The Life of a Fossil Hunter

by Charles H. Sternberg

Now without doubt the arrow-heads and spear-points mingled with the bones at Fossil Lake are of the same manufacture as those which I found at this Indian village, although the latter are not so much weathered, having evidently been recently covered with sand. I conclude, therefore, that the implements mingled with the bones are no older than the village, perhaps a hundred years old. They were probably shot by the Indians of the village at the wild animals which doubtless came in great numbers to the lake to drink. Then some powerful wind, like that which covered the village, drifted away the sand that lay over the fossil bones, and the flints, being too heavy to be carried away with the sand, dropped down and mingled with the bones. This seems to me the only possible explanation. And I am glad to say that so high an authority as Professor J. C. Merriam of the University of California, after the most careful study and explorations, agrees with me in this. He has recently been over the Fossil Lake region, and he assures me that it is a mistake to suppose that the human implements found there were contemporary with the extinct animals of the Equus Beds.

Whenever George and I had collected a load of fossils, we took them in to Button’s ranch. One day we were late in starting, and realized that we should have to hurry to reach the ranch before dark. As so often happens, this was the very occasion upon which we were fated to be delayed.

At a certain place on our route, we had to pass some mud springs, circular wells filled to the brim with thick, yellowish mud of the consistency of mortar. In wet weather they continually boiled up without overflowing, but to-day they were covered with a hard coating of dry mud, cracked deeply in all directions.

I called to George, who was driving the pack horse, to watch him and see that he did not jump into the spring that we were just passing; but the words were hardly out of my mouth when the miserable wretch made a running jump, and landing in the middle of the crust, broke through and went down into the thick, nasty mud. As he was going down, he seemed to realize what he had done, and managed to get his front feet over the rim of solid earth. And there he hung, the broad pack—we had brought along our tent and blankets—helping to buoy him up.

We sprang from our horses, and made a rush to save our precious fossils, beside which everything else, including the mischievous pony, was of no account. We had to cut the ropes that bound the fossils and camp outfit to the animal, and when we had them safe on solid ground, tie a rope around his neck and pull him out. Of course he was thoroughly frightened, and did everything in his power to help us. Such a looking horse you never saw as he was when we got him out. His whole body was covered with a coat of sticky, yellow mud, which we could not scrape off. We had to take him into a creek and give him such a scrubbing as, I think, no member of the genus Equus ever had before or since.

All this took time, and it was late at night before we reached the ranch. It was our habit, when we got to the cabin and felt that it would be too much trouble to open our pack and get out our own supplies, to help ourselves from Mr. Button’s store. So, after we had put the horses in the barn and given them a liberal feed of oats and plenty of hay, we went into the larder to get something for our own supper, for by that time we were pretty hungry.

After supper I lay down on the absent lord’s blankets, and was smoking the pipe of peace, when a knock was heard at the door. It surprised me, as it was the custom of the country to walk in without the formality of knocking. I shouted, “Come in!” and a short, heavy-set man entered. He said that he had been overtaken by night, and as both he and his team were in need of food, rest, and shelter, he wanted to know whether we would take him in.

“Why, certainly,” I answered. I have noticed that most men are liberal with other men’s property. “I don’t own the ranch, but we have just put our horses in the barn, where there is plenty of hay and oats, and there is plenty of food here. George will show you the way to the barn and help you unhitch, and I will have supper ready when you return.”

He thanked me, and while they were putting up the team, I got a hot supper with materials from Mr. Button’s larder. This meal was greatly relished by our midnight guest.

I returned to the bed and my pipe, and was entering into a lively conversation with the stranger, when the thought suddenly flashed into my head, What if this man owns the ranch? I sprang from the bed on the instant, and fired pointblank the question, “Do you know Lee Button?”