The Dinosaur Hunter (12 page)

Laura and I closed down the Trike site and spent the day plastering the bones already pedestaled and wrapping paper towels and aluminum foil around a variety of exposed vertebrae, horn chunks, toes, and other bones too fragmented to immediately identify. Then, we picked and shoveled until everything that remained was covered with at least six inches of dirt. Laura said she hoped Ted Brescoe was going to be satisfied with our clean-up of the site. I told her to not worry about it. In fact, I was thinking maybe I might yet go and kick his butt for no other reason than it would make my day. Then I thought of Edith and let it go.

The base of the hill was littered with plaster casts filled with Trike bones. “What'll we do with them?” I asked.

Laura shook her head. “I'd like to move them to our old camp site. That way a truck could get to them when we're ready to take them out. Any ideas on how to do that?”

“Well, we could leave them here and I could use the tractor to make us a road but I don't think Ted Brescoe would like that very much. Maybe we can use the four-wheelers.”

Laura thought about that and said, “I'm a pretty fair field engineer. Let's go see what we can figure out.”

We filled our packs with some of the smaller foil-covered bones and hiked back to camp, where, after giving it some thought, Laura came up with the idea of using a wheelbarrow attached to a four-wheeler. For that, I said we'd need to do some welding and Laura said, “We don't have time for that. We need to move those Trike casts today. I think Blackie Butte's going to eat up all the time we have left this summer.”

I scratched my head after taking my cowboy hat off, then said, “OK, let's do this.”

My suggestion was crude but, oddly enough, it worked. We called Pick on the radio, asked for Ray and Amelia, and met them at the Trike site. We grunted each big bone onto the back of a four-wheeler (thank God for young backs), strapped it on with ropes and bungee cords, then, with Amelia or Laura at the wheel and me and Ray walking on each side to keep the four-wheeler balanced, trundled them all, one by one, slowly and carefully back to camp. It required a lot of sweat but we got her done. We had to take a day doing it and Pick managed to wander back to camp that night, frustrated that nothing much had been done on the move to Blackie Butte. “Did you go see Jeanette?” I asked.

He confessed he hadn't so I climbed a hill and used the handheld radio in an attempt to contact her. Happily, she answered. It was good to hear her voice. I told her what was up, and she said, “I'll be out there first thing in the morning.”

“Meet us at Blackie,” I said, and resisted telling her I'd missed her. “How's the ranch?” I asked, instead.

“Your work's building up but I guess it'll be waiting for you when you get back.”

“You sent me out here,” I said, defensively.

“And you were more than willing to go!” she shot back.

“Listen…”

I heard a double-click of the transmitter, meaning she had nothing more to say. Frustrated, I stared at the radio. Couldn't she at least have said something like, “The ranch just isn't the same without you, Mike,” or something other than my work was waiting for me in a tone that sounded like I was just out here having a good time? Well, that was Jeanette.

That night, Pick came off as a nervous wreck. While the rest of us, not counting Ray and Amelia who went for a walk to continue their various arguments, sat around the fire pit and drank Tanya's vodka mixed with Pick's tonic, Pick was pacing back and forth. He just couldn't sit still. Then he started complaining about losing stuff. It started with his logbook and he tore up the camp looking for it. When Laura finally got up, went to his tent, looked under his inflatable mattress, found it, and handed it over, he said he'd also lost his GPS. Laura found it rather quickly, mainly because it was hanging around his neck. It continued on, the two women finding everything that Pick was certain he'd lost forever, including his socks, and then segued into complaints about how much food had been eaten, how much water had been drunk, how much glue, plaster, and aluminum foil had been used on the Trike, and so forth. Finally, back in their chairs with highball glasses in hand, Laura and Tanya exchanged glances when Pick griped some more, then together in perfect unison, the two women chorused, “Pick, shut the fuck up!”

Pick stomped up to them. “Listen, you two, I'm not made of money!”

Laura and Tanya re-exchanged their glances, then provided a very similar response to the one just given. In fact, it was the same one. Pick glared at them, then said, “I'm going to bed.”

“Good,” Laura said.

“Good,” Tanya said.

“Good night,” I said.

Pick pointed at me. “Mike, at least you understand,” he said, then wandered off in the opposite direction of his tent, caught himself, and crept back past us. I tried not to laugh but wasn't entirely successful.

Laura looked over at me and said, “Sometimes, even geniuses can be assholes.”

“I'm sure I wouldn't know,” I responded. “But whoever fixed this v-and-t is a genius.”

“That would be me,” Laura said.

“I provided the vodka,” Tanya said, “and the recipe.”

Maybe I was being a little too full of myself, but I caught a hint that these two lovely ladies were sparring over me. I wondered if they'd hang up on me like Jeanette had done and concluded neither would be so rude.

We enjoyed a couple more drinks, watched the satellites fly by, admired the moon, and then a sudden reality settled on me. “This weather is entirely too nice,” I said. “We're going to pay for it.”

“In what way?” Laura asked.

“Montana will figure it out.”

Neither woman seemed inclined to worry about the weather at that point and instead said they were getting sleepy. I was, too, truth be told, and after Ray and Amelia got back, this time hand in hand (go figure), off we went to sleep under the stars and, in my opinion, the entirely too clear skies. My sleep was restless though I didn't hear the mysterious engine noises.

 

The next morning, Pick, Laura, and Tanya acted like nothing had happened the night before. In truth, it hadn't been much, just a little dustup between friends and colleagues. Pick said, over his breakfast cereal, “We need to load everything up on the truck and four-wheelers this morning. Mike, what route should we take, do you think?”

I consulted a BLM map and pointed at the network of roads on the ranch. “Best thing is to go back onto the Square C, drive to this Y in the road here, turn left, and follow the trail. It will take us to Blackie.”

“Is it a good road?”

“It's not really a road. Just a cow path. But I think our trucks should be able to cross along it. We just need to go slowly.”

“Then that's what we'll do,” Pick said.

And that's what we did. By early afternoon, we'd broke camp, loaded everything up, and transited over to Blackie Butte. We left the big plastered Trike bones behind, Pick saying we could pick them up later. Heavy as they were, I didn't see anyone stealing them.

I was burning to get up on Blackie and see what had been found but first things first, and that meant re-establishing our camp. This we did, me driving the last tent peg in just as Jeanette rode in atop Nick. Ray saw her and good son that he was went over to say hello. She got off and they spoke. There were no hugs. Amelia, however, provided a hug, which Jeanette received with obvious joy, meaning she didn't flinch. She also patted Amelia on the back, which, for Jeanette, was like she had smothered her with kisses.

Jeanette came over as I put down the sledgehammer. “How's your bum?” I asked, reflecting that only on a cattle ranch would that question to a woman be received correctly.

“He's fine. I let him out in that little fenced section of the Mulhaden. The heifers and calves next door have been coming over and paying attention. He seems to like that.”

“What are you going to do with him?”

“All I'm planning right now is seeing him get fat on good Square C grass.”

“How about our little C-section heifer and calf?”

“She's been accepted by the other girls. Her calf's loading on the pounds. Do you like being a fossil digger?”

“I like it a lot but I like being a cowboy more. Don't fire me just because you figure I've got another gig.”

She shook her head. “Mike, just before he passed, Bill told me I was to keep you around as long as you were willing to stay.”

“Bill gave good advice,” I said.

Her answer inordinately pleased me. “Yes, he did.”

Pick called everyone over. “We're going up to the site now. I want everyone to start being very, very careful about where you step. All dig sites are fragile but this one is especially so. Just follow in my footsteps and I'll point where I want you to go. Before we begin, it's important you understand what we know we have and also what we think we
may
have. OK?”

We all nodded and off we went, climbing the south side of Blackie Butte. I could tell by the trail already leading up to it that we were heading up to the third terrace, which was about twenty feet below a layer of coal, perhaps the famous “Z” coal Pick had told us about, which marked the boundary created by the famous dino-killing meteor.

Pick stopped and indicated we should fan out around the terrace, which was covered with several big blue tarps. Laura and Tanya slowly and carefully removed the tarps, revealing an area of disturbed dirt about thirty feet square. I thought I could see the hint of something that was curved just beneath the dirt but I wasn't certain. Pick knelt near it. He had a paint brush and whisked some of the dirt aside. The curve turned out to be a series of vertebra. “This is the articulated tail of an adult Tyrannosaur,” he said, then whisked away some more dirt, revealing a large bone. “Based on its size, I believe this is the tibia of another adult,” Pick said.

I knew enough to know this was kind of breathtaking. Laura had told me only about thirty-five T. Rexes had ever been found and here were two. Pick added to the breathtaking quality of it by saying, “We have also found other bones that indicate there is a juvenile Tyrannosaur here.”

“Why so many?” Jeanette asked.

Pick smiled a tight smile. “I believe this is a T. rex nest, Mrs. Coulter.”

Laura held up a glass jar. “These are a few bones from the juvenile. Actually, it's a baby. We think maybe it was only a few weeks old.”

“This site could reveal more about how Tyrannosaurs lived than any other since modern paleontology began,” Pick said. “But it is very much a challenge. It could cover much more than this terrace. That means we've got to remove all this stuff to get to it.”

I realized that Pick was talking about taking the top off Blackie Butte. There was at least fifty feet rising above the step we were on. I shook my head at the enormity of it. Pick saw me and said, “What is it, Mike?”

“I was just thinking about what it would take to move all that dirt.”

He smiled and said, “I hope we don't have to do that but I intend to follow wherever the bones lead me.”

“Well,” I said, “you either dig into the side or take off the top. I don't see any other way.”

“Let's cross that bridge when we get to it, Mike,” Pick said.

“Dr. Pickford,” Jeanette said. “Blackie Butte is a prominent feature on my ranch. I'm not sure I want it dug up to this extent.”

Pick looked surprised by Jeanette's remark. I had told him he needed to talk to her and now maybe he understood why. “Let's take a break,” he said. “Be careful where you step, please.”

We all carefully dispersed while Pick and Jeanette took a walk. Actually, they climbed to the top of the butte. Just as I was thinking about going down to the tents, Jeanette called, “Mike, would you mind coming up?” I didn't mind. “I wanted you in on this,” Jeanette said while I caught my breath.

Pick said, “This is an amazing find, Mrs. Coulter.”

For some reason, they were both being very formal with each other. “I'm sure it is, Dr. Pickford,” Jeanette answered. “But Blackie Butte has been a landmark on the Square C for a very long time. How would you feel if I came to your house and chopped down an old tree in your yard?”

“I don't have a house,” Pick said, “but if I had a tree that would provide major scientific dividends if it was chopped down, I would cut it down myself. Besides, even in the worst case, I don't think we'd have to take the whole top off this hill, just a portion of one side.”

Jeanette considered that, then asked, “How much do you think these skeletons are worth?”

Pick looked unhappy, then said, “It's impossible to put a price on them. They could very well revolutionize paleontology.”

“Then they must be worth a great deal,” Jeanette said.

Pick looked at me but all I could do was shrug. He was on his own. “We need to come to terms,” he said at last.

“Indeed we do,” Jeanette answered. “This is my land. That means those bones belong to me and I don't want you to dig them up unless the Square C gets something out of it.”

“I won't sell these bones, Mrs. Coulter!” Pick declared.

“Then who will?” Jeanette calmly asked. “Tell me and I'll call them.”

Pick turned pale, evident even through his tan. “Mrs. Coulter, you can't let anyone know about this! If you did and it got out, we'd be covered up with the media. There might even be people who would try to steal the bones.”

“Then what do you suggest?” Jeanette asked.

Pick took a deep breath. “Look, I'm not sure what's here. I only have my suspicions. For all I know, there's only the bones showing now. Can't you wait until we uncover more before we worry about what to do with them? I promise you this. I'll keep you apprised every step of the way and not remove a single bone without your approval.”