"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?"

"All the birds start screeching, warning each other that there's a potentially dangerous intruder."

"They're quiet now, even though they see us," said Holliday. "What does that mean?"

"It means that something that can reach them is in the area," answered Roosevelt, "and they don't want to call attention to themselves."

"I don't buy it," said Holliday. "Some of these trees are eighty, maybe ninety feet tall. Even a full-grown brontosaur couldn't reach them, and you tell me he's a vegetarian anyway. The only way a tyrannosaur could reach one would be to climb the tree, and there's no way it could hold his weight."

"I'm just telling you what my training as a naturalist tells me, Doc."

"I've got a question," said Holliday, brushing some flying insects away from his face, "The brontosaur was a grass-eater or the equivalent, so why did they resurrect him?"

"The elephant's a herbivore too," said Roosevelt with a smile. "Have you any idea how much damage even one of them can do?"

"I know," said Holliday. "But if they're resurrecting them, surely they could choose all tyrannosaurs."

"Maybe not. Only our Apache friend would know for sure, and I haven't seen him since we signed the treaty."

Holliday nodded. "He's been scarce. I gather the second he lets his guard down, their spells will pull him part or chop him to pieces or whatever the hell one medicine man's spells do to another."

"You know," said Roosevelt with an amused smile, "Cody talks about putting you in his show, or Cole Younger, or Annie Oakley, but after spending a few days here I'm convinced the one he really wants is Geronimo."

"He'd draw a crowd, that's for sure," agreed Holliday. "Hell, he might do it one of these days. He's signed the treaty, and once we kill the dinosaurs or they kill us, he's got nothing else much to do." He frowned. "Why the hell did these madmen come all the way out here to dig? I know they've found dinosaurs back East. They both told me so."

"There are different ones out here," answered Roosevelt. "Bigger ones, I gather. And they're not digging up front lawns or public parks or valuable farmland to get to them." Suddenly he grinned. "Besides, you ought to be happier than anyone that they're digging out here."

Holliday frowned. "Why?"

"The way you tell it, you'd be dead by now if they hadn't started digging up the wrong turf."

"At least it'd be over now," replied Holliday. "Now I get to do it all over again, all for a year of lousy health and monsters from hell." He grimaced. "It was a poor bargain."

Suddenly Roosevelt held up a hand, indicating silence. Holliday concentrated, but couldn't hear anything. Roosevelt remained tense for another half minute, then relaxed.

"What was it?" asked Holliday.

"I thought I heard some-I don't know-some high-pitched whistling sound." Roosevelt frowned. "Not like any sound we've heard before."

"From what direction?"

Roosevelt shrugged. "I'm not sure. North, maybe northeast." He shrugged. "Maybe not." He pulled his rifle out of its sheath. "I think we'll carry these out in the open, just to be on the safe side."

Holliday decided there was nothing safe about carrying the extra weight while sitting atop his horse, and he simply let Roosevelt ride a few yards ahead of him, confident that he could withdraw his rifle in a hurry if he needed it. He wasn't sure that he would need it, or that it would be much use against any creature that could reach the birds on their perches at the tops of the trees that surrounded him.

As always, Roosevelt stopped his horse every few minutes to study a bird or draw a new flower or plant in his ever-present notebook. "Black bear sign," he said, pointing to some stool just off the trail.

Holliday couldn't see how it was different from grizzly stool, or even dog stool for that matter, but he was afraid if he asked, Roosevelt would spend twenty minutes explaining the difference, and he figured the sooner they found a dinosaur or decided there weren't any in the vicinity, the sooner he could get off his horse and relax. He pulled out his flask, and was just about to put it to his lips when Roosevelt suddenly whispered: "There!"

Holliday looked ahead and saw nothing. He turned right, then left, and still couldn't see anything.

"Where?" he whispered.

"Up!"

Roosevelt pointed to the sky, and suddenly Holliday was able to make out the biggest bird he'd ever seen-and as it glided closer he realized that it wasn't a bird at all.

"My God, it's big!" he said.

"It's a pteranodon!" said Roosevelt excitedly.

"A what?"

"A species of flying dinosaur. Marsh discovered it about ten years ago. I've seen the artists' renderings."

"Damned thing has a twenty-foot wingspan," said Holliday, still staring at it.

"Well, now we know why all the birds have been quiet," said Roosevelt, putting his rifle to his shoulder and lining up the pteranodon in his sights.

The creature opened its mouth and emitted a harsh whistling sound. Suddenly it dove behind a treetop, obscuring it from Roosevelt's vision before he could pull the trigger. But it appeared a few seconds later with a bird in its mouth, and as it did so Roosevelt fired his rifle.

The pteranodon released the bird, which was either dead or crippled, and the two plummeted to the ground about sixty yards away. Roosevelt rode up, dismounted, and in keeping with his philosophy, "paid the insurance" by pulling his pistol and firing a bullet into the dinosaur's head. There was no reaction, nor did he expect one.

"By God, this fellow is going to look great in the foyer at Sagamore Hill!" enthused Roosevelt.

"What the hell are you talking about?" said Holliday.

"I'm a taxidermist, Doc."

"That, too?"

"And I'm going to be the first man ever to stuff and mount a dinosaur. There's no way I could do it with any of the others we've seen, but this fellow is small enough to fit in a boxcar once we're done here."

"You're really going to take it home with you?"

"Absolutely. I wish we had a photographer with us. If I could get a photo of me with my foot on his neck and my rifle in my hands, I could have it in every newspaper east of the Mississippi-at least those that are advanced enough to run photographs."

A smile spread across Holliday's face. "You are running for office again, aren't you?"

"Probably," said Roosevelt. "And whether it's in a week or a decade, a photo like that wouldn't grow old." He paused, frowning. "I hate to call a halt to things, but I've got to get this baby back to camp. If we both leave it unguarded, I'm sure predators will rip it to shreds. I'll be happy to stay here and stand guard over it if you'll ride back to camp and come back with a team of horses and a wagon."

"I'll stay, Theodore," said Holliday promptly.

"You're sure?"

"It's an easy decision," said Holliday with a smile. "What would I rather do-ride that goddamned horse back to camp and then drive a wagon over this bumpy trail, or stay here and maybe come face-to-face with a hungry grizzly that's caught the scent of your trophy?"

Roosevelt shrugged. "Okay," he said, mounting his horse. "I'll be back as soon as I can."

"Not a problem," said Holliday. "Neither me or the dinosaur are going anywhere."

Roosevelt kicked his horse with his heels and it began cantering back along the trail. Holliday dismounted, tied his reins to a thin, low-hanging branch, and sat down with his back propped against a tree. Then remembering what he was about to do when Roosevelt had spotted the pteranodon, pulled out his flask, and took a swig.

"Damned good," he muttered, staring at the flask. "Or at least damned welcome."