by Mike Resnick
“I wish you good luck in finding one,” said Holliday.
Younger was about to reply when they heard a very strange, very loud bellowing coming from the direction of a nearby river.
“God damn!” said Holliday. “Another one—and our weapons are empty. We'd better get back to camp and round up some rifles fast!”
“What about them?” asked Younger, indicating Cope and Marsh.
“You think you could make ’em leave?” asked Holliday. “Be my guest.”
“You've got a point,” agreed Younger.
But before they'd gone fifty yards Roosevelt, sitting atop his horse, galloped past them.
“What the hell does he think he's doing?” asked Younger.
“I don't know,” replied Holliday. “But whatever it is, he's got a reason. He's always got a reason.”
“If he's going to play at being bait, I hope whatever's out there is slower than his horse.”
“I'll second that,” said Holliday, starting to walk after him, followed by Younger.
“We're crazy, you know,” said Younger. “Here we are on foot, with a pair of pistols to face something that dwarfs an elephant.”
“I've got a knife, too,” said Holliday with a smile.
Younger snorted a laugh. “Well, if it eats us right now, at least people can say we died grinning.”
Suddenly they heard trees and bushes crashing, and thundering footsteps came to their ears—and then into the clearing burst a brontosaur, an immature one that weighed about thirty tons with a head that towered some eighteen feet above the ground.
Holliday aimed his pistol at it, though he knew it was an exercise in futility, and just before he pulled the trigger he noticed that the huge sauropod was leaning to its right.
“I'll be damned!” exclaimed Younger. “Look!”
And suddenly the brontosaur turned just enough that Holliday could see Roosevelt riding alongside it, and hanging on to the end of a lasso that he'd somehow thrown over the creature's head.
“Stand back, Doc!” he yelled. “I'm taking him to the river. Once he wades in he won't feel threatened and there'll be lots for him to eat!”
Holliday moved a few yards back to make sure he wouldn't be sideswiped by the brontosaur's enormous tail. A moment later Roosevelt and the creature were out of sight, and a moment after that he could hear the sound of a massive splash.
“Son of a gun!” exclaimed Younger. “What do you make of that, Doc?”
Holliday shook his head in wonderment.
“That damned cowboy never ceases to amaze me,” he said. He sighed deeply. “Let's go grab some breakfast before the next one shows up.”
BOTH FACTIONS HAD JUST FINISHED BREAKFAST. Holliday was sitting in the shade of a tree, his back to the trunk. He'd actually eaten some food rather than drinking his breakfast, and he wasn't sure how he felt. Different, to be sure. But better? He was still trying to make up his mind.
Roosevelt sat nearby, trading hunting stories with Cody, who hadn't left camp yet but reiterated every few minutes that he was now a free agent. Younger had broken his pistols and rifle apart and was cleaning them against the next time he had to face a dinosaur. Marsh was a few feet away, while Cope was still with the remains of the triceratops.
“I'm surprised you're back here,” said Edison, wandering over from the other side of the campsite, which Holliday viewed as “Cope's side.”
“I'll be going back later.”
“The brontosaur, or whatever it was, may be gone by then,” suggested Edison.
“It's my conviction that they spent most of their time in water. I've examined their femurs, and they simply aren't built for carrying seventy or eighty tons all day long. To say nothing of the muscle fatigue caused by lugging that weight around.”
Edison frowned. “I understand your words, Professor, but I don't quite see what you're saying.”
“I'm saying I don't have to rush back because I know where the creature will be,” answered Marsh. “Standing in the river, where the water will help him handle that bulk. Also, our friend Theodore gave him quite a scare. He won't come out for hours because for all he knows Theodore is waiting for him.”
“I didn't see him, of course,” said Edison. “But you make him sound very predictable.”
“This is my field, Mr. Edison,” replied Marsh. “But even that charlatan Cope could have told you this. When you're eighty tons and buoyant, you find water that can accommodate your need for buoyancy.”
“I hope you're right,” said Edison.
“He'd damned well better be,” said Younger, still polishing the firing mechanism of the rifle. “Believe me, Mr. Edison, you don't want that critter coming through camp here. He could probably kill forty men with a swipe of his tail and never even notice he'd done it.”
Marsh walked over to Roosevelt. “Do you mind if I sit down next to you, sir?” he asked.
“Be my guest,” replied Roosevelt.
“Thank you,” said Marsh, carefully lowering himself to the ground. “That was some remarkable heroics you displayed this morning, sir.”
“It was an interesting experience,” replied Roosevelt.
“It was much more than that,” said Marsh. “I would expect no less of a Harvard man.”
“Coming from a Yale man, that's high praise indeed,” said Roosevelt with a smile.
“We have more in common than you think,” replied Marsh. “Especially in these surroundings.”
“I don't think surroundings have much to do with the quality of a man's mind,” answered Roosevelt, wondering where the conversation was heading.
“Ah, but no schools turn out better minds than Yale and Harvard!” said Marsh.
“Harvard and Yale, please, Professor,” said Roosevelt with what was becoming a trademark grin. “Harvard and Yale.”
“Harvard and Yale,” conceded Marsh, which seemed to make Roosevelt even warier, for in his experience such a concession was unheard-of. “I'm glad that even in these surroundings we can converse like two civilized men.”
“True,” said Roosevelt, eyeing him suspiciously.
“In fact, you have so impressed me that I think I should be happy to have my principals fund a major endowment for Harvard.”
“That's very generous of you,” said Roosevelt.
“Ask him who you have to kill for it,” said Holliday, who'd been listening from where he sat.
“Hold your tongue, murderer!” snapped Marsh, glaring at him. He turned back to Roosevelt. “How does this idea of an endowment sound to you, sir?”
“Dr. Holliday may lack a little something in tact and restraint,” said Roosevelt, “but he does pose an interesting question. Is this endowment out of the goodness of your heart, or am I expected to do something for it?”
“All you have to do is support my claim to ownership of any dinosaur you kill or capture.”
Roosevelt laughed aloud. “You have to work on your subtlety, my friend from Yale.”
“You haven't heard the size of the endowment,” said Marsh.
“I don't have to,” answered Roosevelt. “The answer is no.”
Marsh was silent for a moment. Then: “What is that scum paying you?”
“Not a thing.”
Marsh frowned. “Then I don't understand.”
“I know it's going to be difficult for the two leading paleontologists in the country to understand, but I'm not here to help either of you collect specimens. I'm here to save innocent people from a hideous fate that they did nothing to deserve, that may be visited upon them solely because you and Mr. Cope are desecrating a sacred burial ground.”
“Professor Cope,” said Marsh almost automatically.
“I'll call the two of you Professors when you stop acting like spoiled and petulant children and begin acting like mature, educated men.”
Marsh was silent for a long minute, seemingly lost in thought. Roosevelt was sure he was about to apologize for his behavior. Finally he turned to Roosevelt and
said, “Are you sure you won't consider my offer?”
“Mr. Marsh,” said Roosevelt, “I don't use vile and obscene language, but you are tempting me almost beyond endurance!”
“I think Mr. Roosevelt has politely declined your offer,” noted Holliday in amused tones.
“All right,” said Marsh. “What would you want for the same thing?”
“Me?” said Holliday. “Eternal life. Failing that, twenty years of good health.” A bitter smile crossed his face. “Do we have a deal?”
“Bah!” snorted Marsh. “You're almost as intolerable as that swine!”
“Roosevelt?” asked Holliday.
“No, the other swine!”
“You're in remarkably poor humor today, even for you,” noted Holliday. “We did kill a triceratops, you know. You can spend all week measuring him and drawing him and cutting him into small, bite-sized pieces.”
“You know,” said Roosevelt, “we really have to get you and Mr. Cope out of here. The weapons Tom and Ned made for us might or might not kill one or two dinosaurs, but then they can't be used again for a day, and one or two herbivores like the triceratops or the brontosaur might unintentionally kill half the camp before anyone could do a thing about it.”
“The land is empty,” said Marsh adamantly. “I don't know where these few dinosaurs have come from, but there's nothing else out there.”
“That's true right now,” said Roosevelt. “But it may not be true this afternoon and it certainly won't be true tomorrow. We've got to move your men out.”
“I'm not going anywhere, and neither is Professor Cope!” snarled Marsh angrily.
“You are, you know,” said Holliday.
“You can't make me go!”
“Actually, we can and we will,” said Roosevelt. “The longer you stay, the longer you put innocent men and women in danger.”
“My men are all here voluntarily, and so are Professor Cope's!”
“I'm not talking about them,” answered Roosevelt.
“We're staying!” insisted Marsh. “This is the opportunity of a lifetime!”
“That lifetime is of very limited duration,” said Roosevelt.
“If you put us under guard we'll escape and come back,” said Marsh angrily. “If you tie us up and carry us out on the wagons, we'll make our way back as soon as we're free. Even if you take us all the way back to the Eastern seaboard, we'll be back!”
“Why don't you just go to Colorado like a reasonable man?” said Holliday.
“Colorado's next,” answered Marsh. “But Colorado doesn't have live dinosaurs and Wyoming does!”
“Colorado's got live men, and it won't be long before this part of Wyoming doesn't,” said Holliday.
“Bah!” said Marsh. He got to his feet, walked to his tent, and disappeared inside it.
“That was some hullabaloo,” said Younger, walking over and joining them. “Professor Marsh, he yells even louder than Professor Cope.”
“He's going to yell a lot louder when we tie him up and toss him in the back of a wagon,” said Holliday with a grin.
“So you're working for Professor Cope now?” asked Younger.
Roosevelt shook his head. “We're not working for any white man or any Comanche. Cope has to leave, too.”
Younger frowned. “What the hell's going on?”
“Think about it, Cole,” said Holliday. “You've seen what's walking around in these parts. Do you really want to stay?”
Younger considered the question for a moment, frowning. “When you put it that way, I guess we'd be crazy to stay, wouldn't we?” he said at last.
“I guess we would,” agreed Holliday.
“OK,” said Younger. “I'll go get Professor Cope, and we'll start packing up.”
“May I make a suggestion?” said Roosevelt.
Younger turned to him. “Sure.”
“Pack up before you tell him he's leaving. Every time you turn your back on him, he'll be off looking for dinosaurs.” He paused. “Marsh, too,” he added thoughtfully. “But if they have to come after us for their equipment, maybe we can actually get them the hell out of here.”
“Yeah, I guess it makes sense when you put it that way,” agreed Younger.
Suddenly an agonized scream came to their ears, followed by another in a difference voice just seconds later.
Roosevelt and Younger ran in the direction of the screams, followed by Holliday, who was in no condition to run.
When they arrived at the source, they saw that the side of Edison and Buntline's tent had been shredded. They burst in and found Edison propped up against a support pole, the left leg of his pants shredded and soaked in blood.
“Never mind me!” he rasped. “Help Ned!”
Buntline lay on the floor, a deep wound on his right side, blood spilling out.
“What the hell happened?” asked Younger as Roosevelt went to work on Buntline, who screamed in pain the instant Roosevelt touched him.
“Something small,” grated Edison. “It just ripped the side of the tent and went after us before we knew it was there.” He winced as Younger started applying a tourniquet around his calf. “It looked like…oh, hell, I don't know…a tiny tyrannosaur, but it moved much faster and was lightly built.”
“Where is it now?” asked Holliday, who had just arrived. “Did you kill it?”
Edison shook his head. “The weapons are in the trunk, being charged. He was on us before we even knew he was there.”
“This man's bleeding a lot,” said Roosevelt grimly. “And there's no way we're going to be able to work on him under sterile conditions.” He turned to Holliday. “Doc, find every bottle of whiskey they've got stashed here and bring ’em back. We'll use some on his wound and Tom's leg, and we'll pour the rest down Ned's gullet so he feels less pain.”
“He's out cold,” said Holliday, looking at Buntline. “Damn! He's a mess!”
“Being out cold is a blessing, but we've got a lot of work to do. Get the whiskey!”
Holliday nodded and headed off for Cope's cache of liquor, while the rest of the men gathered around the tent, looking in when they could, whispering among themselves.
Marsh forced his way past the men into the tent, took one look at Buntline, realized he was unconscious, and turned to Edison.
“What did it look like?” he said. “Mammal, reptile, or dinosaur?”
“It had to be a dinosaur,” answered Edison, wincing as Younger cut his pants leg off at mid-thigh with a hunting knife. “Like I told Theodore, it looked like a baby tyrannosaur, or your drawing of an allosaur.”
Marsh nodded. “One of the raptors,” he said with certainty. “They come in all sizes.” He turned to look at Buntline again. “Mr. Roosevelt, you're making a mess of this man's wounds. Let me do it. I've had some medical experience.”
Roosevelt, his hands and sleeves covered with blood, gratefully straightened up and let Marsh kneel down next to Buntline, just as Holliday arrived with four bottles of whiskey.
“There's more,” he said. “But this is all I could carry.”
“It's a start, anyway,” replied Roosevelt. He took a step out of the tent and faced the assembled men. “We've got a man in bad shape here,” he said. “I'd like some of you to donate some clean shirts that we can use as swabs and bandages. If anyone's got any tape or any real bandages, bring them to the tent.”
A few of the men left for their own tents to bring back the required goods or at least search for them. Roosevelt caught Holliday's eye and walked about thirty yards away, where they could speak in low tones without being overheard.
“There's no way we can move Ned for a week, even if he survives, and I don't even think Tom should move for another couple of days,” he said. “We need another plan.”
“I agree,” said Holliday.
“And if we're stuck here a week, you know that we're going to see more dinosaurs, more than we can handle with Tom and Ned's weapons.”
“Which means we're going to have to go
find some of these creatures before they find us, and see if they can actually be killed by a shot fired from a rifle.”
Roosevelt nodded. “We already know a six-gun's ineffective against the big ones, though from Tom's description it might have worked against the creature that attacked them. Anyway,” he continued, “it's something we've got to find out. If we can kill one of the big ones, then we'll be able to position the men to guard the camp until Ned dies or is well enough to move. But if we can't kill something like a tyrannosaur or one of Marsh's allosaurs, then we have a serious decision to make.”
“I know,” replied Holliday. “Desert him, or stay here and die with him.”
“The sooner we find out what our options are, the better,” said Roosevelt. “Are you ready to go on a little hunt?”
“Yeah,” said Holliday, walking to the stabling area with Roosevelt. “I'll borrow a rifle and some bullets, and I'm ready.”
A moment later they were riding out of camp, side by side, when suddenly Holliday emitted a chuckle.
“What is it?” asked Roosevelt.
“Ever since I came out West I wondered what it would be like to face an enemy who didn't have a six-gun or a rifle. Well,” said Holliday with a rueful smile, “I guess I'm about to find out.”
THEY WERE THREE MILES OUT OF CAMP, and hadn't seen anything but a few birds.
“I got a feeling this is going to be an exercise in futility,” remarked Holliday as they passed through a small forest. “There's nothing alive in these trees except the occasional bird.”
“That's a good sign, Doc,” replied Roosevelt.
“Anything that means we don't have to face a dinosaur with a pair of rifles is a good sign,” agreed Holliday.
Roosevelt shook his head. “You're misunderstanding me. It's a good sign because they know something big and dangerous is afoot. That's why they're all so quiet.”
“Bigger and more dangerous than us?” asked Holliday grimly.
“Yes. Think about it, Doc. When you enter a forest, what's the first thing that happens?”
Holliday simply stared at him. “I give up. What is the first thing that happens?”
