The Life of a Fossil Hunter

by Charles H. Sternberg

Sometimes when we had climbed down several hundred feet, the end of the Professor’s stick would encounter only air, and a handful of stones thrown ahead would be heard to strike the earth far below. Then we had to turn and climb back through the deep dust to the top, and circling a canyon, plunge down on the other side.

Once we got down to the river four miles from the prairie, and thought that our journey was over, as we could see the lights of the station just across the river. But when we had watered our thirsty horses and started down for the landing, we found our way blocked by a huge ridge with a towering precipice impinging on the river; and we had to drag ourselves back over those four long, hard miles to the prairie, and start again. I freely confess that I should have been willing to lie down in the dust just where I was, and let the horses look out for themselves, but Cope’s indomitable will could not be conquered. Back we climbed to the top, and down we went into the next ravine.

I have never known another man who would have attempted this journey. It was both foolhardy and useless, but we could say that we accomplished what no one else ever had in reaching Cow Island through the Bad Lands after dark.

For we did reach it. Just before daylight we got down to the landing across from the station, and sure enough, the steamboat was at her post. But another disappointment was in store for us. The Professor shouted to the sergeant to come and take us over, but his voice was not recognized, and as the sergeant was afraid that the call might come from some Indian who had prepared an ambush, he refused to respond. We were soaked with perspiration, and rapidly becoming chilled by a cold fog that was rising along the shore, and we were obliged to walk back and forth to keep warm until the Professor had recovered his natural voice.

Then, in his haste to correct his error, the sergeant sent a boat across in the wrong place, and it was turned over in the rapids. He had to rescue the half-drowned men, capture the boat, and try again.

At last, however, we were warming ourselves in a tent, where a pot of beans was simmering for the soldiers’ breakfast. Not a bean was left when we got through with them, and three pounds of raspberry jam, spread upon, I was going to say a box of, hardtack, followed the beans. Then the sergeant took us both out into the open air and turned back the big black tarpaulin covering the gold ore that was to be shipped to the smelter at Omaha. He made us a warm nest of new blankets, and when we had crawled into it, pulled the tarpaulin back into place. Did we sleep? Ask the deckhands who let the sunlight in upon us about nine o’clock the next morning, when they pulled away the tarpaulin to load the ore.

Cope at once sought the captain of the boat and said, “I am Professor Cope, of Philadelphia. I have a four-horse wagon at a steamboat snubbing-post three miles below. I would like you to stop there on your way down, and carry my outfit across to this side. My baggage and freight are also there, and I want to take passage for Omaha.”

“Well, sir,” the man answered, “I am the captain of this boat. If you want to go down the river, you must have your baggage, freight, and self at this landing before ten o’clock to-morrow morning, when I leave for down-river points.”

The Professor did not argue the question further. He tried to get the loan of an old sand-scow, but the man who owned it had heard this conversation with the captain, and refused to lend it. The Professor was obliged to purchase it for an enormous price, and the next day left it where he got it. We boarded this scow, and leaving our ponies picketed across the river, paddled down to camp, where, to our disgust, we found that Mr. Isaac had gone out into the Bad Lands to look for us. There was no time to lose; so, although stiff and sore from our night’s exertions, we plunged into the work of lowering the tent, packing our stores and fossils into the wagon, and dragging everything aboard the scow. We were ready to start when Mr. Isaac appeared.

We crossed the river, swimming our horses; and then came the time for old Major to go it alone and show his worth. We converted the Missouri into a canal, and its northern bank into a towpath. Old Major we hitched to a line attached to the scow; and while a couple of mountain men whom we had in camp kept the boat away from the shore with long poles, I rode the big horse, often right into the river, until he began to sink in a mud bank, and I had to turn hastily back to shore. The Professor and Mr. Isaac had the worst places, for they had to keep the rope from being caught by a snag or rock; and when it did catch, if they did not instantly loose their hold upon it, the tension threw them far over into the river, and they had to get out as best they could. This occurred a number of times.