch,andheadedintoPleasantValley.TheypassedTwelvemileRanch,

andEighteenmileRanchinthedarkness.

Shortlybeforedawn,theyreachedtheentrancetoRedCanyon.

TheRedCanyoncoachstationhadbeenburnedtotheground.Allthehorseshadbeenstolen.Fliesbuzzedaroundahalfdozen scalpedbodies, evidenceofPersimmonsBill’sdepredations.

“Guesstheydidn’thearaboutthenewtreaty,”Earpsaidlaconically.“Ireckonwewon’tbeeatinghere.”

Theyproceededimmediatelythroughthecanyon.Itwasatensejourney,slowbecausetheyhadnofresh team,but theymade itwithout incident.At the farendof thecanyontheyfollowedHawkCreektowardCampCollier,whichmarkedthesouthernentrancetotheBlackHills.

Now,inthemorninglight,theystoppedforanhourtograzethehorses,andtobreathealongsighofrelief.“Notlongnow,Mr.Johnson,”Earpsaid,“andyou’llbeowingmehalfthosebones.”

Johnsondecideditwastimetotellhimthetruth.“Mr.Earp,”hebegan.

“Yes?”

“IappreciateeverythingyouhavedonetohelpmegetoutofDeadwood,naturally.”

“I’msureyoudo.”

“Butthere’ssomethingIhavetotellyou.”

Earpfrowned.“You’renotbackingoutonyourdeal?”

“No, no.” Johnson shook his head. “But I have to tell you, the crates really are justfossilbones.”

“Uh-huh,”WyattEarpsaid.

“Theyarejustbones.”

“Iheardyou.”

“Theyareofvalueonlytoscientists,topaleontologists.”

“That’sfinewithme.”

Johnsonsmiledwanly.“Ionlyhopeyouwon’tbetoodisappointed.”

“I’lltrynottobe,”Earpsaid,andwinked,andpunchedhimontheshoulder.“Youjustremember,boy.Halfthosebonesaremine.”

“He had been a strong friend,” Johnson wrote, “and I suspected he would make adangerousenemy.Thus itwaswith some trepidation that I resumed the journey toFortLaramie,andthefirstcivilizationIhadseeninmanymonths.”

FortLaramie

Fort Laramie was an army outpost that had grown into a frontier town, but the armygarrisonstillsetthemood,anditsmoodwasnowbitter.ThearmyhadfoughttheIndiansformorethaneightmonths,andhadsufferedseriouslosses,mostespeciallythemassacreofCuster’s column at theLittleBighorn.There had been other bloody engagements aswell, at Powder River and Slim Buttes, and even when they were not fighting, thecampaign had been harsh and arduous. But all the news from the East told them thatWashington and the rest of the country did not support their efforts; numerous articlescriticized themilitary conduct of the campaign against “the noble and defenseless redman.” For youngmenwho had seen their comrades fall, who had returned to a battlescenetoburythescalpedandmutilatedbodiesoffriends,whohadseencorpseswiththeirgenitalscutoffandstuffed in theirmouths—for these soldiers, theEasterncommentarymadefordifficultreading.

Asfarasthearmywasconcerned,theyhadbeenorderedtoundertakethiswar,withoutbeingaskedtheiropinionofeitheritsfeasibilityoritsmorality;theyhadfollowedordersas best they could, and with considerable success, and they were angry now to beunsupported,andtobefightinganunpopularwar.

ThefactthatthepoliticiansinWashingtonhadunderestimatedboththedifficultyofacampaignagainst“mere savages”and theoutrage that itwouldcauseamong the liberalestablishmentoftheEasterncities—uninformedwriterswhohadneverseteyesonarealIndian, andwho had only fantasies ofwhat the Indianswere like—was no fault of thearmy.

Asonecaptainput it,“Theywant the Indianseliminated,and the landsopenedup towhite settlers, but they don’t want anybody to get hurt in the process. That just ain’tpossible.”

Addedto thiswastheuglyfact that thewarhadnowenteredanewphase.Thearmywasengaged inawarofattritionwith the Indians, inwhich theyplanned tokill all thebuffaloandthusstarvetheIndiansintosubmission.Evenso,mostmilitarymenexpectedthewartodragonforatleastthreemoreyears,andtocostanother$15million—althoughnobodyinWashingtonwantedtohearthat.

The arguments, back and forth, raged in the coach station on the outskirts of town.Johnsonhadanunappetizinglunchofbaconandbiscuits, thensat inthesunoutsidethe

station.Fromwherehesat,hecouldseetheironbridgecrossingthePlatte.

Formore thanadecade, thePlatteRivervalleyhadbeen trumpetedbyUnionPacificbrochures as “a flowery meadow of great fertility clothed in nutritious grasses, andwateredbynumerousstreams.” In fact, itwasharsh,god-awfulcountry.Yet thesettlerswerecoming.

From the earliest pioneer days, the Platte River itself was known as especiallytreacherous and difficult to cross, and this new iron bridge represented one smallimprovementinaseriesofchangesthatwereopeningtheWesttosettlers,makingitmoreaccessible.

Johnsondozedoffinthesunandawokewhenavoicesaid,“Hellofasight,ain’tit?”

Heopenedhiseyes.Atallmanwassmokingacigarandstaringatthebridge.

“Thatitis,”hesaid.

“I remember last year, thatbridgewas just talk.”The tallman turned.Hehada scarrunningdownhischeek.Thefacewasfamiliar,buttherecognitioncameslowly.

NavyJoeBenedict.

Marsh’sright-handman.

Johnson sat upquickly.Hehadonly amoment towonderwhatNavy Joewasdoinghere before a familiar heavyset figure emerged from the coach house and stood besideBenedict.

ProfessorMarshglancedatJohnsonandsaidinhisformalway,“Goodmorningtoyou,sir.” He gave no sign of recognition and immediately turned to Benedict. “What’s thedelay,Joe?”

“Justhitchingupanewteam,Professor.We’llbereadytoleaveinthespaceoffifteenortwentyminutes.”

“Seeifyoucanquickenit,”Marshsaid.

Navy Joe left, andMarsh turned to Johnson. He appeared not to recognize him, forJohnsonlookedverydifferentfromthelasttimeMarshhadseenhim.Hewasleanerandmore muscled, with a full beard, and hair that had not seen scissors since leavingPhiladelphiamore than threemonths before. It hungdown almost to his shoulders.Hisclotheswereroughanddirty,cakedinmud.

Marshsaid,“Justpassingthrough?”

“That’sright.”

“Whichwayyougoing?”

“ToCheyenne.”

“ComefromtheHills?”

“Yeah.”

“Whereabouts?”

“Deadwood.”

“Mininggold?”

“Yeah,”Johnsonsaid.

“Strikeitrich?”

“Notexactly,”Johnsonsaid.“Whataboutyou?”

“Inpointoffact,ImyselfamgoingnorthintotheHills.”

“Mininggold?”Johnsonasked,tohisprivateamusement.

“Hardly.IamtheprofessorofpaleontologyatYaleCollege,”Marshsaid.“Istudyfossilbones.”

“That right?” Johnson could not believe that Marsh had not recognized him, but itseemedhehadnot.

“Yes,”Marshsaid.“AndIheartherearesomefossilbonestobehadinDeadwood.”

“InDeadwood?Thatright?”

“That’swhatIhear,”Marshsaid.“Apparentlyayoungmanhastheminhispossession.Ihopetoobtainthem.Iamwillingtopaywellforthem.”

“Oh?”

“Yes indeed.” Marsh took out a fat roll of greenbacks, and inspected them in thesunlight.“Iwouldalsopayforinformationabout thisyoungmanandhiswhereabouts.”HelookedcloselyatJohnson.“Ifyoutakemymeaning.”

“Idon’treckonIdo,”Johnsonsaid.

“Well,you’vejustcomefromDeadwood,”Marshsaid.“Iwonderifyouknowanythingofthisyoungman.”

“Thismangotaname?”Johnsonasked.

“HisnameisJohnson.He’squiteanunscrupulousyoungfellow.Heusedtoworkforme.”

“Thatright?”

“Indeed.Buthe leftmycompanyand threw inwith abandof thieves and robbers. Ibelievehe’swantedformurderinotherterritories.”

“Thatright?”

Marshnodded.“Youknowanythingofhim?”

“Neverheardofhim.Howyougoingtogetthosebones?”

“Buythemifnecessary,”Marshsaid.“ButI intend tohave them,bywhatevermeansmayberequired.”

“Youwant’embad,then.”

“Yes,Ido,”Marshsaid.“Yousee,”hesaid,pausingfordramaticeffect,“thesebones

I’mtalkingaboutareactuallymine.YoungJohnsonstolethemfromme.”

Johnsonfeltragesweepoverhim.Hehadbeenenjoyingthischarade,butnowhewasflushedwith anger. It took every bit of self-control he couldmuster to say laconically,“Thatright?”

“He’salyingskunk,nodoubtofit,”Marshsaid.

“Soundsabadone,”Johnsonsaid.

Atthatmoment,WyattEarpcamearoundthecornerandsaid,“Hey,Johnson!Onyourpegs!We’removingout.”

MarshsmiledatJohnson.“Youlittlesonofabitch,”hesaid.

TheLaramieBoneDeal

“Itseemed,”wroteJohnsoninhisjournal,“thatmanypigeonshadcomehometoroostinLaramie.”

Most of the townwas preoccupied with another figure from Johnson’s past, BrokenNoseJackMcCall.JackhadrunfromDeadwoodandhadgottentoLaramie,wherehehadbraggedaboutkillingWildBillHickok.Thereasonhespokesofreelywasthataminers’courtinDeadwoodhadtriedhimforthatmurder,andhadacquittedhimwhenheclaimedthatWildBillhadkilledhisyoungbrothermanyyearsbefore,andhewasjustavengingthatcrime.InLaramie,JacktalkedopenlyofkillingHickok,certainthathecouldnotbetriedtwiceforthesamecrime.

ButJackdidn’trealizethattheDeadwoodminers’courtwasnotlegallyrecognized,andhewaspromptlythrownintojailinLaramieandformallytriedforHickok’smurder.SinceJack had already publicly admitted to it, the trial was short; he was convicted andsentencedtobehanged,aturnofeventsthat“irkedhimmightily.”

WhileJack’strialwasgoingon,anepisodefarmoreimportanttoWilliamJohnsonwasoccurringdown the road inSutter’sSaloon.WyattEarpwas sitting at a table, drinkingwhiskeywithOthnielC.MarshandnegotiatingforthesaleofhalfJohnson’sbones.

Theywerebothhardbargainers,andittookmostoftheday.Forhispart,Earpappearedamused.

JohnsonsatwithMissEmilyinthecornerandwatchedtheproceedings.“Ican’tbelievethisishappening,”hesaid.

“Whydoesitsurpriseyou?”sheasked.

“Whatweremychancesofrunningintothatprofessor?”Hesighed.“Oneinamillion,orless.”

“Oh,Idon’tthinkso,”shesaid.“WyattknewProfessorMarshwasintheterritory.”

AslowcreepingsensationmovedupJohnson’sspine.“Hedid?”

“Surely.”

“Howdidheknow?”

“Iwaswith him in the hotel dining room,” she said, “when he heard the rumor that

therewassomecollege teacher inCheyennebuyingupallmannerof fossilsandaskingaboutsomebonesinDeadwood.Theminerswerealllaughingaboutit,butWyatt’seyeslitupwhenheheardthestory.”

Johnson frowned. “So he decided to help me get the bones out of Deadwood toCheyenne?”

“Yes,”shesaid.“Weleftthedayafterheheardthatstory.”

“YoumeanWyattalwaysintendedtosellmybonestoMarsh,fromthebeginning?”

“Ibelieveso,”shesaidsoftly.

JohnsonglaredacrossthesaloonatEarp.“AndIthoughthewasmyfriend.”

“Youthoughthewasafool,”Emilysaid.“Butheisyourfriend.”

“Howcanyousay that?Lookathimbargaining there,hagglingovereverydollar.Atthisratethey’llbeatitallday.”

“Yes,”Emilysaid.“YetI’msureWyattcouldconcludethedealinfiveminutes,ifthatwaswhatheintended.”

Johnsonstaredather.“Youmean...”

She nodded. “I’ve no doubt he’swonderingwhy you are sitting herewhile he stallsProfessorMarshforyou.”

“Oh,Emily,”hecried,“Icouldkissyou!”

“Iwishyouwould,”shesaidsoftly.

“Toomanythingswerehappeningatonce,”wroteJohnson.

My head was fairly spinning with these developments. I hurried outside with Emily, andpostponedkissingher inorder tosendheroff forahundred-poundsackof rice,aboltof tarpcloth,andalong-handledshovel.MeanwhileIhastilyobtainedtherequisite largerocks,whichfortunatelywerenearathand,remnantsoftheblastingthathadbeendonetoerectthenewPlattebridge.

HefoundyetanotherChineselaundryandpaidasmallsumtousethefireandironkettlewithwhichtheyheatedwater.Hespentthreehoursboilingfreshricepaste,makingsuretheconcoctionwasgelatinousenough,andclutchingtherockswithbamboolaundrytongsanddippingthemintothepastyooze,coatingthem.Whentheyweredry,hepoureddustoverthem,tomakethemsuitablygrimy.Nexttotheheatofthefire, theydriedquickly.Finally,heremovedthepreciousbonesfromalltencrates,andplacedthenewstonesintheoldcrates,closingthemcarefullysothattherewouldbenomarksindicatingtheyhadbeenopened.

Byfivethatafternoon,hewasexhausted.ButallofJohnson’sfossilbonesweresafelyhidden in thebackof the stable,wrapped in tarp cloth andburiedunder apileof freshmanure,theshovelhiddeninthestrawwiththemandthesubstitutionssetoutwithatarpcovering,astheoriginalshadbeen.EarpandMarsharrivedsoonafter.Marshgrinnedat

Johnson.“Iexpectthiswillbeourlastmeeting,Mr.Johnson.”

“Ihopeso,”Johnsonsaid,withasincerityMarshcouldnothaveimagined.

The divisionwas begun.Marshwanted to open all ten crates and inspect the fossilsbeforedividing,but Johnsonsteadfastly refused.Thedivisionwasmeant tobebetweenhimandEarp,anditwouldbedonerandomly.Marshgrumbledbutagreed.

Midway through the process,Marsh said, “I think I had better look at one of thesecrates,tosatisfymyself.”

“Ihavenoobjection,”Earpsaid.HelookeddirectlyatJohnson.

“Ihaveplentyofobjections,”Johnsonsaid.

“Oh?Whatarethey?”Marshasked.

“I’minahurry,”Johnsonsaid.“Andbesides...”

“Besides?”

“There’syourfather,”Emilypromptedhimsuddenly.

“Yes,there’smyfather,”Johnsonsaid.“HowmuchdidProfessorMarshofferyouforthesestones,Wyatt?”

“Twohundreddollars,”Wyattsaid.

“Twohundreddollars?That’sanoutrage.”

“Itistwohundredmorethanyouhave,Ibelieve,”Marshsaid.

“Look,Wyatt,”saidJohnson.“There’sa telegraphofficehere inLaramie. Icancablemy father for funds, andby this time tomorrow Icangiveyou fivehundreddollars foryourshare.”

Marshdarkened.“Mr.Earp,wehavemadeourdeal.”

“That’sso,”Earpsaid.“ButIlikethesoundoffivehundreddollars.”

“I’llgiveyousix,”Marshsaid.“Now.”

“Sevenfifty,”Johnsonsaid.“Tomorrow.”

Marshsaid,“Mr.Earp,Ithoughtwehadadeal.”

“It’samazing,”Earpsaid,“howthingskeepchanginginthisworld.”

“Butyoudon’tevenknowifthisyoungmancancomeupwiththemoney.”

“Isuspecthecan.”

“Eighthundred,”Johnsonsaid.

Halfanhourlater,MarshpronouncedhimselfhappytotakeEarp’sshareofthebones,atonceandwithoutinspection,forathousanddollarsincash.“ButIwantthatbox,”hesaidsuddenly,spyingtheonewiththesmallXontheside.“Thatmeanssomething.”

“No!”yelledJohnson.

Marsh drew his weapon. “It would appear that box has contents that are especially

valuable.Andifyoubelievethatyourlifeisalsoespeciallyvaluable,Mr.Johnson,whichIdonot,thenIsuggestyouletmeremovethiscratewithoutfurtherdiscussion.”

Marshhadtheboxesloadedontoawagon,andheandNavyJoeBenedictheadednorth,towardDeadwood,toretrievetherestofthebones.

“Whatdoeshemean,therestofthebones?”Johnsonasked,ashesawthewagondriveoffintothesunset.

“ItoldhimtherewasanotherthousandpoundsweleftbehindinDeadwood,hiddeninChineseTown,onlyyoudidn’twanthimtoknowaboutthem,”Earpsaid.

“Webettergetmoving,”Johnsonsaid.“Hewon’tgofarbeforehecracksopenoneofthosecasesandfindshehasboughtworthlessgranite.Andhe’llbebackhoppingmad.”

“I’mreadytogo,”Earpsaid, thumbing throughthemoney.“I feelwellsatisfiedwithmyreturnonthistrip.”

“There’soneproblem,ofcourse.”

“Youneedcratestoreplacetheonesyoujustlost,”saidEarp.“Ibetthearmygarrisonhassome,giventheirneedforprovisions.”

Within an hour they had procured ten crates of more or less equal size as the onesMarshhadtaken.Johnsonunearthedthebonesfromtheirmanurebed,andpackedthemcarefully but quickly. The box containing the dragon teeth received another X, whichsatisfiedhimmorethanhecouldsay.

Theyleft,withinminutes,forCheyenne.

EarpwasupontheboxwithTiny.Insidethecoach,MissEmilystaredathim.“Well?”

“Well,what?”

“IthinkI’vebeenverypatient.”

“IthoughtyoumightbeWyatt’sgirl,”hesaid.

“Wyatt’sgirl?Whereverwouldyougetanidealikethat?”

“Well,Ithoughtso.”

“Wyatt Earp is a scoundrel and a drifter. The man lives for excitement, gambling,shooting,andotherpursuitsofnosubstance.”

“Andme?”

“You’redifferent,”shesaid.“You’rebrave,butyouarealsorefined.Ibetyoukissrealrefined,too.”

Shewaswaiting.

“I learned,” Johnson wrote in his journal, “one immediate lesson, which was theunwisdomofkissingaboardabuckingstagecoach.Mylipwasdeeplybittenandthebloodflowedfreely,whichinhibited,butdidnotstop,furtherexplorationsofthisnature.”

Headded,“IhopeshedidnotknowIhadneverkissedagirlbefore,inthepassionateFrenchwaywhichseemedtobetoherliking.ExceptforthatonetimewithLucienne.ButIwillsaythisforEmily.Ifshedidknow,shedidnotsayanything,andforthat—andforotherexperienceswithherinCheyenne—Iameternallygrateful.”

Cheyenne

In the unimaginable splendor of a room at the Inter-Ocean Hotel (which he hadpreviouslyseenasa roach-infesteddump), Johnson tookhis ease for severaldays,withEmily.Butfirst,uponarrivalandsigningthehotelregister,heascertainedthattheInter-Ocean maintained a steel-walled strong room, with one of the new combination timelocks,developed forbanksagainstwould-bebank robbers.Theboxeswere carried intotheroombytheporters.Hetippedthemgenerouslysothattheywouldnotresenthimandwhisperabouttheboxestotheirlessfriendlycolleagues.

The firstday,hesoaked in fourbaths insuccession, foraftereachhe foundhisbodywasstilldirty.Itseemedasthoughthedustoftheprairiewouldneverleavehisskin.

Hevisitedthebarber,whotrimmedhishairandbeard.Itwasstartlingtositinthechairand inspect his own face in the mirror. He could not get used to it; his features wereunfamiliar;hehadthefaceofadifferentperson—leaner,harder,determinationnowinhisfeatures.And therewas thescaroverhisupper lip;herather liked it,andsodidEmily.Thebarbersteppedback,scissorsinonehand,combintheother.“How’sthatlook,sir?”Like everyone else in Cheyenne, the barber treated Johnson with respect. It wasn’tbecause he was rich—no one in Cheyenne knew he was rich—but rather because ofsomething in hismanner, his bearing.Withoutmeaning to do so, he looked like amanwhomightshootanotherone—becausehenowhad.

“Sir?Howdoesthatlook?”thebarberaskedagain.

Johnsondidn’tknow.Finally,hesaid,“Ilikeitfine.”

He took Emily to dinner in the best restaurant in town. They dined on oysters fromCalifornia,andwinefromFrance,andpouletàl’estragon.Sherecognizedthenameofthewine, he noticed. After dinner they walked arm in arm on the streets of the town. Heremembered how dangerous Cheyenne had felt when he had been here before. Now itseemeda sleepy little railway junction,populatedbybraggarts andgamblers puttingonairs. Even the toughest-looking customers stepped aside on the boardwalk when hepassed.

“Theyseeyouwearagun,”Emilysaid,“andyouknowhowtouseit.”

Pleased, Johnson tookEmily back to the hotel early, and to bed.They stayed in bedmostofthefollowingday.Hehadawonderfultime,andsodidshe.

“Wherewillyougonow?”sheaskedhimonthethirdday.

“BacktoPhiladelphia,”hesaid.

“I’veneverbeentoPhiladelphia,”shesaid.

“You’llloveitthere,”hesaid,smiling.

Shesmiledback,happily.“Youreallywantmetocome?”

“Ofcourse.”

“Really?”

“Don’tbesilly,”hesaid.

Buthebegantofeelthatshewasalwaysonestepaheadofhim.Sheseemedtoknowthehotelbetterthanhewouldhaveexpected,andenjoyedaneasyoverfamiliaritywiththemenbehindthedeskandthewaitersinthediningroom.Someevenseemedtorecognizeher. And when he and Emily strolled the streets and window-shopped, she recognizedEasternfashionsreadily.

“Ithinkthisone’sverypretty.”

“Itseemsoutofplacehere,notthatIamtheexpert.”

“Well,aWesterngirllikestoknowwhat’sfashionable.”

Hewouldhavereasontoponderthisstatementlater.

Afewstepsalongthewoodenwalkway,shesaid,“Whatsortofpersonisyourmother?”

Johnsonhadnotthoughtofhismotherforalongtime.Theverythoughtwasjoltinginsomeway.“Whydidyouaskthat?”

“Iwasjustwonderingaboutmeetingher.”

“Howdoyoumean?”

“Whethershewilllikeme.”

“Ah,ofcourse.”

“Doyouthinkshe’lllikeme,Bill?”

“Oh,she’lllikeyoufine,”Johnsonsaid.

“Youdon’tsoundconvinced.”Shepoutedprettily.

“Don’tbesilly,”hesaid,andsqueezedherarm.

“Let’sgobacktothehotel,”shesaid.Andquickly,shelickedhisear.

“Stopit,Emily.”

“What’sthematter?Ithoughtyoulikedthat.”

“Ido,butnothere.Notinpublic.”

“Why?Nobody’slookingatus.”

“Iknow,butit’snotproper.”

“Whatdifferencedoesitmake?”Shewasfrowning.“Ifnobodyislookingatus,whatpossibledifferencecoulditmake?”

“Idon’tknow,itjustdoes.”

“You’rebackinPhiladelphiaalready,”shesaid,steppingawayandstaringathim.

“Now,Emily...”

“Youare.”

Butallhesaidwas,“Don’tbesilly.”

“I’mnotbeingsilly,”shesaid.“AndI’mnotgoingtoPhiladelphia.”

Hedidnotknowwhattosay.

“Ijustwouldn’tfitin,”shesaid,wipingatearfromhercheek.

“Emily...”

Shecriedopenly.“Iknowwhatyouarethinking,Bill.I’veknownfordaysnow.”

“Emily,please...”Hehadnoideawhatshemeant,forthelastthreedayshadbeenthemostdeliriouslypleasurableofhislife.

“It’snogood—don’ttouchme,please—it’snogood,that’sall.”

Theywalkedbacktothehotel,sidebyside,notspeaking.Sheheldherheadhighandsniffledoccasionally.Hewasuncomfortable,clumsy,notknowingwhattodo.

Afteratime,heglancedatherandsawthatshewasnolongercrying.Shewasfurious.“AfterallIdidforyou,”shesaid.“Why,you’dbelongdeadfromDickifIhadn’thelpedyou,andyou’dneverhavegottenoutofDeadwoodifIhadn’ttalkedWyattintohelpingyou,andyou’dhavelostyourbonesinLaramieifIhadn’thelpedyouseeaplan...”

“That’strue,Emily.”

“AndthisisthethanksIget!Youcastmeasidelikeanoldrag.”

Shewas really angry.Yet somehow he realized itwas hewhowas being cast aside.“Emily...”

“Isaiddon’ttouchme!”

Itwasareliefwhenthesheriffcameuptothem,tippedhishatpolitelytoEmily,andsaid,“YouWilliamJohnsonofPhiladelphia?”

“Iam.”

“YoutheonestayingattheInter-Ocean?”

“Iam.”

“Youhavesomeidentificationofwhoyouare?”

“Ofcourse.”

“That’sfine,”thesheriffsaid,takingouthisgun.“You’reunderarrest.ForthemurderofWilliamJohnson.”

“ButIamWilliamJohnson.”

“Ican’tseehow.WilliamJohnsonisdead.Sowhoeveryouare,you’resurelynothim,areyou?”

Handcuffsweresnappedonhiswrists.Helookedather.“Emily,tellhim.”

Emilyturnedonherheelandwalkedawaywithoutaword.

“Emily!”

“Let’sgo,mister,”thesheriffsaid,andpushedJohnsontowardthejail.

Ittookawhileforthedetailstocomeout.HisfirstdayinCheyenne,JohnsonhadcabledhisfatherinPhiladelphia,askinghimtosend$500.Hisfatherhadimmediatelycabledthesheriff’sofficetoreportthatsomeoneinCheyennewasimpersonatinghisdeadson.

Everything Johnsonproduced—hisYale class ring, somecrumpledcorrespondence, anewspaperclippingfromtheDeadwoodBlackHillsWeeklyPioneer—wastakenasproofthathehadrobbedadeadmanandprobablykilledhimaswell.

“This fellow Johnson’s a college man from back East,” the sheriff said, squintingjudiciouslyatJohnson.“Nowthatcouldn’tbeyou,couldit.”

“Butitis,”Johnsoninsisted.

“He’srich,too.”

“Iam.”

Thesherifflaughed.“That’sagoodone,”hesaid.“You’rearichcollegemanfrombackEast,andI’mSantaClaus.”

“Askthegirl.AskEmily.”

“Oh,Idid,”thesheriffsaid.“Shesaidshe’srealdisappointedinyou,yougaveherabigstory about yourself andnow she sees you forwhat you are. She’s living it up in yourhotelroomandsellingoffthosecratesofwhateveritisyoubroughtwithyoutotown.”

“What?”

“She’snofriendofyours,mister,”thesheriffsaid.

“Shecan’tsellthosecrates!”

“Idon’tseewhynot.Shesaysthey’rehers.”

“They’remine!”

“It’snogoodgettingallhotlikethis,”thesheriffsaid.“IcheckedwithsomefolkscomedownfromDeadwood.SeemsyoushoweduptherewithadeadIndianandadeadwhiteman.I’lllayyouahundredtoonethatwhitemanwasWilliamJohnson.”

Johnsonstartedtoexplain,butthesheriffhelduphishand.“I’msureyougotastorytoexplainit,”hesaid.“Yourtypealwaysdoes.”

Thesheriffwentoutofthejail.Johnsonheardthedeputysay,“Whoisthatfella?”

“Somedesperado,puttingonairs,”thesheriffsaid,andhewentoutforadrink.

Thedeputywasaboyofsixteen.JohnsontradedhimhisbootstosendasecondtelegramtoPhiladelphia.

“Sheriff’llbemightyangry ifhe findsout,” thedeputy said. “Hewantsyou togo toYanktontobetriedformurder.”

“Justsendit,”Johnsonsaid,writingquickly.

DEARFATHER:

SORRY IWRECKEDYACHT.REMEMBERPETSQUIRRELSUMMER71.MOTHER’SFEVERAFTEREDWARDBORN.HEADMASTERELLISWARNINGATEXETER.IAMTRULYALIVEANDYOUARECAUSINGGREATTROUBLE.SENDMONEYANDINFORMSHERIFF.

YOURLOVINGSONPINKY.

Thedeputyreadthetelegramslowly,mouthingthewords.Helookedup.“Pinky?”

“Justsendit,”Johnsonsaid.

“Pinky?”

“Thatwasmynameasababy.”

Thedeputyshookhishead.Buthesentthetelegram.

“Nowlookhere,Mr.Johnson,”thesheriffsaid,unlockingthecellafewhourslater.“Itwasanhonestmistake.Iwasonlydoingmyduty.”

“Yougotthetelegram?”Johnsonsaid.

“I got three telegrams,” the sheriff said. “One from your father, one from SenatorCameron of Pennsylvania, and one from Mr. Hayden at the Geological Survey inWashington. For all I know there are more coming. I’m telling you it was an honestmistake.”

“That’sfine,”Johnsonsaid.

“Nohardfeelings?”

ButJohnsonhadotherthingsonhismind.“Where’smygun?”

HefoundEmilyinthelobbyoftheInter-OceanHotel.Shewasdrinkingwine.

“Wherearemycrates?”

“Ihavenothingtosaytoyou.”

“Whathaveyoudonewithmycrates,Emily?”

“Nothing.”Sheshookherhead.“Theyarejustoldbones.Nobodywants’em.”

Relieved,Johnsoncollapsedinachairbesideher.

“Ican’tseewhytheyaresoimportanttoyou,”shesaid.

“Theyare,that’sall.”

“Well, I hope you got some money because the hotel is asking for the bill and mysmilingatthedeskmaniswearingthin.”

“Ihavemoney.Myfathersent—”

Shewasn’t listening, however, but staring across the roompast him.Her eyes lit up:“Collis!”

Johnsonturnedtolook.Behindhim,aheavyset,dourmaninadarksuitwascheckingintothehotelatthefrontdesk.Themanlookedover.Hehadthemournfulexpressionofabassethound.“Miranda?MirandaLapham?”

Johnsonfrowned.“Miranda?”

Emily was standing, beaming. “Collis Huntington, whatever are you doing inCheyenne?”

“Blessme,it’sMirandaLapham!”

“Miranda?Lapham?”Johnsonsaid,notonlyconfusedbyEmily’snewnamebutbythesuddenideathathemightnothaveknownherrealidentityatall.Andwhyhadsheliedtohim?

The heavyset man embraced Emily with warm and lingering familiarity. “Why,Miranda,youlookwonderful,simplywonderful.”

“It’sdelightfultoseeyou,Collis.”

“Letme look at you,” he said, stepping back, beaming. “You haven’t changed a bit,Miranda.Idon’tmindtellingyouI’vemissedyou,Miranda.”

“AndIyou,Collis.”

Theheavymanturned toJohnson.“Thisbeautifulyounglady is thebest lobbyist therailroadseverhadinWashington.”

Johnson said nothing. He was still trying to put it together. Collis Huntington,Washington,railroads...MyGod—CollisHuntington!OneoftheBigFouroftheCentralPacific inCalifornia.CollisHuntington, theblatantcorruptionistwhotraveledeachyeartoWashingtonwithasuitcasefullofmoneyforthecongressmen,themanoncedescribedas“scrupulouslydishonest.”

“Everyonemissesyou,Miranda,”Huntingtonwenton.“Theyallaskforyoustill.BobArthur—”

“DearSenatorArthur—”

“AndJackKearns—”

“CommissionerKearns,whatadearman—”

“Andeventhegeneral—”

“Thegeneral?Hestillasksforme?”

“He does,” Huntington said sadly, shaking his head. “Why don’t you come back,Miranda?Washingtonwasalwaysyourfirstlove.”

“Allright,”shesaidsuddenly.“You’veconvincedme.”

HuntingtonturnedtoJohnson.“Aren’tyougoingtointroducemetoyourcompanion?”

“He’s nobody,”MirandaLapham said, shaking her head so her curlsmoved prettily.ShetookHuntington’sarm.“Come,Collis,we’llhaveadeliciouslunchandyoucantellmethenewsofWashington.Andthereissomuchtodo,youwillhavetofindmeahouse,ofcourse,andIwillneedsomesettingup...”

Theymovedaway,arminarm,tothediningroom.

Johnsonsatthere,stunned.

At eight thenextmorning, feelinghehad lived adecade in a fewmonths, he took theUnionPacifictraineast,alltencratesstoredintherattlingluggagecar.Themonotonyofthevoyagewasmostenjoyable,andhemarkedthegreeningofthelandscape.Thearrivalofautumncouldbeseeninthetopleavesoftheoaksandmaplesandappletrees.Ateachstop,hewouldgetoff andbuy the localnewspapers, noticinganEasternpointofviewcreepingintotheeditorialsabouttheIndianWars—andvariousothertopics.

On themorning of the fourth day, in Pittsburgh, he telegraphedCope to say he hadsurvived and would like to come speak with him; he said nothing about the crates ofbones. Then he telegraphed his parents and asked that they have an extra place set fordinnerthatnight.

HearrivedinPhiladelphiaonOctober8.

FourMeetings

Atthetrainstation,Johnsonhiredamanwithanemptygreengrocer’swagontotakehimtoCope’shouseonPineStreetinPhiladelphia.Itwasn’talongtrip,andhearrivedtofindthatCopeownedtwomatchingthree-storystonerowhouses,onearesidenceandtheotheraprivatemuseumandoffices.MostsurprisingwasthatCopelivedperhapsonlysevenoreightblocksfromRittenhouseSquare,whereJohnson’smotherwasevennowpreparingforhisarrival.

“Whichhouseistheresidence?”heaskedthewagonowner.

“Idonotknow,butIthinkthatfellowwilltellyou,”themansaid,pointing.

ItwasCopehimself,bouncingdownthesteps.“Johnson!”

“Professor!”

HegaveJohnsonafirmhandshakeandadecisivelystronghug.

“You’realiveand—”Hespiedthetarpoverthebackofthewagon.“Isitpossible?”

Johnsonnodded.“Itwasn’timpossible,isperhapsmybestanswer.”

The crates were taken directly into themuseum half of Cope’s property.Mrs. Copecameinwithlemonadeandwafers,andtheysatdown;theyoohedoverhisstories,fussedoverhisappearance,exclaimedoverhiscratesofbones.

“Iwillwant tohavea secretary transcribeanentire accountofyour adventure,” saidCope.“WeneedtobeabletoprovethatthebonesweexcavatedinMontanaarethebonesthatsitnowinPhiladelphia.”

“Afewmayhavebrokenfromthewaythewagonandstagesbouncedaround,”Johnsonsaid.“Plustheremaybeafewbulletholesorbonechips,butmostlythey’reallhere.”

“TheBrontosaurusteeth?”Copeasked,hishandstwitchinginexcitement.“Doyoustillhavetheteeth?Itmaynotreflectwellonme,butIhavebeenworryingaboutthissincethedaywethoughtyouhadbeenkilled.”

“It’sthiscratehere,Professor,”Johnsonsaid,findingtheboxwiththeX.

Copeunpackeditonthespot,liftedtheteethonebyone,andstaredatthemforaverylongtime,transfixed.Hesetthemdowninarow,muchashehaddoneontheshalecliffmanyweeks earlier, nearly two thousandmiles to thewest. “This is extraordinary,” he

said.“Quiteextraordinary.Marshwillbehardputtomatchitformanyyears.”

“Edward,”saidMrs.Cope,“hadn’twebettersendMr.Johnsonhometohisfamily?”

“Yes,ofcourse,”Copesaid.“Theymustbeeagertoseeyou.”

Hisfatherembracedhimwarmly.“IthankGodforyourreturn,son.”

Hismotherstoodatthetopofthestairsandsaidweepily,“Thebeardmakesyoulookfrightfullycommon,William.Getridofitatonce.”

“What’shappenedtoyourlip?”hisfathersaid.“Areyouwounded?”

“Indians,”Johnsonsaid.

“Looksliketeethmarkstome,”Edward,hisbrother,said.

“That’sso,”Johnsonsaid.“ThisIndianclimbedaboardthewagonandbitme.WantedtoseewhatIwouldtastelike.”

“Bityouonthelip?What,washetryingtokissyou?”

“Theyaresavages,”Johnsonsaid.“Andunpredictable.”

“KissedbyanIndian!”Edwardsaid,clappinghishands.“KissedbyanIndian!”

Johnson rolled up his trousers and showed everyone the scar where the arrow hadpierced his leg. He produced the stump of the arrow. He chose not to tell themmanydetails, and said nothing of EmilyWilliams or Miranda Lapham or whatever her truenamewas.HedidtellthemaboutburyingToadandLittleWind.

Edwardburstintotearsandranupstairstohisroom.

“We’rejustgladtohaveyouback,son,”hisfathersaid,lookingsuddenlymucholder.

Thefalltermwasalreadyunderway,butthedeanofYaleCollegepermittedhimtoenrollanyway.JohnsonwasnotabovethedramaticeffectofputtingonhisWesternclothesandhisgunandstridingintothediningroom.

Theentireroomfellsilent.Thensomeonesaid,“It’sJohnson!WillyJohnson!”

JohnsonstrodeovertoMarlin’stable.Marlinwaseatingwithfriends.

“Ibelieveyouowememoney,”Johnsonsaid,inhisbesttoughvoice.

“Howcolorfulyoulook,”Marlinsaid,laughing.“Youmustintroducemetoyourtailor,William.”

Johnsonsaidnothing.

“Should I presume you hadmany dimeWestern adventures and killedmen in actualgunfights?”Marlinsaid,hammingitupfortheirlisteners.

“Yes,”Johnsonsaid.“Thatwouldbecorrect.”

Marlin’santicsmiledropped,unsureofJohnson’smeaning.

“Ibelieveyouowememoney,”Johnsonsaidagain.

“Mydearfellow,Ioweyounothingatall!Ifyouremember,thetermsofourbetwerethatyouwouldaccompanyProfessorMarsh,andtheentireschoolknowsyoudidnotgetfarwithhimbeforehecastyouasideasarogueandscoundrel.”

Inasingleswiftmovement,JohnsongrabbedMarlinbythecollar,effortlesslyhoistedhimtohisfeet,andslammedhimagainstthewall.“Yousnottylittlebastard,yougivemethatthousanddollarsorI’llbreakyourheadopen.”

Marlinwasgasping,andnoticedJohnson’sscar.“Idon’tknowyou.”

“No,butyouoweme.Nowtelleverybodywhatyouaregoingtodo.”

“I’mgoingtopayyouathousanddollars.”

“Louder.”

Marlinrepeateditloudly.Theroomlaughed.Johnsondroppedhiminacrumpledheaptothefloorandwalkedoutofthediningroom.

OthnielMarshlivedaloneinamansionhehadbuiltonahilloutsideNewHaven.Ashewalkedupthehill,JohnsonhadasenseofthelonelinessandisolationofMarsh’slife,hisneedforapproval,forstatusandacceptance.Hewasshowntothedrawingroom;Marshwasworkingtherealone,andlookedupfromamanuscripthewaspreparing.

“Yousentforme,ProfessorMarsh?”

Marshglaredathim.“Wherearethey?”

“Youmeanthebones?”

“OfcourseImeanthebones!Wherearethey?”

JohnsonheldMarsh’sgaze.Herealizedhewasnolongerafraidoftheman,inanyway.“ProfessorCopehasthebones,inPhiladelphia.Allofthem.”

“Isittrueyouhavefoundtheremainsofahithertounknowndinosaurofgreatsize?”

“Iamnotatlibertytosay,Professor.”

“Youareafatuousfool,”Marshsaid.“Youhavesquanderedyourownopportunityforgreatness.Copewill neverpublish, and if hedoes, his reportwill be sohasty, so filledwithinaccuracies,thatitwillneverattaintherecognitionofthescientificcommunity.Youshouldhavebrought themtoYale,wheretheycouldbeproperlystudied.Youareafoolandatraitortoyourcollege,Johnson.”

“Isthatall,Professor?”

“Yes,that’sall.”Johnsonturnedtoleave.“Onemorething,”Marshsaid.

“Yes,Professor?”

“Idon’tsupposeyoucangetthebonesback?”

“No,Professor.”

“Thenit’sgone,”Marshsaidwistfully.“Allgone.”Hereturnedtohismanuscript.Hispenscratchedonthepaper.

Johnson left the room.On his way out, he passed a small skeleton of theminiatureCretaceous horseEohippus. It was beautifully formed, beautifully assembled, this paleskeleton from the distant past. Somehow it made Johnson sad. He turned away, andhurrieddownthehilltowardtheCollege.

Postscript

CopeEdwardDrinkerCopediedpennilessin1897inPhiladelphia,havingexhaustedhisfamilyfortuneandhisenergybattlingMarsh.Hewasrelativelyyoungstill,onlyfifty-sixyearsold. But he had seen the first Brontosaurus skeleton assembled at the Yale PeabodyMuseum and more than fourteen hundred papers published. He is credited with thediscoveryandnamingofmore thanone thousandvertebratespeciesandmore thanfiftykindsofdinosaurs.One,Anisonchuscophater,hesaidhenamed“inhonorofthenumberofCopehaterswhosurroundme!”Hedonatedhisbodytoscienceandinstructedthatafterdeathhisbrain sizebecomparedwithMarsh’s, itbeingcommonlybelievedat the timethatbrainsizedeterminedintelligence.Marshdeclinedtoacceptthechallenge.

MarshOthnielCharlesMarshdied twoyearsafterCope,aloneandembittered in thehousehehad built for himself. He was buried in the Grove Street Cemetery in New Haven,Connecticut. He and his fossil hunters discovered five-hundred-odd different fossilizedanimals,includingsomeeightydinosaurs;henamedthemallhimself.

EarpWyattEarpdiedonJanuary13,1929,inarentedbungalowneartheintersectionofVeniceandCrenshawBoulevards inLosAngeles,afteracting insilentmoviesand thensellingtherightstohislifestorytoColumbiaPictures.Inlateryearshewasstronglyinfluencedby thewishesofhiswife, Josie.He toldhis life storyashe remembered it,orchose toremember it, to Stuart N. Lake, a Pasadena writer, two years before his death. WhenpublishedasWyattEarp,FrontierMarshal,itmadeaterrificimpression,andestablishedhisfameenduringly.

Sternberg

CharlesHazelius Sternberg became a celebratedAmerican fossil collector and amateurpaleontologist whowrote about his timewith Cope. Hewas in fact working for Copewhen Cope died, and learned of his death three days later, wired directly by his wife.Sternbergwrotetwobooks:TheLifeofaFossilHunter(1909)andHuntingDinosaursinthe Badlands of the Red Deer River, Alberta, Canada (1917). He was responsible forfinding theMonoclonius, or, as it is commonlyknown, the horneddinosaur.HequotedCopeassaying,“Nomancansayhelovesus,whenhewantonlydestroysourwork;nomanlovesGodwhowantonlydestroyshiscreatures.”FossilscollectedbySternbergaredisplayedinmuseumsaroundtheworld.

Author’sNote

“Biography,”observedOscarWilde, “lends todeath anew terror.”Even in aworkoffictionaboutindividualslongdead,thereisreasontoconsiderhissentiment.

ReadersunfamiliarwiththisperiodofAmericanhistorymaybeinterestedtoknowthatProfessorsMarshandCopewererealpeople, theirrivalryandantagonismdepictedherewithout exaggeration—in fact, it has been toned down, since the nineteenth centurypromotedadegreeofadhominemexcessthatishardtobelievenow.

Cope did go to the Montana badlands in 1876, and discovered the teeth ofBrontosaurus,essentiallyasrecountedhere.*

TheantagonismbetweenCopeandMarshthatplayedoutovertenyearsiscompressedhere into a single summer,with somechanges.Thus, itwasMarshwhomade the falseskullforCopetofind,andsoon.However,itistruethatonmanyoccasionstheworkersofCopeandMarshfiredononeanother—withmuchmoreseriousintentthansuggestedhere.

ThecharacterofWilliamJohnson isentirely fictitious. Iwouldnot read thisnovelashistory. For history, read Charles Sternberg’s detailed account of Cope’s trip to theMontanabadlandsinTheLifeofaFossilHunter.

IamindebtedtoE.H.Colbert,theeminentpaleontologistandcuratoroftheAmericanMuseum of Natural History, for first bringing the story of Marsh and Cope to myattention; inhiskindcorrespondencehesuggestedanovelaboutthem;healsoprovidedmewithmyfirstleadsinhisbooks.

Finally,readerswhoinspectphotographicbooks,asIhavedone,shouldbeextremelycareful about the captions. There has emerged a new breed of photo book in whichauthenticpicturesoftheWestareaccompaniedbybleak,elegiacprose.Thecaptionsmayseem to fit thepictures, but theydonot fit the facts—this sad,melancholy attitude is acompleteanachronism.TownssuchasDeadwoodmaylookdepressingtousnow,buttheywereexcitingplaces then, and thepeoplewho inhabited themwereexcited to be there.Toooften, the peoplewhowrite captions to photographs indulge their ownuninformedfantasiesaboutthepicturesandwhattheymean.

Alltheeventsof1876occurredasreportedhere,exceptthatMarshdidnotleadaparty

ofstudentswest thatyear(hehadgoneeveryyear for theprevioussix,but remained inNewHavenin1876tomeettheEnglishbiologistT.H.Huxley);thatallofCope’sbonestraveledsafelyontheMissouristeamer,andnoonecontinuedontoDeadwood;andthatRobertLouisStevensondidnotgowestuntil1879.Thedescriptionsof theIndianWarsareaccurate,sadlyso,andfromavantageofsomehundred-plusyearslater,itseemssafeto say that theAmericanWestdescribed in thesepages, like theworldof thedinosaurslongbefore,wassoontobeforeverlost.

Afterword

Michael’s dedication to his craft was endless: over the course of his forty-plus-yearcareer, he wrote thirty-two books; his work inspired many films, and as a director,screenwriter,andproducerhimself,hecreatediconicmoviesandtelevisionprograms.Notonlywas he alwaysworking on his next project, hewas alwaysworking on his “nextprojects.”Michaelwasconstantlyreading,clippinginterestingarticles,amassingresearchfornewworkbylookingtothepast,observingthepresent,andthinkingaboutourfuture.He loved to tell stories that blurred the lines between facts andwhat-if scenarios. YoualwayscameoutofaCrichtonnovel,film,ortelevisioneventsmarterandwantingmore.Because his work was so densely researched, you couldn’t help but believe that, yes,perhapsdinosaurscouldbebroughtbacktolifethroughDNAfoundinawell-preservedmosquitoorthatnanobotscouldoperateintelligentlyandindependentlyandwreakhavocontheirhumancreatorsandtheenvironment.

Hisworkisasrelevantandengagingasever,asdemonstratedbythegiganticsuccessoftheJurassicParkfranchise,andinHBO’sreimaginingofhisclassicfilmWestworld.

HonoringMichael’s legacyhasbeenmymissioneversincehepassedaway.Throughthe creation of his archives, I quickly realized that itwas possible to trace the birth ofDragonTeeth toa1974 letter to thecuratorofvertebratepaleontologyof theAmericanMuseumofNaturalHistory.Afterreadingthemanuscript,IcouldonlydescribeDragonTeeth as “pureCrichton.” It hasMichael’s voice, and his love of history, research, andscience all dynamicallywoven into this epic tale.Nearly forty years afterMichael firsthatchedtheideaforanovelabouttheexcitementandthedangersofearlypaleontology,the story feels as fresh and fun today as itwas to him then.Dragon Teeth was a veryimportant book for Michael—it was a forerunner of his “other dinosaur story.” ItspublicationisawonderfulwaytointroduceMichaeltonewgenerationsofreadersaroundtheworldandisanabsolutetreatforlongtimeCrichtonfanseverywhere.

PublishingDragonTeeth hasbeena laborof love, and Iwant to thank the followingpeople for their assistance in this endeavor: my creative partner, Laurent Bouzereau;JonathanBurnham,JenniferBarth,andtheteamatHarper;JenniferJoelandSloanHarrisof ICM Partners; the remarkable team at the Michael Crichton Archives; Michael S.ShermanandPageJenkins;and,ofcourse,ourbelovedson,JohnMichaelCrichton(Jr.).

—SherriCrichton

Bibliography

Barnett,Leroy.“GhastlyHarvest:Montana’sTradeinBuffaloBones.”Montana:TheMagazineofWesternHistory,vol.25,no.3(Summer1975):2–13.

Barton,D.R. “Middlemenof theDinosaurResurrection:The ‘JimmyValentines’ofScience.”NaturalHistory (May1938):385–87.

———.“TheStoryofaPioneer‘Bone-Setter.’”NaturalHistory(March1938):224–27.

Colbert, EdwinH. “Battle of theBones.Cope&Marsh, the PaleontologicalAntagonists.”GeoTimes, vol. 2, no. 4(October1957):6–7,14.

———.MenandDinosaurs:TheSearchinFieldandLaboratory.NewYork:Dutton,1968.

———.Dinosaurs:TheirDiscoveryandTheirWorld.NewYork:Dutton,1961.

Connell,Evan.SonoftheMorningStar:CusterandtheLittleBigHorn.Berkeley,California:NorthPointPress,1984.

Dippie, Brian W. “Bold but Wasting Race: Stereotypes and American Indian Policy.”Montana: The Magazine ofWesternHistory,vol.25,no.3(Summer1975):2–13.

Eiseley,Loren.TheImmenseJourney:AnImaginativeNaturalistExplorestheMysteriesofManandNature.NewYork:VintageBooks,1959.

Fisher,David.“TheTimeTheyPostponedDoomsday.”NewScientist(June1985):39–43.

Grinnell,GeorgeBird.“AnOld-TimeBoneHunt.”NaturalHistory(July–August1923):329–36.

Hanson,StephenandPatriciaHanson.“TheLastDaysofWyattEarp.”LosAngelesMagazine(March1985):118–26.

Howard, RobertWest. TheDawnseekers: The First History of American Paleontology. New York: Harcourt BraceJovanovich,1975.

Jeffery,David.“Fossils:AnnalsofLifeWritteninRock.”NationalGeographic,vol.168,no.2(August1985):182–91.

Josephson, Matthew. The Robber Barons: The Great American Capitalists 1861–1901. New York: Harcourt BraceJovanovich,1934.

Lake,Stuart.WyattEarp:FrontierMarshal.NewYork:HoughtonMifflinCompany,1931.

Lanham,Url.TheBoneHunters.NewYork:ColumbiaUniversityPress,1973.

Marsh,OthnielCharles.“TheDinosaursofNorthAmerica.”AnnualReportofU.S.GeologicalSurvey(January1896).

Matthew,W.D.“EarlyDaysofFossilHuntingintheHighPlains.”NaturalHistory(September–October1926):449–54.

Mountfield,David.TheRailwayBarons.NewYork:W.W.Norton,1979.

Nield,Ted.“Sticks,StonesandBrokenBones.”NewScientist(December1985):64–67.

O’Connor,Richard.IronWheelsandBrokenMen.NewYork:Putnam,1973.

Osborn, Henry Fairfield.Cope: Master Naturalist: The Life and Letters of Edward Drinker Cope. Princeton, NewJersey:PrincetonUniversityPress,1931.

Ostrom,JohnH.andJ.S.McIntosh.Marsh’sDinosaurs.NewHaven,Connecticut:YaleUniversityPress,1966.

Parker,Watson.GoldintheBlackHills.Norman:UniversityofOklahomaPress,1966.

Plate,Robert.TheDinosaurHunters:OthnielC.MarshandEdwardD.Cope.NewYork:D.McKayCo.,1964.

Reinhardt,Richard.OutWestontheOverlandTrain.NewJersey:CastleBooks,1967.

Rice,Larry.“Badlands.”AdventureTravel(July–August1981):38–44.

———.“TheGreatNorthernPlains.”Backpacker(May1986):48–52.

Romer,A.S.“CopeVersusMarsh.”SystemicZoology,vol.13,no.4(1964):201–7.

Scott,DouglasD.andMelissaA.Connor.“Post-mortemattheLittleBighorn.”NaturalHistory(June1986):46–55.

Shor,Betty.TheFossilFeudBetweenE.D.CopeandO.C.Marsh.Hicksville,NewYork:ExpositionPress,1974.

Stein,RossS.andRobertC.Bucknam.“QuakeReplayintheGreatBasin.”NaturalHistory(June1986):28–36.

Sternberg,CharlesH.TheLifeofaFossilHunter.NewYork:HenryHoltandCompany,1909.

Taft,Robert.PhotographyandtheAmericanScene.NewYork:DoverPublicationsInc.,1964.

West, Linda and Dan Chure.Dinosaur: The Dinosaur National Monument Quarry. Jensen, Utah: Dinosaur NatureAssociation,1984.

Wolf,Daniel.TheAmericanSpace.Middletown,Connecticut:WesleyanUniversityPress,1983.

AbouttheAuthor

MICHAELCRICHTON(1942–2008)wastheauthorofthegroundbreakingnovelsTheAndromedaStrain,TheGreatTrainRobbery,JurassicPark,Disclosure,Prey,StateofFear,andNext,amongmanyothers.Hisbookshavesoldmorethan200millioncopiesworldwide,havebeentranslatedintothirty-eightlanguages,andhaveprovidedthebasisforfifteenfeaturefilms.HewasthedirectorofWestworld,Coma,TheGreatTrainRobbery,andLooker,aswellas thecreatorofER.Crichtonremains theonlywriter tohaveanumberonebook,movie,andTVshowinthesameyear.

Discovergreatauthors,exclusiveoffers,andmoreathc.com.

AlsobyMichaelCrichton

FictionTheAndromedaStrainTheTerminalMan

TheGreatTrainRobberyEatersoftheDead

CongoSphere

JurassicParkRisingSunDisclosure

TheLostWorldAirframeTimelinePrey

StateofFearNext

PirateLatitudesMicro

NonfictionFivePatientsJasperJohnsElectronicLife

Travels

http://ads.harpercollins.com/bpbobahc

Copyright

Thisbookisaworkoffiction.Referencestorealpeople,events,establishments,organizations,orlocalesareintendedonlytoprovideasenseofauthenticity,andareusedfictitiously.Allothercharacters,andallincidentsanddialogue,aredrawnfromtheauthor’simaginationandarenottobeconstruedasreal.

DRAGON TEETH. Copyright © 2017 by CrichtonSun LLC. All rights reserved under International and Pan-AmericanCopyrightConventions.Bypaymentoftherequiredfees,youhavebeengrantedthenonexclusive,nontransferablerighttoaccessandreadthetextofthise-bookon-screen.Nopartofthistextmaybereproduced,transmitted,downloaded,decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in anyformorbyanymeans,whetherelectronicormechanical,nowknownorhereafterinvented,withouttheexpresswrittenpermissionofHarperCollinse-books.FIRSTEDITION

Illustrations:Shutterstock

MapbyNickSpringer,copyright2017©SpringerCartographicsLLC

CoverdesignandillustrationbyWillStaehle

Coverimages©Shutterstock

DigitalEditionMAY2017ISBN:9780062473370

PrintISBN:978-0-06-247335-6

AboutthePublisher

AustraliaHarperCollinsPublishersAustraliaPty.Ltd.

Level13,201ElizabethStreet

Sydney,NSW2000,Australia

www.harpercollins.com.au

CanadaHarperCollinsCanada

2BloorStreetEast-20thFloor

Toronto,ONM4W1A8,Canada

www.harpercollins.ca

NewZealandHarperCollinsPublishersNewZealand

UnitD1,63ApolloDrive

Rosedale0632

Auckland,NewZealand

www.harpercollins.co.nz

UnitedKingdomHarperCollinsPublishersLtd.

1LondonBridgeStreet

LondonSE19GF,UK

www.harpercollins.co.uk

UnitedStatesHarperCollinsPublishersInc.

195Broadway

NewYork,NY10007

www.harpercollins.com

* Editor’s note: Charles H. Sternberg attributed this discovery to Cope in his 1909memoir, The Life of a Fossil Hunter. Others have credited the discovery of theBrontosaurustoMarsh.