The Dinosaur Hunter

  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.”

  Jeanette took off her hat and tapped it against her leg. “I am a sequential thinker, Dr. Pickford. I see a great deal of work ahead that will result in plastered bones coming down my hill. I see those plastered bones stacking up. Then I see them going somewhere, perhaps when I don’t know it, but where would that be?”

  “I will need them to go a lab where I can study them properly.”

  “Where? Yosemite University?”

  “Probably not,” Pick said. “It doesn’t have the facilities I need.”

  “I’m sure it doesn’t,” Jeanette said, tapping her hat harder against her leg, “since it doesn’t exist. I checked.”

  “It exists wherever I am,” Pick said. “I am Yosemite University.”

  “It’s a scam, Dr. Pickford, as I suspect you are.”

  Pick pursed his lips, then said, “Not a scam. A cover. I have a wide academic background but I can’t really tie myself down to only one institution.”

  “When you first came on my ranch, you told me you were from UC-Berkeley.”

  “I got my doctorate there.”

  “That’s not what you said. You said you were from there, meaning implicitly that you worked there. And then Mike saw your BLM permit and it had on it this mythical Yosemite University.”

  Pick took a moment to gather himself, then said, “I already explained that to Mike. Didn’t he tell you? Anyway, I’m sorry about that. Sometimes, it’s easier to kind of talk in a shorthand way, rather than try to explain everything.”

  “In other words, sometimes it’s easier to lie,” Jeanette said.

  Pick shrugged.

  “So,” Jeanette went on, “who do you work for, Dr. Pickford?”

  “I work for myself,” he said.

  “So,” Jeanette said again, “who do you work for, Dr. Pickford?”

  Pick frowned, perhaps thinking Jeanette hadn’t heard or misunderstood the answer he’d already given, but then the light came on. “I suppose I work for you.”

  “That’s right. Anyone who works on the Square C works for me. Anything recovered off the Square C belongs to me. Nothing will be removed from this ranch without my approval. Do we understand one another?”

  Pick absorbed that, then said, “Yes, as long as you understand my position. I am here for science, not profit.”

  “I think we can both get what we want,” Jeanette said and put her hat on. “Dr. Pickford, you may proceed. How long do you think it will take to excavate the site?”

  “The rest of the summer, I think,” Pick said.

  “Then let’s get on with it.”

  “Since you’ve offered, I need a few things,” Pick said. “Jackhammers, a supply of water for plaster, food and drink for our crew, about a dozen chisels, picks, shovels, pry bars, and ice picks. Also a variety of paint brushes and brooms. I can make up a complete list for you if you like.”

  Jeanette gave Pick a hard stare, then said, “Give me your list. I’ll see what I can do.”

  “I need the jackhammers right away,” Pick said.

  “All right, Dr. Pickford,” Jeanette replied testily, then put forth her hand. “Let’s make an agreement. Shake.”

  Pick grasped her hand. “What are we agreeing to?” he asked.

  “We’re agreeing to a ten to ninety percent split to any proceeds made from this enterprise,” Jeanette said. “My hand is my bond.”

  “Well…” Pick released his hand. “Who gets the ten percent?”

  Jeanette chuckled. “You do, Dr. Pickford.”

  “That doesn’t sound very fair,” he said.

  Jeanette was still smiling. “I’ve done my research. The courts have always sided with the property owner on fossil disputes. So it’s my call what you get. I might increase it if I think you’ve done a good job. I’m not one for signing contracts and getting lawyers involved so you’re just going to have to trust me as I’ve decided, against my better judgment, to trust you. We’ll work it out but, for now, you will be rewarded one dollar out of every ten if you can successfully dig up and guide me to the proper marketing of these creatures. Deal?”

  “I’m a scientist, not a marketer!” Pick sputtered, but then hung his head, recognizing finally that our boss had him well over her barrel. He allowed a sigh, then said, “All right, Mrs. Coulter. It seems I have no choice on any of this. We have a deal. Please don’t forget my jackhammers and the other things on the list I will provide before you leave.”

  Jeanette’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t worry about the jackhammers. You’ll get ’em.” She turned and climbed down the hill without another word.

  “That is some woman,” Pick muttered and I could tell he was shaken by his encounter with the queen of the prairie.

  “You don’t know the half of it,” I said and followed Jeanette down the hill. Pick stayed behind, I guess to study the horizon or maybe wonder what he’d got himself into.

  I saw Laura climb up and confer with him, then she followed us. “If you’ll give me a minute, Mrs. Coulter,” she said, “I’ll get you that list.”

  Jeanette was willing to give her the minute and together we waited for her. Jeanette said, “These women—what do you think of them, Mike?”

  “Very smart. Hard workers.”

  “Have they been friendly toward you?”

  “Yes. Tanya even shares her vodka.”
>
  “I don’t trust them. I don’t trust Pick, either.” I had nothing to say about that so she said, “Keep an eye on them for me. Will you do that, Mike?”

  “You’re the boss,” I said.

  Her hand had been absently stroking Nick’s neck but at my comment, it stopped. She leveled her gaze at me. “You think I’m wrong for wanting to get something for the Square C? Every year we just squeak by. I can’t allow something like this to just be given away.”

  “Sometimes,” I said, “there are things more important than money, Jeanette. This might be one of them.”

  She gave me one of her dirty looks that, as I looked her in the eye, turned thoughtful. “I am who I am,” she said at length. “The Square C, it’s all I’ve got.”

  “It’s all I’ve got, too,” I said before I could stop myself.

  “That certainly is not true,” Jeanette replied, then held out her hand, not for me, but for the list that Laura had brought.

  “This is most of it,” Laura said.

  Jeanette glanced at the list, then handed it to me. “Mike, you know where the credit card is. You and Ray get on down to Miles City and buy the heavy stuff, then come back to Jericho and buy the food. I like to support the local folks where I can. The water for the plaster, you can get from our pump. Use those old drums behind the barn to put it in. Be sure to mark them non-potable. For drinking water, see if you can find a suitable container and fill it up in Miles City. I think our Square C water would give some of these folks the runs. Get going on this right away. That suit you, Miss Wilson?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Jeanette swung up into the saddle with fluid grace. “Ho, Nick,” she said when the stallion stamped a little. Jeanette looked toward the top of the hill where Pick was still posed. She frowned up at him, then clicked her tongue and aimed Nick toward home. I sought out Ray, told him our orders, and we got on our four-wheelers and headed after her.

  15

  Ray and I stopped off at our respective domiciles long enough to take showers, then got Bob and headed for Miles City where we bought out the place, pretty much. As I suspected, the heavy equipment we needed couldn’t be found so we drove on down to Billings where, after some searching around, we located some used jackhammers, compressors, and tools. Luck was on our side as to a water tank as well. In a Billings junk yard, we found an old army water tank on wheels. We scoured it out, filled it with Billings water, and drove back to Jericho where I needed to stop for a cold one at the Hell Creek Bar. There, to my surprise, I found parked outside a shiny silver hybrid SUV and, within the bar, the Marsh brothers, sitting at a table looking forlorn. They brightened up at the sight of me and Ray, and invited us to sit.