Archive of Our Own

In 1937, North Fork had electric light in the hotel lobby, a gasoline pump beside the livery, and a radio in the barber shop that could pull a dance band out of Chicago when the weather was right. Mark McCain distrusted all three innovations on principle and used two of them regularly. He rode into town a little before six on a copper-colored September evening, sitting a tall bay gelding with the easy economy of a man who had spent more of his life in a saddle than out of one.

The Winchester rode in its scabbard beneath his right knee. It was not his father's rifle. That one had been retired years ago, cleaned and wrapped and kept where memory could not wear it out. But this rifle had the same straight stock and familiar balance, and Mark's hand still knew exactly where it was without looking. Beside him rode Ruth. She was twenty-two, long-legged, dark-haired, and presently furious with a hat. The hat had belonged to her for three years.

The wind had objected to it for most of that time. "If that thing comes off again," Mark said, "I'm leaving it."

"You said that outside Socorro." "I meant it outside Socorro." "You stopped."

"You looked pitiful." "I was threatening the hat." "You were standing in the road with your hands on your hips."

"Exactly. Threatening." Mark smiled despite himself. North Fork's main street opened ahead of them between weathered false fronts and newer brick. Some things had changed. The old general store had a plate-glass window now. A motion-picture poster outside the hotel promised BUCK JONES in a picture Ruth had already seen twice. The hitching rail in front of the sheriff's office had been replaced by two painted parking spaces, though somebody had tied a mule to the NO PARKING sign.

Some things had not changed at all. Dust still found its way into everything. Men still stopped talking when strangers rode in. And the mountains west of town still caught the last sunlight in a way that made Mark feel, briefly and helplessly, twelve years old. Ruth noticed. "You all right?"

"Fine." "Papa." He looked at her. She nodded toward the mountains. Mark sighed. "Your grandfather used to bring me down that road."

"I know." "First time I saw North Fork, I thought it was the biggest town in the territory." Ruth looked along the street. "You were a very impressionable child."

"I was eight." "Still." A voice boomed from the sheriff's doorway. "McCain!"

Ben Carver came down the steps before Mark had fully dismounted. He was broad through the middle now, his hair almost entirely white, but the handshake was the same: hard, dry, and impatient with ceremony. "You took your time."

"Your letter said come when I could." "My letter assumed you could immediately." Ruth swung from the saddle. Carver's face changed. "Good Lord. Ruthie?"

"Don't call me Ruthie." "Last time I saw you, you were stealing peaches from my yard." "I was six."

"You stole all the ripe ones." "They were strategically selected." Carver hugged her anyway. Then he stepped back and looked at Mark. The warmth went out of his face. "Come inside."

Mark glanced toward Ruth. She had seen it too. No jokes now. They tied the horses in the alley and entered the office. Carver shut the door, lowered the blind, and took something from the bottom drawer of his desk. It was a plaster cast. He placed it between them. Ruth leaned over first. The impression had three long toes. Each ended in a deep pointed mark. The whole thing was nearly two feet from heel to claw. Mark did not touch it.

"Where?" "Bitter Wash." "Bear?"

Carver gave him a look. "I know what a bear track looks like." "Cat?"

"Mark." Ruth measured it with her spread hand. "What made this?"

"If I knew that, I wouldn't have written you." Carver went to the stove, though the evening was warm, and poured coffee from a pot that had plainly been there since noon. "Bar-T lost three cows in ten days. First one, everybody blamed wolves. Second one, we stopped blaming wolves. Third was yesterday morning."

"How were they killed?" Ruth asked. Carver hesitated. "Bad."

"Ben." "Something crushed the ribs on one. Another was opened from shoulder to belly. Third one's just gone. Blood, drag marks, then nothing."

"Nothing?" "Trail reaches stone." Mark looked again at the cast. "Anybody see anything?"

"Old Tom Heller says he saw something crossing the ridge after moonrise." "What kind of something?" "He says it ran on two legs."

Ruth looked up. Carver drank his coffee. "Tom also says Herbert Hoover personally ruined his well."

"Did Hoover?" "No." "Then perhaps we separate the testimony."

Carver almost smiled. Almost. He opened another drawer and removed a folded piece of brown paper. Inside lay three dark objects. Mark picked one up. A claw. Or something like one. Curved, black at the tip, ridged along one side. Ruth's expression had gone very still. "Where'd you get this?"

"Embedded in the hide of the second steer." Mark turned it beneath the desk lamp. "You show this to anybody?"

"Doc Haines. He said it wasn't from anything he knew. Then he suggested I stop drinking."

"Good advice generally." "McCain." Mark put the claw down. Outside, a truck passed along Main Street. Its engine rattled the window glass. Somebody laughed near the hotel. A radio played faintly through an open door. Ordinary sounds. Mark suddenly disliked all of them. "When do we ride out?"

Carver looked relieved. "First light." Ruth picked up the plaster cast. "Tonight."

Both men looked at her. She pointed toward the window. "Ground's dry. Wind's coming up. If there are tracks, they'll be worse by morning."

Carver looked at Mark. Mark looked at his daughter. She raised an eyebrow. He had taught her tracking. He had taught her shooting. He had taught her that evidence did not wait politely for daylight. There were moments in fatherhood when a man was punished with his own lessons. "Get the horses," he said. Ruth grinned. Carver groaned. "Lucas would've blamed you for this."

Mark took his hat from the peg. "No. He'd have blamed himself."

They reached the Bar-T under the first stars. The ranch sat six miles north of town where the open grass began to break into red shelves of stone. Lanterns burned at the barn. Nobody was sleeping. Tom Heller met them at the gate with a shotgun. He was seventy, bow-legged, and offended by almost everything modern. "That's her," he said, pointing at Ruth. Ruth stopped. "That's who?"

"McCain girl." "Last I checked." "Hear you shoot."

"Sometimes." "Good?" Mark coughed into his fist. Ruth smiled sweetly. "Sometimes."

Heller grunted and led them behind the barn. The dead steer lay beneath canvas. Mark lifted one corner. He had seen cattle killed by wolves, cats, rustlers, lightning, floodwater, disease, and stupidity. This was none of those. The ribs on the left side had been broken inward. Not bitten through. Broken. Ruth crouched near the shoulder. "Papa."

She pointed. Three parallel cuts ran through hide and muscle. Mark laid his fingers beside them without touching. "Too wide for a cat."

"Too clean for wire." Carver held the lantern closer. Heller shifted uneasily. "I told you what I saw."

Mark lowered the canvas. "Tell me again." "Moon was up. I heard cattle bawling. Came out with this."

He tapped the shotgun. "Saw something on the ridge. Tall. Tail behind it."

"How tall?" Heller looked toward the barn roof. "Not that tall."

"Helpful." "Maybe ten feet when it stood up. Maybe more."

"Stood up?" "Ran that way." He demonstrated with two fingers walking upright. Ruth's eyes met Mark's. Neither laughed. They found the tracks fifty yards beyond the pasture fence. The first print was faint. The second was unmistakable. Three toes. Deep claw marks. The same shape as Carver's plaster cast. Ruth knelt and took a small ruler from her coat. "Twenty-one inches."

Mark examined the fence. The top wire was intact. "No hair."

Carver said, "Could've gone under." Mark pointed to the ground. "No disturbance."

"Then how'd it cross?" Mark looked into the darkness beyond the fence. "It stepped over."

Nobody said anything for a while. Far out in Bitter Wash, something cried. It was not a howl. It began low, climbed into a harsh barking shriek, and stopped so suddenly that the silence afterward seemed manufactured. Heller cocked his shotgun. Carver whispered, "You ever hear that?"

Mark had already drawn the Winchester. "No." Ruth's rifle came into her hands. "No," she said. "But I think it heard us."

Morning showed them what darkness had hidden. The tracks crossed the Bar-T pasture in a wandering line, not like an animal hunting and not like one fleeing. Whatever had made them had stopped beside the watering trough. It had circled the barn. It had approached within thirty yards of the ranch house while four people slept inside. Mark disliked that most of all. Ruth rode ahead with Tom Heller while Mark and Carver followed the sign.

The old rancher had decided overnight that he approved of her, largely because she had not laughed at him. "Your father tell you I once beat his father at horseshoes?" Heller called. "No."

"Twice." Mark said, "Once." "Second game was interrupted."

"By you leaving." "Still counts." Ruth turned in the saddle. "I'm beginning to understand why Grandpa never told that story."

The trail entered Bitter Wash shortly before ten. Here the earth changed from grass and dust to packed red clay. The tracks sharpened. Ruth dismounted. "There's another set."

Mark came down beside her. Smaller prints crossed the larger trail. Much smaller. Carver looked from one to the other. "Young one?"

"Could be," Mark said. Ruth studied the spacing. "No. Different stride."

She followed the smaller tracks twenty yards. "These are faster. See how the toes dig?"

Mark nodded. The trail vanished among stones. Ruth remained crouched. "You know what bothers me?"

"Several things presently." "The balance." "What balance?"

She drew a line in the dirt. "If it walks on two legs, there ought to be something countering the weight." "A tail."

"Like Heller saw." Carver stared at her. "You're both accepting this remarkably fast."

Mark mounted again. "I'm accepting tracks." "And the scream?"

"Heard a scream." "And the steer?" "Saw a steer."

Carver shook his head. "You McCains could make Judgment Day sound like weather." They rode deeper into the wash. At noon they found the missing Bar-T cow. Most of it. Buzzards had gathered in the cottonwoods but would not descend. Mark understood why when he saw the ground. The cow had been killed where it stood. There was no sign of a prolonged struggle. One enormous print had landed beside the body. Another was partly beneath it.

Ruth circled wide. "Papa, don't come over yet." Mark stopped. She moved carefully among the rocks, eyes down. Then she beckoned. On a patch of damp sand beside a spring was a different track. Three toes again. But this one was enormous. Mark placed his boot inside it. There was room left around the heel. Carver took off his hat. "How big?"

Ruth measured. "Thirty-two inches." Heller whispered something Mark did not catch. Mark did. It was a prayer. The great track pointed north. Toward the broken mesas. Toward country that local riders avoided because there was no reason to go there. Mark looked at the horizon. A black volcanic ridge cut across it like an old scar. "Diablo Blanco,"

Heller said. Carver glanced at him. "Nobody calls it that anymore."

"I do." "Why?" Heller spat into the dust. "Because I'm not fool enough to rename something just because I stopped believing the stories."

Ruth turned. "What stories?" Heller mounted. "Ask me somewhere else."

They camped that night beside a dry creek. Nobody suggested returning to town. Carver tried once to make coffee and was removed from the task by unanimous vote. Ruth sat cross-legged beside the fire cleaning her rifle. Mark watched her for a while. "What?"

"You've cleaned that twice." "Three times." "Nervous?"

"No." "Ruth." She looked at him. "Interested."

"That's worse." She smiled. Then her expression softened. "Did Grandpa ever see anything he couldn't explain?"

Mark thought about it. "Plenty." "Like this?"

"No." "How do you know?" "Because if he'd seen a thirty-two-inch three-toed track, I'd have heard the story every birthday until I died."

Carver snorted. Mark looked into the fire. "Your grandfather wasn't afraid of not knowing something."

Ruth waited. "He'd say ignorance was temporary if you were willing to look. Foolishness was deciding the answer before you did."

"That sounds like him." "You never met him." "I've met you."

Mark looked up. Ruth shrugged. "Close enough sometimes."

He did not answer immediately. That was the trouble with children. They learned where to put a sentence so a father could not easily defend himself against it. A horse snorted. Then another. Mark's hand moved toward the rifle. Across the creek, Heller's mare backed against her picket rope. Ruth was already standing. The night went completely still. Something clicked among the rocks. Not loudly. A dry, rapid sound. Click-click-click.

Carver whispered, "Rattler?" Mark shook his head. The clicking moved. Too high. Ruth turned slowly. Two yellow eyes reflected firelight from the far bank. They were perhaps four feet above the ground. Then another pair appeared. And another. Ruth said very quietly, "Papa."

"I see them." The first animal stepped into the firelight. It was no taller than a large dog at the hip, but longer, balanced on powerful hind legs with a stiff tail behind it. Fine feathering ran along its neck and forearms. Its narrow head tilted with birdlike curiosity. Carver's mouth opened. The creature clicked. Three more answered from the dark. Mark raised the Winchester. "Nobody fires unless they come."

Heller whispered, "What in hell is that?" Ruth stared at the animal. "I have an idea."

"Keep it until later." The little predator took another step. Then it saw the hanging side of bacon. Its head snapped toward it. Ruth almost laughed. "Well. At least somebody likes your cooking, Ben."

The animal sprang. Carver fired. And the night exploded.

Carver's shot went high. The little animal twisted in midair with astonishing speed and vanished behind the chuck wagon. Three more rushed from the creek. "Horses!"

Mark shouted. Heller ran for the picket line. Ruth moved left. Mark saw what she was doing and hated that she was right. The predators were not charging blindly. They were spreading. One darted behind a cottonwood. Another circled toward the horses. A third crouched low beside the creek. Pack hunters. "Ruth!"

"I know!" The one beside the creek launched itself. Ruth fired once. It folded in the air and struck the ground hard enough to roll. Mark fired at the animal near the horses. His bullet hit the earth before its feet, throwing dust into its face. It veered. He did not want to kill them if he did not have to. Then one came over the chuck wagon. Carver shouted. The animal landed on the wagon bed, claws scraping wood, and snapped at his shoulder.

Mark fired. The shot struck behind the jaw. The creature dropped instantly. The remaining animals fled. Not chaotically. Together. Clicking to one another as they disappeared among the rocks. Nobody moved for several seconds. Heller still held three horse ropes in one hand. Carver looked at the dead animal beside the wagon. "I missed."

"Yes," Ruth said. "I was startled."

"Yes." "I generally shoot better." "I've heard."

Carver glared. Mark lowered his rifle. "Everybody whole?"

Heller nodded. Ruth checked Carver's shoulder. The creature's teeth had torn his coat but not broken skin. "Lucky."

"I prefer skilled." "You missed." Carver pointed at Mark. "Your daughter has become unpleasant."

"She was born that way." Ruth gasped theatrically. Then all three looked at the carcass. The humor drained away. Up close, the animal was stranger. Feathers covered much of its body, but the tail was scaled. The feet were unmistakably birdlike, each with a curved inner claw held slightly raised. Its forelimbs ended in grasping fingers. Ruth knelt. "Don't touch the mouth."

"I wasn't going to." "You were absolutely going to." She took a pencil from her pocket and gently lifted one feather. "Papa."

Mark crouched beside her. "You said you had an idea." "I read about these."

"Where?" "College." "That narrows it down."

"Fossils." Carver stared at her. Ruth looked at the dead animal. "Dinosaurs."

Heller laughed once. Nobody joined him. He stopped. "Those are dead."

"This one is now." "Ruth." She looked at Mark. "I don't know what else to call it."

Mark studied the narrow skull, the teeth, the long balancing tail. He remembered museum skeletons. He remembered illustrations in Ruth's books when she was younger. He remembered thinking the creatures looked impossible even as bones. "Then we find somebody who does know."

Ruth nodded. "Professor Bell." "Who?"

"Amelia Bell. Paleontology department in Santa Fe. She lectured at college."

"Will she come?" Ruth looked around the camp. "Send her a photograph."

Carver said, "We don't have a camera." Heller pointed toward the dead dinosaur. "Send her that."

Mark stared at him. Heller shrugged. "Express freight."

They brought the carcass into North Fork wrapped in canvas and packed with ice. The station agent refused to put it in the freight room. The butcher refused to lend them more ice after Carver explained why. The undertaker offered space in his back room until Ruth told him it was not human. By noon the dinosaur was lying on a table in Doc Haines's surgery while six grown men stood around it pretending not to be frightened. Doc Haines adjusted his spectacles.

"I've never seen anything like it." Carver said, "That's becoming a popular medical opinion." Ruth had spent the morning making sketches. Mark watched her work. She measured everything twice. Claw length. Jaw. Tail. Feather structure. "You're enjoying this."

She did not look up. "Immensely." "Something tried to eat Ben."

"Scientifically." Carver said, "I heard that." The telegraph clerk entered with a message. "Reply from Santa Fe."

Ruth stood so quickly her chair tipped over. The message was brief. ARRIVING EVENING TRAIN STOP DO NOT DISSECT SPECIMEN STOP DO NOT ALLOW NEWSPAPERS STOP FOR GODS SAKE DO NOT LOSE IT STOP BELL Carver read it. "I like her already."

By four, everybody in town knew. Nobody knew because the sheriff had told them. Everybody knew because North Fork was a town. A dozen people gathered outside the surgery. Somebody claimed it was a Mexican lizard. Somebody else said an ostrich. A boy named Eddie Mills told his friends it had eaten three men and breathed fire. Ruth came outside. "Eddie."

He froze. "It does not breathe fire." "How do you know?"

"I shot one." The crowd went silent. Eddie's eyes widened with religious intensity. "You shot a dragon?"

Ruth considered correcting him. Then she looked at Mark. Mark shook his head. Ruth said, "Yes."

By sunset, the dragon had eaten seven men. Mark decided North Fork had not changed much after all.

The evening train arrived twenty minutes late and brought Professor Amelia Bell, three suitcases, two wooden specimen cases, a camera, and an argument with the conductor. "I paid for the equipment compartment." "You paid for luggage."

"My equipment is luggage." "Ma'am, one of those crates weighs eighty pounds." "Then it is substantial luggage."

Ruth grinned before Bell even stepped onto the platform. Professor Bell was forty-three, compact, sun-browned, and dressed for fieldwork rather than academia. She wore trousers beneath a long coat, heavy boots, and spectacles that she pushed up her nose whenever somebody said something foolish. The conductor said something foolish. Bell pushed up her spectacles. Then she saw Ruth. "Miss McCain."

"Professor." "You said living tissue." "Was living."

"Show me." No handshake. No luggage. No hotel. They went directly to Doc Haines's surgery. Bell stopped in the doorway. For the first time since arriving, she said nothing. The carcass lay beneath electric light. She approached slowly. Touched one feather. Examined the feet. Opened the jaw. Measured the skull. Ruth stood beside her like a student waiting for an examination result. Mark stayed near the wall. Bell finally sat. Carver said, "Well?"

Bell removed her spectacles. "Either this is the most elaborate fraud in the history of American natural science..." Nobody spoke. "...or you have killed an animal whose nearest known relatives have been extinct for approximately seventy million years."

Carver leaned toward Mark. "That's a long time?" Bell heard him. "Yes, Sheriff."

"Thought so." Ruth asked, "What is it?" "Not exactly anything described."

Bell stood again. "Small theropod. Coelurosaurian features. Feathers. That enlarged claw is interesting."

"Raptor?" Ruth asked. Bell looked pleased. "Possibly analogous, though I dislike forcing living anatomy into fossil categories before examining it properly."

Carver rubbed his forehead. "Can we call it a dinosaur?" Bell considered. "Yes."

Carver pointed at Ruth. "Thank you." Bell turned. "You said there were larger tracks."

Ruth handed her measurements. Bell read them. Her expression changed. "Thirty-two inches?"

"Approximately." "Stride?" "Fourteen feet at the clearest section."

Bell looked at Mark. "Mr. McCain, what made those tracks?"

"If I knew, ma'am, we wouldn't have sent for you." "No. I mean what did it do?"

Mark understood. "Walked." "Not running?"

"No." Bell looked back at the numbers. "A bipedal animal making a print that size..."

She stopped. Carver said, "Professor?" Bell folded the paper. "I would very much like to see Bitter Wash."

Mark said, "Tomorrow." "Tonight." Ruth smiled. Mark looked from one woman to the other. "No."

They both stared at him. "Absolutely not." Bell said, "Mr. McCain-" "I've already lost that argument once today. I'm learning." Ruth folded her arms. Bell folded hers. Carver sat behind his desk and looked delighted. Mark sighed. "First light."

Bell opened her mouth. "First. Light."

Ruth whispered to Bell, "He can be stubborn." Mark said, "I heard that." "I intended you to."

Bell spent the night at the hotel and most of it awake. At breakfast she spread maps across a corner table while Ruth ate eggs and Mark drank coffee. One map was modern. One was not. The older sheet had been copied from an 1871 territorial survey. Bell tapped a blank region north of Bitter Wash. "Here."

Mark looked. "Diablo Blanco." Ruth glanced up. "Heller said that."

"Local name?" "Old one." Bell produced a notebook. "I found references on the train. Spanish mission records from the 1790s mention a place called Valle del Trueno."

"Thunder Valley," Ruth translated. Bell nodded. "The priest who wrote the entry never visited it. He was recording stories from vaqueros and indigenous guides."

Mark said, "What stories?" Bell read. "'A green country behind the black gate, where the earth shakes beneath beasts greater than houses.'"

Ruth stopped eating. Mark said nothing. Bell turned another page. "'Birds without feathers, wolves that run upon two feet, and a great king with teeth like knives.'"

The hotel dining room suddenly seemed too quiet. Mark looked through the window at Main Street. A delivery truck passed. A woman pushed a baby carriage. Two boys chased each other around the gasoline pump. 1937. Telephones. Airplanes. Newsreels. And somewhere forty miles north, perhaps, a priest's eighteenth-century nightmare was still walking. Bell folded the notebook. "I need to see the place."

"We need to know there is a place." "Then we agree." "No,"

Mark said. "We agree on the next ten miles." Ruth smiled into her coffee. Bell studied him. "Your daughter said you were cautious."

"My daughter uses cautious when she means annoying." "I use annoying when I mean annoying," Ruth said. Bell almost smiled. Then the front door opened. A man in a cream suit and white Stetson entered the hotel carrying a newspaper. He was handsome in the polished way of men whose living depended upon being seen from the back row. He unfolded the paper on the counter. The headline read: DRAGON KILLED NEAR NORTH FORK Below it was a photograph of Ruth standing beside the carcass.

Mark closed his eyes. Bell said something unprintable. The stranger looked from the newspaper to Ruth. Then to Mark. His smile grew. "Well," he said. "I believe I've come to the right town."

Mark had not met Harlan Voss yet. He disliked him immediately.

The stranger in the cream suit removed his hat before approaching the breakfast table, which was the first thing Mark found in his favor. The second was that he introduced himself before asking a question. "Harlan Voss. Silver Spur Wild West Exhibition."

Mark knew the name. Anybody who had passed a railway depot in the last fifteen years knew it. Voss had once travelled with eighty horses, trick riders, sharpshooters, a brass band, painted wagons, and enough canvas to cover half a county. The Depression had reduced the advertisements but not, apparently, the hat. Voss nodded to Ruth. "Miss McCain."

"You've seen the newspaper." "I bought every copy at the station." "Why?"

"Because I intend to know what everybody else thinks they know." Professor Bell folded the offending newspaper. "What everybody else thinks they know is already mostly nonsense."

Voss pulled out a chair. "Professor Amelia Bell." Bell did not invite him to sit. He sat anyway. "You're going north," he said. Mark drank his coffee. Voss smiled. "I've spent thirty years around cowboys. Silence only works on people who don't recognize it."

"Then recognize this one." Ruth hid a smile. Voss leaned back. "Fair enough. I'll make my case. My show is in Las Vegas, New Mexico, three days from closing early because people don't have fifty cents for yesterday's wonders. Trick riding? Seen it. Buffalo? Seen it. Cowboy shooting glass balls? Seen it."

"Dinosaurs?" Ruth asked. Voss's eyes lit. "Nobody's seen dinosaurs."

Bell's chair scraped. "No." "I haven't proposed anything."

"You have a face that proposes things." Voss laughed. Mark did not. "Suppose there is a hidden population,"

Bell continued. "Suppose these animals survived in isolation. The scientific importance would be beyond calculation."

"Exactly." "That was not agreement." Voss looked at Mark. "Mr. McCain, I'm not asking permission to ride public country."

"No." "I'm asking whether you'd rather have me where you can see me." That, unfortunately, was a better argument. Mark looked at Ruth. She was trying not to look interested. He looked at Bell. Bell looked as if she would happily feed Voss to the specimen downstairs. Carver entered from the lobby carrying his hat and a telegram. "Bad news."

"Which kind?" Mark asked. "Bar-T lost another calf."

Voss stood. Carver noticed him. "Oh. Him."

"Harlan Voss." "I know who you are. My wife saw your show in '29. Said the horses were good."

Voss put a hand over his heart. "I shall treasure the endorsement." "She said you talked too much."

Ruth coughed. Carver handed Mark the telegram. FOUND FRESH SIGN NORTH FENCE STOP LARGE STOP HELLER Mark rose. Bell gathered her maps. Ruth reached for her hat. Voss said, "I have automobiles."

Mark stopped. "What?" "Two trucks. One touring car. Fuel, ropes, block and tackle, field tents, portable generator, enough preserved food for twenty men."

Bell stared at him. "You came prepared remarkably quickly." "I run a travelling show, Professor. Prepared is another word for not bankrupt yet."

Mark folded the telegram. "We're not taking twenty men." "Six."

"Three." "Five." "Four."

Voss smiled. "Done." Mark immediately regretted bargaining with him. The Silver Spur camp lay outside town beside the railroad spur. It was smaller than Mark expected and sadder. A faded canvas banner showed Voss standing heroically between a buffalo and an airplane, neither of which appeared correctly proportioned. Twelve horses grazed behind portable fencing. A trick rider practiced standing on a moving saddle while two boys repaired sequins on her costume.

Voss's four were waiting. Eddie Pike, foreman, forty and narrow as a fence rail. Mabel Rourke, trick rider and stunt shooter, thirty-five, red-haired, cheerful. Luis Ortega, horse wrangler, twenty-eight, quiet. And Charlie Cobb, eighteen, who looked as if he had joined the show yesterday and might still be reconsidering. Mark looked at Voss. "You said four."

"Four including me." "That's five." Voss counted. "Well, damn."

Ruth laughed. Mark pointed at Charlie. "You stay."

Charlie's face fell. "I'm useful." "I'm sure."

"I can rope." "So can everybody here." "I can drive."

"So can Ruth." Ruth said, "Better than Papa." "Nobody asked."

Charlie looked desperate. "My mother thinks I'm working in a hardware store." Mark stared. "That has not improved your case."

Mabel Rourke approached Ruth. "You're the dragon girl." Ruth closed her eyes. "Apparently."

"Good shot?" Mark started walking away. Ruth called after him, "Coward."

Mabel tossed a tin can into the air. Ruth drew her revolver. The can jumped twice before hitting the ground. Mabel's eyebrows rose. "Well."

Ruth holstered. "Sometimes." Mark smiled where she could not see him. They left North Fork at noon. Two trucks carried equipment as far as the Bar-T road. Beyond that the expedition went on horseback. Voss complained about this for eleven minutes. Then his horse tried to bite him. Mark's opinion of the horse improved considerably.

Tom Heller's fresh tracks were real. They found them north of the Bar-T fence where a narrow draw cut toward the mesas. The large animal had passed sometime before dawn. Bell knelt beside the print for nearly ten minutes. Voss lasted three. "How big?"

Bell ignored him. "Professor." "Mr. Voss, if you ask me how big it is while I am measuring how big it is, I shall give you an answer in cubits."

Ruth sat on her heels beside Bell. "Depth's different from the Bitter Wash print." "Yes."

"Ground's harder here." "Also yes." Mark watched the ridge. Mabel joined him. "Your girl always like that?"

"Like what?" "Happy around impossible tracks." "Since she learned to read."

"Must've been exhausting." "You have no idea." Bell finally stood. "Similar animal. Possibly the same individual."

Voss looked north. "Where's it going?" Mark pointed. "Diablo Blanco."

Heller had joined them at the fence but refused to ride farther. Now he removed his hat. "I've got something."

From his saddlebag he produced a Bible. Carver blinked. "Hell of a time to convert."

"Was my grandfather's." Heller opened the back cover. A folded map had been pasted inside. The paper was brittle, drawn in pencil and brown ink. A line followed Bitter Wash north, crossed a dry basin, and ended at a black mark shaped like two jaws. Beyond it someone had written: VERDE. Bell took the map as carefully as if Heller had handed her a relic. "Where did he get this?"

"Surveyor named Beecham. 1882. Came through half dead." "What happened?"

"Granddad fed him. Beecham left the map. Rode south. Never came back."

Ruth pointed at a symbol near the black gate. "What's that?" Heller looked. "Always thought it was a bird."

Bell leaned closer. The little drawing had wings. But no feathers. Voss smiled. Mark saw it. "Don't."

"I didn't say anything." "You smiled commercially." "I have many smiles."

"That one charges admission." They copied the map. Heller refused payment. "Bring back my grandfather's Bible."

Bell promised. Heller looked at Mark. "And don't bring back whatever made those tracks."

Voss became extremely interested in his saddle. They rode until sunset and camped beneath a sandstone shelf. The country had emptied around them. No fences. No telephone poles. No ranch lights. North Fork might have been a hundred years away. Luis Ortega made coffee. Mabel produced beans and bacon. Voss tried to help and was assigned plates. Charlie Cobb had somehow joined them. Mark discovered this when a bedroll moved behind the supply wagon.

Charlie emerged. Nobody spoke. He looked at Mark. "Evening."

Mark looked at Voss. Voss looked genuinely innocent. "I didn't know."

Mabel said, "I did." "Mabel." "He hid under my blankets."

Charlie said, "That sounds worse than it was." Ruth covered her face. Mark considered sending him back alone. That would be more dangerous than keeping him. "You're on dish duty."

Charlie brightened. "Yes, sir." "For the entire expedition."

His face fell again. After supper Bell spread the copied map on a saddle blanket. "The basalt formation should be here."

Mark traced the route. "Two days if the ground stays open." "It won't,"

Luis said. Everyone looked at him. Luis pointed north. "Storm."

The horizon was clear. Voss said, "You can smell weather?" Luis shook his head. "My knee hurts."

Mabel nodded solemnly. "Reliable instrument." Ruth lay on her stomach beside the map. "What's this line?"

Bell squinted. "Could be water." "Or a canyon."

Mark looked at the black-gate symbol. "Either way, we don't race the country." Voss sat opposite him. "You're worried."

"I'm always worried." "About the animals?" "About people."

Voss smiled faintly. "People you can reason with." "That's why I'm worried."

Later, after the others slept, Mark found Ruth sitting beyond the firelight. She was looking north. "You should sleep."

"So should you." "I'm older." "That's not a medical argument."

He sat beside her. For a while they listened to horses tearing grass. Ruth said, "Do you think Grandpa would've gone?"

"Into Diablo Blanco?" "Yes." Mark considered. "Immediately."

She smiled. "Really?" "No. He would've spent three hours explaining why it was a terrible idea."

"And then?" "Gone." "That sounds familiar."

Mark bumped her shoulder with his. "Go to bed." A low sound rolled across the desert. Not close. Not very far. The horses lifted their heads. Ruth's smile disappeared. The sound came again. Deep enough that Mark felt it through the ground. Bell sat upright in her bedroll. Voss whispered, "Good God."

Mark stood. "No," he said. He looked toward the black hills. "Something else."

Luis's knee was right. Rain found them shortly after dawn. It came sideways across the basin, turning dust to red paste and filling every shallow cut with brown water. They rode anyway. Mark put Voss's trucks permanently behind them at Heller's line shack. From here there was no road worth naming. The expedition became a Western outfit. Packhorses. Rifles. Canvas. Coffee. Rope. Bell's specimen boxes wrapped in oilcloth. And one extremely wet showman.

"My boots cost forty dollars," Voss announced. Mabel rode past him. "They're worth six now."

Ruth laughed. The trail narrowed along a shelf above a wash. Below them, floodwater boiled around boulders. Charlie looked down. "I don't like this."

Mark said, "Good." Charlie blinked. "Good?"

"Means you'll pay attention." The boy swallowed and looked straight ahead. A packhorse slipped. Luis was off his saddle before anybody else moved. He caught the lead rope, planted both boots, and shouted in Spanish. The horse scrambled. Ruth grabbed Luis's belt. Mark grabbed Ruth. For several ugly seconds they were a chain of people attached to a terrified horse. Then the animal found footing. Everyone breathed. Voss said, "I would've helped."

Mabel said, "You were holding your hat." "It is a very good hat." Mark remounted. "Next person who risks a neck for luggage loses the luggage."

Bell looked at her specimen cases. "That is an authoritarian policy." "Yes."

By noon the storm passed. Steam rose from the rocks. The desert smelled clean. They found cattle tracks. Dozens. Bar-T brands. "Lost herd,"

Ruth said. Mark nodded. The cattle had moved north weeks earlier. Not driven. Spooked. Their tracks tangled in the mud with something else. Large three-toed prints. Bell stared. "They followed it."

"Or it followed them," Mark said. Ruth pointed to a ridge. "Either way, everybody went there."

The black gate on Heller's map was no longer a symbol. It stood on the horizon. Two basalt cliffs leaning toward one another. Between them lay darkness. They reached the gate near sunset. Nobody rode through. Mark stopped fifty yards away. The air coming from the passage was cool. Wet. It smelled of plants. That was wrong. Behind them lay desert scrub and bare stone. Ahead came the smell of wet earth. Bell dismounted. "Professor."

"I am walking ten feet." "Nine." She ignored him and approached the opening. Ruth went with her. Mark sighed and followed both. The passage was perhaps twenty yards wide. Black volcanic walls rose on either side. Water trickled along one edge. Fern grew beside it. Bell stopped. She touched the frond. "Mark."

It was the first time she had used his first name. He looked. The fern was enormous. Ruth whispered, "That isn't desert vegetation."

"No." Something fluttered overhead. Charlie pointed. "Bird."

Bell looked up. The silhouette crossed between the cliffs. Long wings. Long beak. No feathers visible. It vanished. Voss said nothing. That frightened Mark more than if he had shouted. They withdrew and made camp outside the gate. Nobody argued. Even Bell agreed. "You don't enter unknown country at sunset,"

Mark said. "Agreed." Ruth stared at her. "Who are you?"

Bell smiled. Night settled. The gate remained black. At nine, they heard trees breaking somewhere beyond it. At ten, a long trumpet-like call echoed through the passage. At eleven, something enormous walked past the far end. They did not see the animal. They saw its shadow cross moonlight. The ground trembled beneath the bedrolls. Charlie whispered, "Mr. McCain?"

"Yes?" "I don't work in a hardware store." Mark looked at him. "I know, Charlie."

"My mother is going to kill me." From beyond the gate came another thunderous footfall. Mark pulled his blanket higher. "Get in line."

They entered Diablo Blanco at dawn. Mark went first. Ruth rode ten yards behind him. Bell and Luis followed. Voss, Mabel, Charlie and the packhorses came last. The basalt passage twisted for nearly half a mile. Then sunlight appeared ahead. Green sunlight. Mark rode out. And stopped. The valley opened beneath them. Miles of forest filled a vast volcanic basin. A river flashed silver between trees. Cliffs ringed the horizon. Mist hung above distant marshes.

Nothing about it belonged north of North Fork. Ruth came beside him. "Oh."

That was all. Bell rode out next. She began to cry. Quietly. Mark pretended not to notice. Then the trees below moved. At first he thought it was wind. A neck rose above them. Long. Impossible. A small head turned. Then another neck appeared. And another. Four enormous animals walked beside the river, their backs higher than the cottonwoods. Charlie sat down where he stood. Voss removed his hat. Mabel whispered, "Well I'll be damned."

Bell wiped her face. "Sauropods." Ruth looked at her. "Living."

"Yes." One of the giants called. The sound rolled across the valley like a ship horn. Birds erupted from the canopy. Except some were not birds. Winged shapes circled the cliffs. Mark felt Ruth take his hand. She had not done that since she was little. He squeezed once. Neither mentioned it. For ten minutes nobody spoke. Then Voss whispered: "Imagine the poster."

Bell turned so slowly that even Mark became concerned for his safety. "Mr. Voss."

He raised both hands. "I said imagine." "Stop imagining."

They descended into the valley. The first hours were peaceful. That made them careless. Not foolish. Careless. There was a difference, and Mark recognized it only afterward. They passed a herd of duck-billed animals feeding in a meadow. Bell nearly walked into a tree because she was writing while moving. Ruth laughed until she did the same thing twenty minutes later. Small feathered creatures watched from branches. One stole Charlie's handkerchief.

He chased it. Mark stopped him. "It has your handkerchief."

"I know." "I want it." "It wants it more."

The creature clicked from a branch with the handkerchief hanging from its mouth. Mabel said, "Looks better on him." They camped beside the river before noon rather than push farther. Mark wanted a defensible site. High ground. Water. Open sight lines. Voss wanted somewhere near the sauropods. Bell wanted everywhere simultaneously. Ruth wanted to scout. Mark said no to everybody. Then compromised with everybody. By late afternoon they had a proper camp.

Bell and Ruth walked the riverbank under Mark's eye. They found tracks from at least eight species. Three-toed herbivores. Round elephantine prints. Small clawed tracks. One horned footprint Bell could barely describe without losing composure. Then Ruth stopped. In the mud beside the river lay a print nearly four feet long. Not thirty-two inches. Four feet. Three toes. Deep. Bell stared. Mark came beside them. Nobody needed to measure it.

Ruth looked across the river. The forest there was dark. Very dark. Something moved between the trunks. Too large to see all at once. A leg. A tail. Then nothing. Mark slowly lifted his rifle. Bell whispered, "Don't."

"I'm not shooting." A head emerged. Huge. Heavy-jawed. Two eyes fixed on them from across the water. Ruth forgot to breathe. The animal stepped into sunlight. Tyrannosaur. Bell made a tiny sound. Not fear.

Recognition. The creature lowered its head. Mark said, "Back up."

They did. Slowly. The tyrannosaur entered the river. Water climbed to its knees. "Keep moving."

Ruth whispered, "Papa." "I see it." "It sees us."

"I know." The animal accelerated. There are times when a rifle becomes less a weapon than an argument. Mark knew a Winchester could kill a bear. He knew where to place a shot on a horse, a steer, a mountain lion. He knew absolutely nothing about killing a tyrannosaur. But he knew eyes. "Ruth."

"Right eye." "I take left." Bell hissed, "Mark!"

"Only if it comes." The tyrannosaur charged through the shallows. Thirty yards. Twenty-five. Twenty. Mark saw teeth. Ruth's rifle cracked. Her bullet struck the water beside its snout. Not a miss. A warning. The animal flinched. Mark fired into the water on the other side. Two geysers boxed its head. The tyrannosaur stopped. For one astonishing second it stared at them. Then it roared. The sound hit Mark physically. Behind them horses screamed.

The animal lunged. "No choice!" Mark shouted. Two Winchesters fired. Ruth's shot struck the soft tissue beside the right eye. Mark's hit the upper jaw. The tyrannosaur recoiled, blood bright against its hide. Bell shouted something. Mark levered. Ruth fired again. The second bullet struck inside the open mouth. The animal twisted sideways. Mark's next shot hit the neck. Not enough. Nothing seemed enough. "Move!"

They ran for the rocks. The tyrannosaur came after them. Ruth reached the boulder first and turned instead of climbing. "Ruth!"

"I've got a shot!" The animal opened its jaws. Ruth fired. The bullet entered the roof of the mouth. Mark fired a fraction later into the same opening. The tyrannosaur's head jerked. Its stride broke. It crashed into the riverbank with enough force to shake the ground. Water and mud flew over them. Silence. Ruth stood with the Winchester still shouldered. Mark did the same. The tyrannosaur moved once. Then stopped. Bell stared at the animal.

At Ruth. At Mark. "You killed it."

Mark lowered his rifle. "It was going to kill us." Bell walked toward the carcass. Her face held grief and awe together. Ruth swallowed. "I didn't want to."

"I know," Bell said. She touched Ruth's shoulder. "I know."

Across the valley, another roar answered. Farther away. Deeper. Voss came running from camp. He saw the dead tyrannosaur. He stopped. His expression was not fear. It was wonder. Then calculation. Mark saw that too. And suddenly the dead dinosaur at his feet was not the most dangerous thing in Thunder Valley.

They did not camp beside the dead tyrannosaur. That was Mark's first decision after everybody had finished staring. His second was that nobody went anywhere alone. His third was directed entirely at Harlan Voss. "No ropes."

Voss looked offended. "I haven't touched a rope." "You were thinking about one."

"I think about rope professionally." "Think quieter." They moved camp half a mile upriver to a shelf of stone with water on one side and open meadow on the other. Bell protested leaving the carcass until Mark pointed toward the forest where the answering roar had come from. "Something else heard the shots."

Bell looked once toward the trees. "Half a mile is adequate." "Glad we're negotiating."

The rest of the afternoon passed without gunfire. That felt miraculous. Ruth and Bell returned to the carcass with Luis and Mabel while Mark remained at camp with Voss, Charlie and the horses. The work was slow. Bell took photographs and measurements. Ruth sketched the jaw and feet. Mabel stood guard with a rifle and discovered that scientific fieldwork involved considerably more waiting than dime novels had suggested. At camp, Charlie peeled potatoes.

Badly. Mark watched a strip of potato half an inch thick fall into the dirt. "You're murdering supper."

"I've never done this." "Hardware store didn't sell potatoes?" Charlie glanced at him. Mark almost smiled. Voss sat on a crate repairing a leather glove. For once he was quiet. "How many people depend on the Silver Spur?"

Mark asked. Voss did not look up. "Thirty-one in a good season. Seventeen now."

"Families?" "Some." "That why you're here?"

Voss threaded the needle. "Partly." "What's the other part?"

He looked toward the valley. "You saw it." "Yes."

"No. You saw an animal trying to kill you. I saw something nobody alive has ever put under canvas."

Mark's expression hardened. Voss sighed. "There. That's the face."

"What face?" "The one where you've already decided I'm the fellow in the black hat." "I don't care what color your hat is."

"It's white." "I noticed." Voss laughed. Then he grew serious. "I have debts, McCain. Real ones. Feed bills. Rail bills. Wages. Men who stayed with me when sensible people left. One dinosaur and I can pay everybody."

"One dinosaur can also kill everybody." "Then we build a better cage." Mark stared at him. Voss held up the glove. "No ropes today."

"Good." "Tomorrow remains under discussion." Mark groaned. That night the valley changed. Daylight had made it magnificent. Darkness made it immeasurable. Calls moved across the basin from places they could not see. Low booming notes from the marsh. Sharp barks from the forest. Once, something gave a long ascending cry from the cliffs and every small sound stopped beneath it. The campfire looked very small. Bell sat with her notebook.

Mabel cleaned a revolver. Luis repaired tack. Charlie had fallen asleep sitting up and was slowly tipping sideways. Ruth caught him before his face reached the dirt. "Bedroll, dragon bait."

"I'm awake." "You were dreaming." "I was thinking."

"You snored thoughtfully." He crawled away. Mark sat beyond the fire with his Winchester across his knees. Ruth joined him. For several minutes they watched enormous silhouettes move against the stars. A sauropod herd crossed the far meadow. Their necks rose and fell like dark cranes. Ruth whispered, "I wish Grandpa could see it."

Mark did not answer immediately. "You've said that before." "I know."

"You want another story." "Maybe." He looked at her. She smiled. Mark leaned back against the saddle. "When I was about thirteen, your grandfather tried to teach me how to repair the roof."

"That sounds safe." "It wasn't." "What happened?"

"I stepped through it." Ruth laughed. "Straight through?"

"One leg. Your grandfather grabbed me by the belt." "What did he say?"

Mark smiled at the memory. "He said, 'Mark, if you wanted downstairs, there are stairs.'" Ruth laughed harder. "That's the story?"

"That's the story." "No gunfighter?" "No."

"No outlaw?" "No." "No moral lesson?"

"He made me patch the hole." "There it is." Mark watched the distant giants. "People remember the rifle. I remember him teaching me fractions. Fixing a hinge. Getting mad because I left a gate open."

Ruth's smile softened. "I like those better." "So do I."

She rested her head briefly against his shoulder. Mark looked at the stars. He had spent years wondering whether he could ever give his child the same certainty Lucas had given him. Not safety. Life had never promised that. Certainty that when she turned around, somebody would be there. Ruth sat up. "Papa."

"What?" "Eyes." Across the meadow, two small yellow lights reflected the fire. Then four. Then six. Mark reached for the rifle. The lights vanished. From the darkness came a familiar dry clicking. Ruth stood. "So much for the quiet chapter."

Mark blinked. "What?" "Nothing."

The clicking did not return. Morning brought mist and one missing horse. Luis found the cut picket rope. "Cut?"

Mark asked. Luis shook his head. "Bitten."

Bell crouched beside it. Small tracks covered the mud. The same kind that had surrounded their camp in Bitter Wash. Ruth followed them toward the forest. Mark caught her sleeve. "Together."

"I was going ten feet." "Nine." Bell smiled. Ruth stared at her. "He's infected you."

They organized a search. Mark, Ruth, Luis and Mabel took the trail. Bell remained with camp because Mark refused to debate the matter. Voss remained because Mark refused even harder. Charlie was assigned to Bell. "Why me?"

"Because if you disappear, your mother will kill me." "She doesn't know you." "She'll find me."

The tracks entered fern forest. The plants rose above their shoulders. Every few yards they found horse sign: churned earth, torn leaves, once a smear of blood on a branch. Mabel's joking stopped. "That's my mare."

Luis touched the blood. "Not much." A click sounded ahead. Ruth froze. Another answered behind them. Mark raised one hand. Nobody moved. Click. Left. Click-click. Right. Mabel whispered, "They're talking."

Bell had called the little animals pack hunters. Mark had believed her academically. He believed her differently now. The ferns moved. Ruth's rifle came up. "Don't shoot movement."

"I know." A narrow head appeared ten yards away. Then vanished. Luis said, "Three."

Mark had seen two. "Where?" "Behind us."

They turned. Nothing. The first attack came from above. A predator dropped from a leaning trunk onto Luis's back. Mabel fired before Mark had a clear line. Her bullet struck the animal in the ribs and threw it sideways. Luis went down. Another burst from the ferns. Ruth fired. It tumbled. "Circle!"

Mark shouted. They formed back to back. The forest erupted in clicking. Mabel reloaded. "How many?"

"Too many." A predator rushed Mark low. He fired once. Missed. The animal changed direction. Ruth's shot caught it behind the shoulder. "Got yours."

"Thank you." "You're welcome." Two came at Ruth. Mark shot the first. Mabel shot the second. Luis, bleeding from scratches across his shoulder, drew his revolver. "More."

Mark heard them before he saw them. Fast. Closing. "Move to the rocks!"

They retreated by pairs. Mark and Ruth fired while Luis and Mabel moved. Then reversed. No wild shooting. No emptying rifles into leaves. Every shot had a target. Every target had to be clear. The pack followed anyway. They reached a low limestone outcrop. The missing mare was there. Alive. Terrified. Wedged beneath an overhang where the predators could not reach her. Around the rocks lay broken eggshells. Bell had been wrong about one thing.

The pack was not hunting them. They had walked into a nesting ground. Mark understood at the same moment Ruth did. "Stop shooting!"

Mabel stared at him. "They're trying to eat us!" "No. They're driving us."

Ruth lowered her rifle slightly. The predators circled beyond the rocks. They did not charge. One hissed. Another darted toward them and retreated. Luis said, "Nests."

Mark nodded. "We back out." Mabel looked at the mare. "And her?"

"We take her." "That'll upset them." "They're already upset."

Ruth found the lead rope. The mare trembled violently. "Easy, girl."

A predator rushed. Ruth did not fire. She shouted and threw a stone. It veered. Mark looked at her. "Good."

"Don't sound surprised." They withdrew. Slowly. The pack shadowed them for two hundred yards. Then stopped. At the edge of the forest, the clicking faded. Mabel exhaled. "I liked them better when I thought they were stupid."

Luis touched his bleeding shoulder. "They didn't kill the horse." "No,"

Ruth said. "They stole her." "Why?"

Mark looked back at the ferns. "Maybe she wandered in and panicked." Ruth shook her head. "The rope was bitten."

They all considered that. Mabel said, "So they stole a horse." Ruth nodded. "Apparently."

"Dinosaurs are horse thieves." Mark mounted. "North Fork finally has a crime I don't think Ben has paperwork for."

They returned to camp with the mare. Bell listened to the account in silence. Then she looked at the blood on Luis's shirt. "You're hurt."

"Scratches." She turned to Mark. "You entered a nesting ground?"

"Accidentally." "And shot animals?" "When they were attached to Luis."

Bell closed her eyes. "Reasonable." Mark stared. "What?"

"I said reasonable." Ruth whispered, "Write down the date." Bell pointed at her. "I heard that."

Two days passed. Thunder Valley began to acquire routines. That was dangerous in its own way. People grew accustomed to wonders. A herd of duck-billed dinosaurs crossing the river became something Charlie watched while washing dishes. Flying reptiles circling the cliffs became weather. Bell could identify half a dozen calls by sound. Ruth filled three notebooks. Mark learned which paths the sauropods used and kept camp away from them.

Voss behaved. Mostly. On the third morning he asked permission to rope a triceratops. Mark nearly choked on coffee. "No."

"You didn't hear the plan." "No." "It is an excellent plan."

"No." Mabel said, "It is not." Voss looked betrayed. "You work for me."

"That's why I know." Bell emerged from her tent. "What is he proposing?"

"Nothing," Mark said. "A controlled demonstration."

Bell stared. "Of what?" "Cowboy skill."

"Against a six-ton ceratopsian?" "Exactly." Bell turned to Mark. "May I shoot him?"

"No." "Thank you for considering it." Voss spread his hands. "I don't mean the bull. There's a young one in the meadow."

Ruth stood. "Absolutely not." Voss looked at her. "You shot a tyrannosaur."

"Because it was trying to eat me." "Details." "Important details."

Mark ended the conversation. Or thought he did. At noon, Charlie came running into camp. "Mr. McCain!"

Mark knew immediately. "Where?" Charlie pointed toward the lower meadow. "Mr. Voss said not to tell you."

Mark took his rifle. "Charlie." "Yes?"

"That was the wrong sentence." They ran. Voss had recruited three people. Mabel had refused. Luis had refused. So Voss had taken two ropes, one horse, and Charlie's saddle horse without Charlie. The young triceratops stood near the edge of a herd. It was still larger than a bull. Voss circled at a distance, testing the rope. Mark stopped on the ridge. "Oh, for the love of-"

Ruth came beside him. Bell arrived behind them and made a sound of pure academic despair. Voss threw. The loop landed over one horn. For half a second, it looked magnificent. Then the triceratops moved. Voss's horse went sideways. Voss went forward. The rope snapped taut. The horse was dragged three yards. Mark fired into the air. The herd reacted. Not to the gunshot. To the young animal's distress call. Every adult triceratops lifted its head.

Bell whispered, "Run." Voss had already abandoned the rope. The herd charged. The meadow became dust. Mark and Ruth rode down the ridge. "Voss!"

Mark shouted. Voss's horse had fallen. The showman stood in open ground. A wall of horns came toward him. Ruth accelerated. "Ruth!"

"I've got him!" She leaned from the saddle. Voss grabbed her arm. For one horrible second Mark thought both would fall. Ruth's mare staggered, recovered, and ran. Mark fired twice toward the ground ahead of the lead triceratops. Dust burst. The animal swerved. Others followed. Not enough. The herd split around a boulder and came together again. Luis and Mabel appeared from camp, firing warning shots wide. The noise turned part of the herd.

Mark saw a narrow gap. "River!" Ruth understood. They drove hard toward the shallows. Voss clung behind Ruth without dignity. The triceratops herd reached the river and slowed. Then the forest on the opposite bank exploded. Something huge charged out. Not the tyrannosaur they had killed. This one was larger. Scarred across the muzzle. It hit the edge of the herd like a train. A triceratops turned. Horn met jaw. The tyrannosaur roared.

The herd scattered. Mark stopped his horse. Ruth did too. Voss stared. Bell arrived on foot, breathless. "No shooting."

Mark looked at her. "They're not interested in us." The tyrannosaur and the adult triceratops circled in the shallows. Ancient animals. Ancient argument. The triceratops charged. The tyrannosaur dodged and bit at the frill. Water erupted around them. Voss whispered, "Emperor."

Mark turned. "What?" "That's what I'm calling him."

"You're not calling him anything." Voss could not take his eyes from the fight. "Emperor."

The triceratops broke away. The tyrannosaur did not pursue. It stood in the river. Scarred. Bleeding slightly. Magnificent. Then its head turned. Toward them. Ruth quietly raised her rifle. Mark did the same. The tyrannosaur watched. Mark remembered the other animal falling in the mud. He did not want to do that again. "Back away."

They did. Even Voss. Emperor gave one low bellow. Then turned and disappeared into the forest. Voss watched until the last tree stopped moving. Mark looked at him. "If I see a rope in your hand again, I'm tying you to a tree."

Voss nodded absently. That worried Mark. The man had stopped thinking about triceratops. He was thinking bigger.

Mist covered the valley the following morning. Mark woke before dawn to hammering. He sat up. Hammering. Human hammering. "Voss."

Ruth's bedroll was already empty. Mark found her at the edge of camp holding a cup of coffee. "He's building something."

"Of course he is." "Want coffee first?" "Yes."

"Good. You're learning." They walked downstream. Voss had erected three heavy posts. Luis stood nearby with his arms folded. Mabel sat on a crate. Charlie held a hammer and looked guilty. Mark stopped. "What is it?"

Voss beamed. "A gate." "No."

"You don't know what it does." "No." "McCain."

"No." Bell appeared behind them. She looked at the posts. Then at Voss. "No."

Voss threw up his hands. "This expedition has become oppressive." Mabel sipped coffee. "Unionize."

Voss ignored her. "I am proposing observation." "With cables?"

Bell asked. "Secure observation." "With a winch?"

"Very secure." Mark walked around the construction. A cable ran between trees. Another lay coiled beneath canvas. There were pulleys. Heavy rope. A steel net. Mark stopped. "You brought this from the trucks."

Voss smiled weakly. "Prepared." "You planned this before we entered."

"I planned possibilities." Bell's face went pale with anger. "You intend to capture one."

Voss said nothing. That was answer enough. Ruth stepped between Bell and him. Not because Bell needed protection. Because Voss did. "Professor."

Bell breathed. Mark said, "We leave in two days." Voss stared. "You can't order me out."

"No. I can take my people, my maps, my knowledge of the trail, and every horse that belongs to this expedition." "My horses."

"Luis?" Luis said, "They go with McCain." Voss looked wounded. "You work for me."

"Not if you feed me to dinosaur." Mabel raised her cup. "Seconded."

Charlie lifted his hand. Everyone looked at him. He lowered it. Voss walked away. Mark watched him go. Ruth said, "That went well."

Bell laughed once. It surprised everybody. They spent the day mapping a route east. Bell wanted one last survey. Mark allowed it because the route stayed in open ground. Mist clung low over the river. Ruth rode beside Bell. Mark and Luis followed. They found a nesting colony of duck-billed dinosaurs. Bell stopped at a respectful distance. For an hour nobody spoke above a whisper. Young animals moved between adults. One rolled in mud.

Another chased a flying insect and fell over its own feet. Ruth smiled. "They're ridiculous."

"Most young animals are," Bell said. Mark said, "Most young people too."

Ruth looked back. "Careful." They ate lunch on a ridge. Bell sat beside Mark. "You were right."

He nearly dropped his sandwich. "About?" "Voss."

"Say it again." "No." "I'd like witnesses."

She smiled. Then looked toward the valley. "I understand him more than I want to."

"So do I." "If he could bring one animal out alive..." "He saves his show."

"And destroys this place." "Maybe." Bell looked at him sharply. "Maybe?"

"People already know." She understood. The newspaper. The photograph. The dead little predator. Thunder Valley could not be undiscovered. Only protected. A roar rolled through the mist. Emperor. Close. Every hadrosaur lifted its head. The nesting colony moved as one. Bell stood. "Back to camp."

They mounted. The roar came again. Closer. A shape moved through the fog below. Mark saw the scarred muzzle. Emperor followed the herd. Not them. Then a rifle fired. From camp. Mark's blood went cold. Another shot. Then three rapidly. Ruth shouted, "Voss."

They ran their horses. When they reached the meadow, chaos had already begun. Voss's unfinished trap stood open. A carcass had been dragged beneath the steel net as bait. Emperor was not in the trap. Three smaller predators were. They thrashed beneath the cables, shrieking. Charlie stood on a wagon. Mabel fired into the ground to keep another animal back. Voss struggled with the winch. "What happened?"

Mark shouted. Voss shouted back, "Wrong dinosaurs!" Mark would remember that sentence for the rest of his life. A predator sprang at Charlie. Ruth fired. The shot hit its shoulder and spun it away. Another came from beneath the wagon. Mark shot it through the chest. Mabel yelled, "Left!"

Luis fired from horseback. The animal dropped. The trapped predators tore at the net. Steel wire snapped. Bell screamed, "They're getting out!"

"Everybody back!" The net burst. Two animals came free. One fled. The other charged Voss. He froze. Mark had no clear shot. Ruth did. "Down!"

Voss dropped. Ruth fired over him. The bullet struck the predator in the skull. It collapsed so close its tail hit Voss across the boots. Silence fell in pieces. A horse screamed. One trapped animal still struggled weakly. Bell went to it. Mark grabbed Voss by the coat and hauled him upright. "You used bait."

Voss was pale. "I thought-" "No. You didn't."

"I could've controlled it." "You couldn't control a rope." Voss looked at the dead animals. His face changed. For the first time the consequences reached him without showmanship between. "I didn't mean this."

Bell knelt beside the injured predator. "I need my medical case." Ruth ran. Mark released Voss. Across the meadow, mist moved. A gigantic shape emerged. Emperor. The scarred tyrannosaur stopped beside the dead bait. Then looked at the wrecked trap. At the bodies. At the people. Voss whispered, "Nobody shoot."

Mark slowly raised his rifle anyway. Emperor stepped forward. Twenty yards. Ruth returned with Bell's case and stopped. The tyrannosaur lowered its head. Mark could see the old wound near its muzzle. Could see one eye. Could make the shot if he had to. Ruth stood ten feet to his right. Her Winchester rose. Two rifles. One animal. Again. Emperor inhaled. Then turned toward the injured predator under the net. It made a weak clicking sound.

The tyrannosaur sniffed. Bell whispered, "Please." Nobody knew what she was asking. Emperor lifted its head. For a long moment it looked directly at Mark. Then the great animal turned away. It vanished into the mist. Nobody fired. Ruth lowered her rifle. Mark did the same.

Voss sat down in the mud. Mabel looked at him. "Still want your poster?"

Voss did not answer. Bell began cutting the surviving predator free. Mark watched the fog where Emperor had disappeared. They had come to Thunder Valley thinking rifles would be the difficult part. He was beginning to understand that knowing when not to use them might be harder.

The wounded little predator lived. Bell worked on it until after midnight, cutting wire away from one leg and cleaning the gash where Voss's trap had bitten through feathers and hide. The animal never stopped watching her. It was the size of a lean coyote, though longer in the tail, and its eyes were too bright for Mark's comfort. "You sure that thing won't take your hand?" he asked. "No."

Mark waited. Bell looked up. "I am not sure."

"Good." "Good?" "I prefer honest bad news."

Ruth knelt on the other side of the makeshift pen. The predator clicked once. Ruth clicked back. Mark stared at her. "What?"

"Do not teach it conversation." "I wasn't." "It answered."

"It objected." "To what?" "Your tone."

Bell laughed into her sleeve. By morning the animal could stand. Bell opened the pen. Voss watched from twenty yards away. The predator hesitated. Then ran. It crossed the meadow in a blur and disappeared into the fern forest. Bell remained kneeling beside the empty pen. Ruth touched her shoulder. "Good?"

Bell nodded. "Good." Mark looked at Voss. The showman had not said much since the trap. That worried Mark in a different way. Remorse could make a man better. It could also make him desperate. They spent the next day east of camp. Bell called it survey work. Mark called it staying where he could see everybody. The valley broadened into marshland. Horned dinosaurs grazed in family groups. Duck-billed herds moved through reeds. Small armored animals fed beneath cycads.

Ruth sketched until her fingers cramped. At noon Bell found a nest. Not eggs. Hatchlings. Three small ceratopsians lay beneath a fern while an adult fed nearby. Nobody approached. Bell sat on a rock fifty yards away and watched. "This is what matters," she said. Voss, surprisingly, nodded. Mark looked at him. Voss noticed. "I can appreciate something without selling tickets."

"Can you?" "Occasionally." Bell turned. "If this place becomes public, collectors will come."

"Scientists too," Ruth said. "Yes."

"Can it be protected?" Bell looked around the valley. "By whom?"

Nobody had an answer. They rode farther. Near the eastern cliffs, Mark found wagon hardware. Rusty. Old. A broken iron tire half buried in mud. Human. Bell crouched. "How old?"

"Decades." Ruth found a cartridge case. Black powder. Voss picked up a square nail. "Somebody was here."

Mark looked toward the cliffs. "Somebody came in." Bell said, "And?"

Mark pointed to the abandoned hardware. "Maybe didn't come out."

They found the old camp before sunset. Canvas had rotted into brown threads. A wagon lay on its side beneath vines. Three rifles leaned against a tree, orange with rust. No bodies. That was worse. Ruth searched the wagon. Inside she found a tin box. Letters. A journal. Bell opened it carefully. The first page was dated 1882. BEECHAM EXPEDITION. Heller's surveyor. Mark sat beside the fire while Bell read aloud. Beecham had entered Thunder Valley with five men.

They had found the same wonders. The same herds. The same predators. On the seventh day, one man disappeared. On the ninth, another. On the tenth, Beecham wrote: WE HAVE BEGUN BUILDING A STOCKADE OF TIMBER AND WIRE. NOT FOR THE BEASTS. FOR OURSELVES. Ruth looked toward the dark forest. Bell continued. The final pages described a giant carnivore. Not Emperor. Another. Beecham called it the Red Devil. Then the writing stopped. Voss said quietly, "He escaped."

"Heller said he did," Mark replied. "Alone."

"Apparently." Nobody slept well. At dawn Mark found Voss beside the remains of Beecham's stockade. The old timber had collapsed. Voss held one of the rusted cables. "Steel corral," he said. Mark's jaw tightened. "No."

"Listen." "I have." "Beecham tried to keep dinosaurs out. We reverse it."

"No." Voss dropped the cable. "I am trying to leave this valley with something."

"You can leave with your life." "My creditors don't accept lives." "Then disappoint them."

Voss turned. "You've never had thirty people looking at you for wages." "No."

"Never watched a business your father built collapse." "No." "Never had to choose between one bad idea and seventeen families hungry."

Mark stepped closer. "Don't turn your choice into their fault." Voss flinched. Good. Mark continued. "You want to save your show? Save it. Sell horses. Sell wagons. Work a ranch. Drive a truck. But don't pretend dragging a living animal out of here is the only road left because it's the road you like."

For a moment Voss looked old. Then he smiled faintly. "Your father talk like that?"

"Worse." "I would've hated him." "He would've noticed."

Voss laughed. The tension broke. Not entirely. But enough. Then a roar came from the west. Emperor. Voss looked toward it. Mark saw the idea return. Quietly. That was the moment he understood Harlan Voss had not abandoned the steel corral. He had only stopped discussing it.

Voss disappeared after breakfast. So did two horses. So did Charlie. Mabel discovered it first. She walked into camp holding an empty coffee cup. "Boss is gone."

Mark closed his eyes. Ruth said, "Charlie?" "Gone."

Luis checked the horses. "Two." Bell said a word that had not appeared in any of her academic publications. Mark saddled. They followed easily. Voss had taken rope, cables, a block and tackle, three canvas sacks, and a crate of meat. "He learned nothing,"

Bell said. "No," Mark replied. "He learned enough to make the next mistake larger."

They found Charlie first. He was sitting beside the trail holding his left arm. Ruth dismounted. "What happened?"

"Mr. Voss told me to go back." "Why?"

"I told him this was stupid." Mark crouched. "Arm?"

"Fell off the horse." Ruth examined it. "Not broken."

Charlie looked miserable. "I tried to stop him." "I know."

"He's got dynamite." Everyone went still. Mark said, "What?"

"From Beecham's camp. Old sticks. He said he could use noise to drive Emperor."

Bell's face drained. Mark mounted. "Ruth, take Charlie back."

"No." "Ruth." "Papa, Voss has dynamite and is chasing a tyrannosaur. This is not the day I ride the other direction."

Mark stared at her. Mabel said, "She's got you there." "I don't need assistance."

"You clearly do." Charlie stood. "I can ride."

"No," four people said at once. They left him with food, water and a revolver. "Only if you need it,"

Mark said. Charlie nodded. "Hardware store,"

Ruth reminded him. He managed a grin. They heard the explosion from two miles away. Birds burst from the canopy. A herd of small herbivores stampeded across the trail. Mark's horse reared. Then came the roar. Emperor. Angry. Very close. They reached a clearing. Voss had built his trap between two enormous trees. Steel cable formed a narrowing funnel. A heavy net hung above. Meat lay beneath it. The plan might have worked on a bull.

Emperor was not a bull. The tyrannosaur came through the trees at a run. Voss stood beside the release rope. "Now!"

Nobody knew who he was shouting at. He pulled. The net dropped. It caught Emperor across the shoulders. For half a second the tyrannosaur disappeared beneath steel mesh. Voss screamed with triumph. Then Emperor stood up. One tree bent. The other cracked. Cable snapped like rifle fire. "RUN!"

Mark shouted. The tyrannosaur tore free. Voss froze. Again. Ruth fired into the ground beside him. "Move!"

He moved. Emperor charged. Mark fired at the animal's face. Ruth fired beside him. Mabel fired. Luis fired. Four rifles cracked across the clearing. Not to kill. To turn. Emperor swung toward the sound. Bad choice. "Split!"

They scattered. The tyrannosaur followed Mark. He rode hard between trees. Branches whipped his face. Behind him came crashing timber. He did not look back. Looking back did not make a dinosaur smaller. Ahead, the trail ended at a rock wall. Mark turned the horse. Emperor burst through the ferns. Twenty yards. Mark fired. The bullet struck the scarred muzzle. Emperor roared. Ten yards. Mark levered. Then Ruth's rifle cracked from the ridge.

The shot hit the tree beside Emperor's eye. The tyrannosaur turned. Mabel fired from the opposite side. Luis shouted and waved his hat. They pulled the animal's attention apart. Mark escaped. Emperor stopped. For one second the humans and the tyrannosaur formed a rough circle. Voss appeared behind the broken trap. He held a stick of dynamite. Mark saw it. "VOSS! NO!"

Voss lit the fuse. Emperor charged him. Voss threw. The dynamite landed beneath the broken cable. The explosion lifted dirt, wood and steel. Emperor vanished in smoke. A tree fell. Ruth screamed. Mark hit the ground. When the dust cleared, the tyrannosaur was gone. So was Voss. Mabel whispered, "Boss?"

Then came coughing. Voss crawled from behind a log. Alive. His white hat was on fire. Ruth ran over and stamped it out. Voss stared at the remains. "My hat."

Ruth kicked it once more. "Your hat tried to kill us." Mark hauled Voss upright. "You are finished."

Voss did not argue. Behind them, from the forest, Emperor roared. Still alive. Still angry. And now very much aware of human beings.

They should have left immediately. Mark knew it. Bell knew it. Even Voss knew it. But the explosion had done something worse than anger Emperor. It had brought down part of the eastern cliff. The trail back to the Stone Gate was blocked. Luis returned from scouting at noon. "Rockslide. Horses can maybe cross tomorrow. Pack animals no."

Mark looked at the sky. Rain clouds gathered. "Tomorrow becomes two days if that breaks."

Bell said, "There is another route." Everyone turned. She unfolded Beecham's journal. "He mentions a northern pass."

Mark read the line. NORTH CUT TOO STEEP FOR WAGONS. HORSES POSSIBLE. "How far?"

"Ten miles." Mabel said, "Through Emperor's country." Nobody answered. Voss sat apart from them. His burned hat lay beside him. He looked smaller without it. Ruth noticed. "Papa."

"I know." "You going to yell at him?" "Later."

"Good." Voss said, "I can hear you." "Good,"

Mark replied. They moved north before dawn. Emperor followed. They never saw him clearly. They heard him. A tree breaking. A distant bellow. Once, footprints appeared over their own trail after they stopped for water. Bell touched one. "He's tracking us."

Voss looked sick. Mark said nothing. By afternoon they reached a narrow canyon. The northern pass lay beyond it. So did a herd of hadrosaurs. Hundreds. The herd blocked the canyon floor. "We wait,"

Bell said. Then Emperor roared behind them. The herd panicked. The canyon became motion. Hadrosaurs surged toward the pass. Horses screamed. Mark shouted, "High ground!"

They drove the expedition toward a shelf. Charlie, reunited with them and riding one-handed, lost control of his horse. Ruth turned back. "Ruth!"

She grabbed his reins. A hadrosaur struck the horse sideways. Charlie fell. Ruth dismounted. Mark rode toward them. Then Emperor entered the canyon. The tyrannosaur attacked the fleeing herd. For several seconds it ignored the humans. Then Voss's packhorse bolted. The steel cable from his trap was still tied to the saddle. It uncoiled across the canyon. Mark saw it too late. The cable caught around Emperor's legs. The tyrannosaur fell.

The packhorse was dragged backward. Voss shouted. Luis cut the horse free. Emperor thrashed. The cable wrapped tighter. Bell stared. "He's trapped."

Voss stared too. The old hunger returned. Mark saw it. "No."

Voss looked at him. "McCain." "No."

"We didn't do this." "Doesn't matter." "We could secure him."

"Doesn't matter." "He's already down!" Mark stepped between Voss and the animal. "Listen to me. You put one more rope on that creature, I will personally break every rope in this valley."

Emperor roared. The cable bit deeper. Ruth came beside Mark. "Papa."

The tyrannosaur was bleeding. Bell said, "We have to free him." Voss laughed in disbelief. "Free him?"

"Yes." "He'll kill us." "Maybe."

Mark looked at the trapped animal. Then at the pass. Then at Ruth. "Rifles ready."

They approached. Bell and Luis cut cable. Mark and Ruth covered Emperor. Voss stood behind them. "You're insane."

Mark said, "Probably." One cable snapped free. Emperor kicked. Everyone scattered. Another cable remained around the hind leg. Ruth moved closer. "Papa."

"I see it." She could reach the cable. "No."

"I can." "No." "Then you do it."

Mark stared. Ruth smiled tightly. "Exactly."

She ran. Emperor thrashed. Mark fired into the dirt beside its head. The tyrannosaur snapped toward the shot. Ruth reached the cable. Cut once. Twice. The wire parted. "RUTH!"

She ran. Emperor surged upright. Mark raised the rifle. Ruth reached him. They stood together. Emperor towered above them. Blood ran down one leg. The scarred head lowered. Mark's finger rested on the trigger. Ruth's did too. The tyrannosaur stared. Then turned. It limped toward the fleeing herd. Nobody breathed until it disappeared. Voss sat on a rock. Bell looked at him. "That was your dinosaur."

He nodded. "You could have had him." Voss looked at the burned remains of his hat tied behind his saddle. Then at Mark and Ruth. "No," he said quietly. "I couldn't."

Mark heard the difference. For the first time, he believed him.

The northern pass was less a trail than an argument with gravity. It climbed out of Thunder Valley through a crack in the basalt wall, narrow enough in places that the packhorses scraped both panniers at once. Mark went first on foot. Ruth followed with Charlie's reins tied to her saddle horn. Charlie had recovered enough to complain. "My arm's fine."

"Good," Ruth said. "Then it won't mind being carried."

"I can ride alone." "You fell off yesterday." "That was dinosaur-related."

"Still counts." Behind them, Voss rode bareheaded. His burned Stetson had finally been buried beneath a cairn of stones after Mabel refused to let him wear it. "It had character,"

Voss had protested. "It had a hole the size of Santa Fe," Mabel said. "It survived."

"So did you. We're not putting either fact to a vote." The expedition climbed. By noon the green valley lay below them, enormous and quiet. Bell stopped at the last overlook. She removed her hat. Ruth came beside her. "Hard to leave?"

Bell nodded. "I've spent my entire life studying bones because bones were all there were." Below, a sauropod herd moved beside the river. "Now they're alive."

"Yes." "And we're leaving." "Also yes."

Mark waited. He knew better than to hurry grief simply because it wore scientific clothing. Bell finally opened her notebook. She tore out a page. On it she had drawn the valley. Not a scientific sketch. A picture. She folded it and put it in her coat. "All right."

They rode on. The pass descended into high desert by evening. For the first time in days the plants became ordinary. Juniper. Sage. Dry grass. Charlie pointed at a rabbit. "Look."

Everyone looked. The rabbit stopped. Eight people stared at it with absurd affection. Mabel whispered, "Beautiful."

The rabbit fled. Voss said, "I never appreciated rabbits." Mark dismounted beside a spring. "Camp."

Nobody argued. That night the stars looked familiar again. Ruth sat beside Mark while he cleaned the Winchester. "Do you think Emperor remembers us?"

"I hope not." "He looked at us." "So do cows."

"Cows don't have heads the size of a piano." "Depends on the piano." Ruth smiled. Then she grew quiet. "Papa?"

"Hm?" "When Grandpa died... did you feel like everything before it disappeared?" Mark's hands stopped. "No."

She waited. "I thought it would." He wiped the rifle bolt with a cloth. "For a while every memory hurt because it ended in the same place. Then one day I remembered something stupid."

"What?" "He hated turnips." Ruth laughed softly. "Really?"

"Despised them. Would eat almost anything else. Somebody served turnips at a church supper and he spent twenty minutes moving them around his plate so nobody would notice."

"Lucas McCain, terror of outlaws." "Defeated by root vegetables." Ruth leaned against him. "And it didn't hurt?"

"It did. But it was funny too." She nodded. Mark put the rifle aside. "People don't disappear into the worst day, Ruth."

She looked at him. "Remember that." Far behind them, beyond the black ridge, a tyrannosaur roared. Very faint. Ruth listened. Then smiled. "Goodnight, Emperor."

Mark looked toward the darkness. "Don't encourage him."

The trucks were where they had left them. That was the good news. The bad news was that one had been robbed. Voss stood beside the open cargo bed. "Food. Two fuel cans. My spare boots."

Mabel looked at his feet. "You still have boots." "Those were city boots."

"Dinosaurs failed to eat you and this is what finally breaks you." Luis found tire tracks. "Truck."

Mark crouched. "Recent." Ruth pointed south. "Going toward North Fork."

Voss opened the cab. "My papers." "What papers?"

"Contracts. Payroll. Route schedule."

"Anything about the valley?" Voss stopped. Bell turned. "Harlan."

"I made notes." Mark stood. "What kind of notes?"

"Location. Distances." Bell closed her eyes. Ruth said, "So whoever robbed you has a map."

"Not a good one." "How good?" Voss hesitated. "Good enough."

Mark walked away before he said something unhelpful. They loaded quickly. The road south had been damaged by the storm. At Red Arroyo the bridge was half gone. One timber span remained above floodwater. Voss stared. "We cannot drive that."

Luis said, "We can." "Excellent." "Slowly."

"Less excellent." Mark crossed first on foot. The bridge groaned. Ruth leaned from the truck window. "How is it?"

"Bad." "Useful." "Very bad."

"Better." They unloaded everything heavy. Horses crossed separately. Then Luis drove the first truck. Boards bowed beneath the wheels. Nobody breathed. The truck reached the other side. Voss applauded. Luis ignored him. The second truck carried Bell, Charlie, Mabel and Ruth. Halfway across, a board snapped. The rear wheel dropped. The truck lurched. Charlie shouted. Ruth was out of the cab before Mark could yell. She climbed onto the bed.

"What are you doing?" "Weight forward!" Mabel understood. They dragged crates toward the cab. Bell joined. The rear wheel rose an inch. Luis shouted from shore. "More!"

Ruth looked at Charlie. "Come on." "My arm."

"Use the other one." They moved the last crate. The wheel climbed. The truck rolled forward. The bridge collapsed three seconds after it reached shore. Everybody watched half the structure disappear into the flood. Voss looked at Ruth. "Better driver than your father?"

Ruth brushed dust from her coat. "Obviously." Mark said, "You didn't drive."

"Leadership." "Ah." Bell laughed. For the first time since leaving the valley, they sounded like themselves again.

The rain returned at dusk. This storm was colder. Mountain rain. It hammered the truck roofs and turned the road into mud. They stopped at an abandoned line shack. Eight people. One room. One stove. Two chairs. Voss took a chair. Mabel removed it from beneath him. "Charlie."

The boy sat. Voss stared. "Seniority."

"His arm." "I have an arm." "Unfortunately."

Ruth laughed. Mark stood at the window. Lightning flashed over Diablo Blanco. For a moment he saw the black ridge. Then something moved along it. Mark leaned closer. Another flash. A silhouette. Two-legged. Large. Not Emperor. Smaller. Running south. "Ruth."

She came immediately. "What?" "Ridge."

Lightning. Nothing. Then a roar. Different. Higher. Bell stood. "That came from outside the valley."

Nobody spoke. Voss whispered, "The rockslide." Mark remembered the dynamite. The eastern cliff. The broken Stone Gate. "How many ways out did we leave open?"

Bell looked sick. "We don't know." Another call answered from farther south. Ruth grabbed her rifle. "There's two."

Mark opened the door. Rain blew inside. "Everybody up."

They found tracks at dawn. A horned carnivore had crossed the road. Bell identified it cautiously as something allosaur-like, though the skull proportions in the prints and glimpses did not fit anything she knew exactly. Mark called it trouble. A second trail belonged to smaller pack predators. Both headed south. Toward ranch country. Voss stood in the mud. "This is my fault."

Nobody corrected him. He looked at Mark. "I widened the gate."

"Yes." "I brought the dynamite." "Yes."

"I thought-" "I know." Voss waited for anger. Mark had none left to spare. "Help fix it."

Voss blinked. "What?" "You want to be sorry, be useful."

Mabel smiled faintly. Voss straightened. "What do we do?"

Mark looked south. "Get to North Fork before they do." They drove.

They lost the race. North Fork appeared beneath clearing clouds shortly after three. The church bell was ringing. Not for service. Alarm. Carver stood in the middle of Main Street with a rifle. He saw the trucks. "McCain!"

Mark jumped down before they stopped. "What happened?" Carver pointed toward the feed store. The front window was gone. A wagon lay overturned. Blood marked the boardwalk. "Anybody dead?"

"Not yet." "Anybody hurt?" "Jim Talley. Arm. Doc's got him."

"What did it?" Carver stared. "You tell me."

A clicking sound came from inside the feed store. Ruth whispered, "Pack hunter." Mark looked around. People watched from windows. Rifles protruded from the hotel balcony. "Everybody stay inside!"

Carver shouted, "I've been saying that!" Something crashed inside the store. Then a feathered predator burst through the broken window. Main Street erupted in gunfire. "STOP!"

Mark roared. Bullets struck walls, signs, barrels. The dinosaur ran. Not toward people. Away. Ruth fired once. Her shot struck dirt ahead of it. The animal turned toward an alley. Mark fired behind it. Another turn. They were herding it. Carver understood. He ran to the far end of the street. "Open the stock gate!"

Two ranch hands pulled the gate wide. Ruth fired again. The predator sprinted through. Carver slammed the gate. The dinosaur found itself in an empty cattle pen. It hissed. Nobody shot. Bell arrived breathless. "Good."

Carver stared at her. "Good?" "It's alive."

"It bit Jim." "Is Jim alive?" "Yes."

"Then good." Carver removed his hat. "I forgot how exhausting educated people are."

A roar sounded beyond town. Not small. Every horse in North Fork reacted. Mark turned. Dust rose on the southern road. A steer came running. Then another. A whole loose herd poured toward town. Behind them ran something red-brown and enormous. Two horns above its eyes. Heavy skull. Long tail. Bell whispered, "Carnotaur."

"Can we call this one a dinosaur too?" Carver asked. "Yes."

"Good." The animal hit the edge of town. Mark shouted, "Clear the street!"

People disappeared. The carnotaur smashed through a hitching rail. A parked automobile honked when its bumper was struck. The dinosaur recoiled from the horn. For one absurd second everybody stared. Then it attacked the automobile. Glass exploded. Voss said, "I sympathize."

Mark drew the Winchester. "Ruth." "Here."

"Crossfire." She ran to the opposite boardwalk. Carver took the hotel corner. Mabel climbed onto a wagon. Luis moved civilians through the rear alley. Bell shouted, "Aim for the head if you have to shoot!"

The carnotaur abandoned the automobile. It saw Mark. Charged. Mark fired. The bullet struck the skull and glanced. "Hard head!"

Ruth fired. Her shot hit the shoulder. The animal staggered. Mabel fired from above. The dinosaur turned toward her. "Hey!"

Mark shouted. It turned back. Bad. But intentional. He fired again. Ruth's Winchester cracked almost simultaneously. Two shots struck the neck. The carnotaur kept coming. Ten yards. Mark could see its eyes. He levered. Empty. "Papa!"

Ruth fired. The dinosaur's head snapped sideways. Mark drew his revolver. Carver fired from the corner. Mabel fired. Three impacts. The animal stumbled. Mark stepped into the street. Too close. Ruth shouted his name. The carnotaur lunged. Mark fired the revolver beneath the jaw. Once. Twice. The dinosaur collapsed. Its momentum carried it forward. Mark jumped. The skull struck the boardwalk where he had stood. Silence. Then the automobile horn sounded again.

Long. Pathetic. Ruth ran to Mark. "You all right?"

"Fine." "You jumped badly." "I jumped successfully."

"You are too old to jump like that." "I am forty-something." "Exactly."

Carver approached the carcass. He stared at it. Then at the ruined automobile. Then at the captured little predator in the stock pen. Then at Mark. "You left for one week."

"Approximately." "I had a quiet town." "Debatable."

Carver pointed at the dinosaur. "Paperwork." Mark looked at him. "What?"

"I have to write a report." Bell said, "I can assist with taxonomy." Carver's expression became haunted. "No."

From the stock pen came a click. Far outside town, something answered. Mark's humor vanished. Ruth heard it too. Another click. Then several. Coming from the fields. Mark reloaded. The first dinosaur in North Fork was dead. It was not the last.

By sunset the dinosaur in the cattle pen had become the most famous prisoner in New Mexico. Nobody had invited the reporters. They came anyway. Two automobiles arrived from Santa Fe before supper. A newsreel truck came after dark with three men, a motion-picture camera, and enough electric cable to strangle half the town. Sheriff Carver stood outside his office with both hands on his hips. "No."

The reporter blinked. "I haven't asked anything." "No."

"We represent the Western News Service." "No." "We'd like a photograph."

"No." "Interview?" "No."

"Statement?" Carver pointed toward the hotel. "Coffee's ten cents."

The reporter looked at Mark. Mark shook his head. "He's the friendly one."

Ruth escaped into the sheriff's office before anybody recognized her. Mabel was not so lucky. "Miss Rourke! Is it true you fought dinosaurs in a prehistoric valley?"

Mabel stopped. "No." Mark stared at her. She winked. "I fought them in a meadow."

The reporter began writing furiously. Voss appeared from the hotel wearing a borrowed brown hat. Mark looked at it. Voss touched the brim. "Don't."

"I didn't say anything." "You were going to." "It lacks arrogance."

"It was the only one in my size." "Tragic." Voss looked toward the stock pen. The little predator paced behind the fence. Bell had covered half the enclosure with canvas to give it somewhere to hide. "Too many people," she said. "I agree."

Bell looked at Voss. He raised both hands. "I agree sincerely."

That was new. The town meeting began at seven. It lasted twelve minutes before everybody started shouting. "Kill it!"

"Send it to Washington!" "Sell it!" "Put it in the zoo!"

"What zoo?" "Any zoo!" Bell stood on the courthouse steps. "It is not property."

A rancher shouted, "It ate my chickens!" "Then submit an invoice." Mark covered his mouth. Ruth whispered, "I like her."

"You liked her before." "I like her more." Carver fired his revolver into the air. Everybody stopped. Bell glared at him. "Was that necessary?"

"No," Carver said. "But it was satisfying."

He addressed the crowd. "We have at least one large animal loose outside town and an unknown number of smaller ones. You will stay indoors after dark. Livestock comes into secure pens. Nobody goes dinosaur hunting."

A man near the back said, "What if we want to?" Carver pointed at the dead carnotaur lying beneath a tarpaulin. "You see that?"

"Yes." "It almost ate Mark McCain." The man considered. "All right."

Mark leaned toward Ruth. "Apparently I'm a unit of danger." "One McCain."

"Very scientific." Bell continued. "The captured animal will be released north of town once we determine a safe route."

The crowd objected again. Voss stepped forward. Mark braced himself. "She's right."

Silence. Even Bell looked surprised. Voss removed the brown hat. "You all know me. Harlan Voss, Silver Spur Wild West Exhibition."

Somebody applauded. Voss waited. "I came here because I thought a living dinosaur could save my show."

Bell's expression tightened. "I was going to put one in a cage." The crowd murmured. "I built the cage. I used bait. I used dynamite."

Carver said, "We're discussing that later." Voss nodded. "I nearly got people killed. I damaged the pass those animals came through."

Now nobody murmured. Voss looked at the stock pen. "That creature doesn't belong under canvas."

He turned to the crowd. "Neither do the others." Mark watched him. No flourish. No salesman's grin. Just a man admitting something expensive. The meeting ended quieter than it began. Then the newsreel cameraman asked whether Voss would repeat the speech for film. Voss said, "Absolutely."

Mark sighed. Some changes required time.

The cage broke at 1:17 in the morning. Carver knew the exact time because the courthouse clock stopped when something hit it. Mark woke to gunfire. Not one shot. Dozens. He came out of the hotel pulling on his coat with the Winchester already in hand. Main Street was chaos. The stock pen stood open. The little predator was gone. Three more raced between buildings. "Stop firing!"

Mark shouted. Nobody listened. A bullet shattered the barber-shop window. Ruth came from the alley in boots and nightshirt beneath her coat. "Papa!"

"How many?" "Four! Maybe five!"

Bell ran behind her carrying a lantern. "Don't let them corner!" Carver appeared with his badge pinned crookedly to his undershirt. "What happened?"

"Fence." "I can see that." A predator leaped onto the watering trough. Somebody fired. Missed. The animal fled. Mark shot the gun out of the man's hands. Not literally. He put a bullet into the dirt two inches from the man's boot. "Next one goes through the rifle."

The man lowered it. Ruth stared at Mark. "What?"

"Effective." "Grandpa?" "Absolutely."

The pack hunters moved through town like water. They did not attack unless blocked. Bell recognized the pattern. "They're looking for the captured one."

"Family?" Ruth asked. "Pack."

The missing animal clicked from somewhere behind the feed store. Three answered. Mark understood. "Open the north street."

Carver shouted orders. Wagons moved. A truck reversed. People retreated indoors. Mark and Ruth took opposite sides. They used shots sparingly. One behind a predator. One ahead. Turn. Guide. Pressure. The animals followed the clicking. Then the captured dinosaur appeared. It limped into Main Street. Bell whispered, "That's her."

"Her?" "I checked." "Good time to mention it."

The animal saw the others. The pack erupted in clicks. For one strange moment North Fork became silent except for dinosaur voices. Then they ran north together. Ruth smiled. "That worked."

A roar answered from beyond the railroad. The smile disappeared. Carver said, "That isn't one of the little ones."

Mark looked north. A boxcar moved. Not on the track. Sideways. Something enormous hit it from behind. The car tipped. Metal screamed. Bell whispered, "No."

A tyrannosaur stepped into the railway lights. Not Emperor. Younger. Lean. Its hide was dark with rain. It bit the side of the boxcar. Carver stared. "Why?"

Bell said, "Noise. Movement. Territory. I don't know."

The tyrannosaur shook the boxcar. Voss came running from the hotel. He stopped. "That's bad."

Mark looked at him. "Insightful." The animal released the car. Then saw the people. "Everybody inside!"

The tyrannosaur charged Main Street. Mark and Ruth fired together. Their bullets struck the ground before the animal. It did not turn. "Again!"

Two more shots. One struck the snout. The tyrannosaur roared. Mabel fired from the hotel balcony. Carver fired from behind a water barrel. The dinosaur kept coming. Voss shouted, "Arena!"

Mark turned. "What?" "Silver Spur arena! Outside town. Floodlights. Fencing. Open ground."

"How?" "Make it follow us." Ruth looked at Mark. "That's insane."

"Yes." "Could work." "Also yes."

Voss ran toward his touring car. Mark grabbed the door. "You drive."

"I own it." "That's why I'm driving." Ruth climbed onto the running board. "Papa."

"No." "You need a shooter." "No."

"You need two." Mark hated mathematics. "Get in."

They drove. Voss sat in the back with a rifle. Mabel joined on horseback. The tyrannosaur followed the engine. Not perfectly. But enough. Mark kept the car just ahead. Ruth fired backward when the animal veered. Mabel fired from the flank. They led it through the north road. Toward the abandoned Silver Spur arena. Voss shouted, "Lights!"

"Who turns them on?" Voss paused. "Charlie."

Mark stared. "Charlie is asleep!" "He knows the generator!"

Ruth shouted over the engine, "PLEASE TELL ME YOU DIDN'T SEND CHARLIE AHEAD!" Voss looked offended. "I am capable of learning!"

The arena was dark. Then the floodlights came on. Charlie stood beside the generator. Mark said something Lucas would not have approved of. The tyrannosaur charged the light. Mark swung the car through the open gate. Ruth jumped clear. Voss rolled out the other side. Mabel galloped through. The dinosaur entered. Charlie pulled the gate cable. The heavy fencing dropped. The tyrannosaur hit it. Posts bent. But held. For now. Charlie grinned.

"Hardware store." Mark pointed at him. "Later."

The tyrannosaur roared beneath the Silver Spur sign. Painted cowboys smiled down from the canvas. Voss looked at the scene. Once, it had been his dream. A dinosaur. An arena. Floodlights. Crowds. Now he looked horrified. "Get everybody back," he said. The fence groaned. Mark reloaded. "Good idea."

The Silver Spur fence lasted six minutes. The tyrannosaur hit the north section three times. On the fourth, a post snapped. "Move!"

Mark shouted. The animal came through. No crowd. No reporters. No ticket buyers. Only people trying very hard not to become exhibits. Ruth ran toward the horses. Mabel mounted first. Voss dragged Charlie onto his saddle. Mark fired into the dirt beside the tyrannosaur. It turned. Good. It charged him. Less good. He mounted and ran. The chase left North Fork behind. Moonlight opened across the range. Mark rode hard. Ruth came alongside.

"Plan?" "Still developing." "Comforting."

The tyrannosaur followed. Mabel circled left. Voss and Charlie stayed back. Carver arrived with six riders. "Where are we taking it?"

Mark pointed north. "Away." Carver stared. "Specific."

They became a posse. A dinosaur posse. Nobody said it aloud. There were limits. By dawn they had driven the animal twelve miles. It was tiring. So were the horses. Bell caught up in Voss's truck with Luis driving. She leaned from the cab. "Stop provoking it!"

Mark rode beside the truck. "If we stop, it turns south." "Then redirect with livestock!"

"Which livestock?" Bell pointed. A cattle herd grazed beyond the ridge. Mark looked. Then at her. "Professor."

"What?" "That is the first cowboy thing you've said." "I contain multitudes."

They changed tactics. Carver and his riders moved the cattle north. The tyrannosaur saw them. Instinct replaced anger. It followed the herd.

Mark slowed his horse. Ruth came beside him. "Better."

"Much." Voss watched from the truck. "You could build a show around this."

Everyone looked at him. He raised his hands. "Observation. Not proposal."

Mabel said, "Progress." They camped at noon. The tyrannosaur remained a mile north with the cattle. Bell studied it through binoculars. "Young adult."

"Male?" Ruth asked. "Probably."

"Emperor's son?" Bell lowered the glasses. "We have no evidence."

"Could be." "Could also be completely unrelated." Ruth smiled. "Prince."

Bell sighed. "No." Carver said, "Prince."

Mark said, "Absolutely not." Voss said, "Excellent." Bell looked betrayed. The name remained. At three, Prince left the cattle. He turned west. Toward Diablo Blanco. Mark smiled. "Maybe he knows the way."

Bell raised the binoculars. Then her smile vanished. "What?"

She handed them to Mark. On the western ridge stood another dinosaur. Horned. Red-brown. Carnotaur. Behind it, smaller shapes moved. Pack hunters. The escaped animals were gathering. Ruth whispered, "Why?"

Bell looked toward the mountains. "Migration." "Back to the valley?"

"Maybe." Voss said, "Then we help." Mark looked at him. "How?"

Voss smiled. Not commercially. Cowboy. "We drive them."

The plan was ridiculous. That did not mean it was bad. Cowboys had moved cattle across impossible country for generations using horses, noise, pressure and patience. Dinosaurs were not cattle. But some principles survived seventy million years. Do not get directly in front. Do not crowd. Give the herd somewhere to go. And if a twelve-foot carnivore turns toward you, abandon all principles and ride. They spent the afternoon gathering animals.

Not dinosaurs. Cattle. Bar-T stock. Heller's herd. Anything available. The cattle became a moving barrier between the predators and North Fork. Carver rode point. Mabel and Luis worked the flanks. Mark and Ruth took the dangerous side nearest Prince. Voss drove the supply truck behind them. Bell rode beside him with binoculars. Charlie remained in North Fork. This time genuinely. Carver had locked his boots in the jail. "Unconstitutional,"

Charlie had complained. "Appeal," Carver said. The drive began at dawn. Dust rose. Cattle bawled. Prince followed. The carnotaur followed Prince. Pack hunters moved along the edges. For three hours it worked. Then they reached Red Mesa. The trail narrowed. Ruth looked at the cliffs. "I don't like this."

Mark did not either. The carnotaur disappeared behind the ridge. Bell shouted from the truck. "Lost visual!"

Mark turned. Too late. The horned predator came over the rocks above Ruth. It jumped. Her horse reared. Ruth fell. "RUTH!"

Mark fired. The shot struck the carnotaur's shoulder. It landed badly. Ruth rolled. The animal recovered. Charged her. She fired from the ground. One shot. Hit the chest. Not enough. Mark rode straight at it. He fired again. The carnotaur turned toward him. Ruth stood. Her rifle cracked. The bullet hit behind the jaw. Mabel fired from the ridge. Luis fired. The animal staggered. Mark's horse collided with it. Horse and rider went down.

Mark hit the ground. The world became dust. He heard Ruth scream. The carnotaur stood over him. Mark's rifle lay six feet away. He reached for his revolver. The dinosaur lowered its head. Then Ruth stepped into view. "HEY!"

Mark looked at her. No. Absolutely not. The carnotaur turned. Ruth had the Winchester at her shoulder. She fired. The shot entered the eye. The dinosaur reeled. Mark drew the revolver. He fired upward beneath the jaw. The animal collapsed beside him. For several seconds he lay still. Ruth ran. "Papa."

"I'm fine." "Don't." "What?"

"Don't say fine." He looked at her. She was shaking. Not much. Enough. Mark sat up. "All right."

She knelt. "You scared me." "I know."

"You rode into it." "I know." "That was stupid."

"Yes." She stared. He added, "Very."

Ruth hugged him. Hard. Mark held her. Around them the cattle drive continued. Carver shouted orders. Mabel gathered loose horses. Bell ran toward them with her medical bag. For one minute Mark let the world proceed without him. They buried Mark's horse at Red Mesa. The gelding had broken a leg in the collision. Mark had done what had to be done. Nobody spoke during it. Ruth stood beside him afterward. "I'm sorry."

Mark nodded. He placed the saddle on the ground. The horse had carried him into North Fork. Into Thunder Valley. Away from Emperor. Toward Ruth. A good horse. That deserved remembering. Voss came quietly. He held out his reins. "Take mine."

Mark looked at him. "You need a horse." "I have the truck."

"You hate the truck." "I hate walking more." Mark took the reins. "Thank you."

Voss nodded. No joke. The dinosaur drive resumed at sunset. Prince roared from ahead. Then another roar answered. Far away. From Diablo Blanco. Deep. Scarred. Familiar. Ruth looked at Mark. "Emperor."

Bell listened. "Possibly." Everyone stared at her. Bell sighed. "Emperor."

Prince answered. The sound rolled between the mesas. Father and son, perhaps. Or rivals. Or simply two animals calling across ancient country. Mark did not know. He did know where both sounds pointed. Home. He mounted Voss's horse. "Let's take them there."

By sunrise the strangest cattle drive in New Mexico history had acquired rules. Rule one: keep the cattle moving north. Rule two: keep the dinosaurs interested in the cattle. Rule three: do not become more interesting than the cattle. Carver added rule four. "If anybody says this is fun, I arrest him."

Mabel raised a hand. "On what charge?" "I'll invent one."

They rode beneath a pale sky with Diablo Blanco growing larger ahead. Prince stayed half a mile behind the herd. The pack hunters moved in and out of sight. Bell watched everything through field glasses from Voss's truck. Ruth rode beside Mark on the right flank. "You all right?"

Mark adjusted the borrowed saddle. "Fine." She looked at him. He sighed. "Sore."

"Better." "You've become very strict." "Learned from Grandpa."

"You never met him." "Learned from you, then." "Worse."

The cattle drifted left. Ruth whistled and cut across them. Mark watched her turn twenty steers with nothing but position and nerve. She had always been a good rider. Somewhere along the way she had become better than he was. He found that irritating for almost three seconds. Then mostly wonderful. At noon they reached the old mission road. The route narrowed between two mesas. Voss stopped the truck. "Road's blocked."

A freight wagon lay sideways across the cut. Not abandoned. Fresh. Three men stood behind it with rifles. Mark rode forward. "Morning."

The tallest man raised his weapon. "That's far enough." Carver came beside Mark. "Who are you?"

"Rafe Colton." Carver's expression changed. Ruth noticed. "Know him?"

"By paperwork." Colton smiled. "That's hurtful."

Mark looked at the wagon. "What do you want?" "The dinosaurs."

Voss muttered, "Oh, for God's sake." Colton had seen the newspapers. He had come with two partners, a truck, chains, and a plan that made Voss's old schemes look almost scholarly. "Dead or alive,"

Colton said. "Museums'll pay. Circuses'll pay. Rich men'll pay more."

Bell climbed down from the truck. "No." Colton looked at her. "Lady, I wasn't asking."

Mark's voice changed. Ruth heard it. So did Carver. "Move the wagon."

Colton smiled. "Or?" Behind the cattle came Prince's roar. The three poachers turned. Mark said, "That."

The herd surged. Colton's smile vanished. "Move the wagon!"

Now everybody agreed. They dragged it aside with Voss's truck seconds before the cattle reached the cut. Colton and his men scrambled onto the rocks. Prince appeared behind the herd. One poacher fired. Mark's rifle came up. "Don't!"

The bullet struck Prince high in the shoulder. The tyrannosaur roared. Then stopped following cattle. It followed the shooter. Colton ran. Ruth said, "Rule three."

Mark almost laughed. Almost. They had to save the idiot.

Colton reached the rocks. Prince reached the rocks faster. Mark and Ruth fired together. Not at Prince. At the stone beside his head. The impacts showered him with fragments. He turned. Carver fired from the opposite side. Mabel shouted and waved her hat. Prince's attention split. Colton crawled behind Mark. "Kill it!"

"No." "It'll kill us!" "Then stop shooting it."

Prince lunged. Ruth fired a warning shot into the dirt. He snapped toward her. Mark's stomach dropped. "Ruth!"

She rode. Prince followed. Not far. The wounded shoulder slowed him. Bell shouted from the truck. "He's bleeding badly!"

Voss stared at Colton. "You shot him." Colton still held the rifle. Voss took it. Colton protested. Voss punched him. Everybody paused. Voss rubbed his hand. "I have wanted to do that to somebody for years."

Carver took Colton by the collar. "Congratulations. You're under arrest."

"For what?" Carver looked at the dinosaur. "I'll invent one."

Bell insisted on helping Prince. Mark objected. Bell ignored him. They waited until the tyrannosaur settled in a shallow arroyo. The bullet had passed through muscle. No broken bone. "Good,"

Bell whispered. Ruth lay beside her on the ridge. "Can you treat him?"

"Not conventionally." "Then?" "Keep flies away. Keep people away. Let him rest."

Mark looked at Colton. "That second part I can manage." Voss sat beside the poachers with a shotgun. No hat. No smile. "Try running."

Colton glared. Voss smiled. "There it is."

At sunset Prince stood. He tested the leg. Then walked north. Slowly. The cattle were already moving. He followed. Ruth exhaled. Bell closed her notebook. "Good."

Mark nodded. "Good." Then the pack hunters began screaming. Not clicking. Screaming. From the western rocks. Something had found them.

The thing that came over the ridge was not a tyrannosaur. Bell saw it first. "Down!"

A horned predator burst from the rocks. Larger than the carnotaur killed in North Fork. Scarred along one flank. It struck a steer and threw it sideways. The herd exploded. "Hold them!"

Mark shouted. Impossible. Cattle scattered. Prince roared. The horned predator answered. Then both animals charged each other. Ruth stared. "That's new."

The impact sounded like timber breaking. Prince bit at the predator's neck. The horned animal drove its skull into Prince's ribs. Bell shouted, "We have to move the cattle!"

Mark understood. Let the predators fight. Save the herd. Save the route. They rode. For ten minutes the world became dust and noise. Mabel turned the left flank. Luis gathered strays. Carver and his deputies forced the lead cattle toward Diablo Blanco. Ruth rode the rear. Mark stayed with her. Then Voss's truck stopped. "What now?"

Voss jumped out. He had found something beside the old mission road. A crate. Dynamite. Colton's. Mark saw it. "No."

Voss looked at him. "Not for them." "No."

"The Stone Gate." Mark understood. The rockslide. The damaged passage. Voss wanted to blast a route open. "Absolutely not."

"We need a way through." "We have horses." "We have cattle."

"Leave the cattle." "And the dinosaurs?" Mark looked toward Prince. The young tyrannosaur was bleeding again. The horned predator circled him. Voss said, "If they stay out here, North Fork gets this forever."

Bell arrived. "Controlled charge could clear the old slide." Mark stared at her. "You too?"

"I said could." Voss picked up the crate. "I caused the break."

He looked toward the black ridge. "Let me repair it." Mark hated the idea. That did not make it wrong. They reached Stone Gate at dusk. The passage was half blocked. Voss worked with Bell and Luis to place three small charges. Not ten. Not dramatic. Three. Mark personally counted. "Happy?"

"No." "Excellent." They moved everyone back. Voss lit the fuse. Then stopped. A sound came from inside the passage. Deep. Emperor. Voss stared at the fuse. "Oh."

"RUN!" They ran. The charges blew. Stone fell. Dust rolled through the gate. Then Emperor came through it. Scarred muzzle. Massive head. Alive. Voss stood frozen. Mark grabbed him and pulled him behind a boulder. Emperor emerged into the open desert. Prince saw him. The young tyrannosaur called. Emperor answered. Nobody moved. The horned predator appeared behind Prince. Emperor's head turned. The older tyrannosaur charged. The fight lasted less than a minute.

Emperor hit the horned predator from the side. Prince joined. Two tyrannosaurs. One enemy. The horned predator fled. Emperor did not pursue. He turned toward Prince. They stood nose to nose. Bell whispered, "Don't make this sentimental."

Ruth whispered back, "Too late." Emperor nudged Prince's wounded shoulder. Mark looked at Bell. Bell lowered her binoculars. "I said don't."

Voss sat in the dust. "The gate's open." Mark looked. The blast had cleared the passage. Not widened it. Cleared it. For once Voss had used dynamite correctly. Mark held out a hand. Voss took it. "Last folly?"

Mark asked. Voss stood. "Last one involving explosives."

"That is not the same promise." "It's the best you're getting."

They expected the dinosaurs to return. Some did. Prince followed Emperor through Stone Gate before midnight. The pack hunters went after them. Bell smiled as the last feathered tail disappeared into darkness. Then she stopped smiling. "What?"

Ruth pointed south. More calls. Far away. The animals outside the valley were not all here. Mark looked toward North Fork. "How many?"

Bell listened. "Enough." Carver swore. They had brought part of the migration home. Not all. Voss said, "Truck."

They drove south through the night. North Fork had prepared. Carver's deputies had barricaded Main Street. Livestock had been moved. Windows boarded. The church basement held families. The Silver Spur floodlights had been brought into town. Charlie stood beside the generator. Carver looked at him. "I told you to stay inside."

"You need electricity." Carver opened his mouth. Closed it. "Fine."

Charlie grinned. "Hardware store." "Say that again and I jail you."

Mark found Ruth on the hotel roof. She was laying cartridges beside her rifle. "How many?"

"Forty." "Take sixty." She looked at him. "Expecting company?"

A roar sounded beyond the south road. Then another. Mark handed her the cartridges. "Yes."

The first animals entered North Fork at eleven. Small herbivores. They ran through the streets in terror. Nobody fired. Bell and Luis opened the north road and guided them through. Then came pack hunters. Mark and Ruth used lanterns and rifle shots to turn them. One climbed onto the hotel awning. Mabel knocked it off with a broom. Ruth stared. Mabel shrugged. "Didn't want to shoot the awning."

At midnight, the ground began to shake. Not one animal. Several. Carver climbed the courthouse steps. "Positions!"

Men and women took windows. Ranchers. Deputies. Silver Spur riders. People who had spent their lives shooting coyotes, wolves, cans, bottles, targets, sometimes each other. Now they waited for dinosaurs. Mark stood in Main Street. Ruth came down from the roof. "What are you doing?"

"Joining you." "I put you up there for elevation." "You put me up there because you're my father."

"Also elevation." She stood beside him. "Too late."

Mark looked at her. Twenty-two years old. Rifle ready. Not a child. Still his child. Always both. He nodded. "Left side."

She smiled. "Right." A shape appeared at the far end of Main Street. Tyrannosaur. Then another shape entered from the opposite end. Another tyrannosaur. Carver whispered, "You have got to be kidding."

Bell raised binoculars. "Neither is Emperor." Mark looked at Ruth. "Crossfire."

"Crossfire." The two tyrannosaurs saw each other. Everything else ceased to matter. They roared. Main Street shook. Then they charged. Not the people. Each other. Mark shouted, "HOLD FIRE!"

The animals collided beneath the courthouse clock. Glass shattered. One tyrannosaur slammed into the general store. The other bit its neck. Ruth stared. "Papa."

"I see it." The first animal threw the second through the barber-shop window. Carver closed his eyes. "My town."

The second rose. Charged. They hit again. Voss appeared beside Mark. "This is the greatest thing I have ever seen."

Mark looked at him. Voss corrected himself. "Terrible. Awful. Deeply concerning."

One tyrannosaur broke away. It turned toward the church. Mark raised his rifle. "Now."

Ruth fired. Mark fired. Mabel fired. Carver fired. Shots struck around the animal's face and chest. It turned. Away from the church. Toward Main Street. The other tyrannosaur attacked again. The battle moved north. Mark shouted orders. They used gunfire as walls. Left. Right. Forward. Every rifle in North Fork became part of the drive. The dinosaurs fought their way out of town. Past the railroad. Into open country. Nobody cheered.

Not yet. Bell looked north. "They're moving toward Diablo Blanco."

Mark reloaded. "Then we finish the drive." Ruth looked at the wrecked street. "What about North Fork?"

Carver stared at the barber shop. The courthouse clock. The automobile that had somehow been damaged again. "My town can wait."

He picked up his rifle. "Let's get these overgrown chickens home." Bell stared at him. "Do not call them chickens."

Carver smiled. "Found your limit." They mounted before dawn. Behind them, North Fork smoldered. Ahead, two tyrannosaurs roared across the range. And somewhere beyond the black ridge, Emperor answered.

They rode north beneath a sky the color of cold iron. The two tyrannosaurs from North Fork had separated before sunrise. One followed the railroad for three miles, then turned toward the black hills. The other remained with the loose cattle. Carver's posse spread wide. Nobody spoke much. They had reached the stage of exhaustion where conversation became expensive. At Bitter Wash, Mark called a halt. The place looked almost exactly as it had when the mystery began.

Dry banks. Cottonwoods. Dust. Three-toed tracks. Only now nobody needed convincing. Ruth dismounted and stared at the old campsite. "Feels like a year ago."

"Feels like yesterday." "Both." Mark understood. Bell sat beneath a tree and opened Beecham's Bible. Heller's Bible, really. She had kept it wrapped in oilcloth through storms, dinosaurs, dynamite and North Fork. "Remind me,"

Carver said, "when this is over." "Return it?" "Never borrow anything from Tom Heller again."

Bell smiled. Voss sat by the fire wearing the brown replacement hat. Mabel pointed at it. "Still wrong."

"It is growing on me." "Fungus grows." Luis handed Voss coffee. "Hat bad."

Voss looked wounded. "Et tu, Luis?" Luis drank his coffee. Nobody explained the Latin. After supper Ruth found Mark away from the fire. He was looking north. "Can't sleep?"

"Not trying." She sat beside him. For a while neither spoke. Then Ruth said, "What happens after?"

"After what?" "All this." Mark smiled. "Specific."

"You know." He did. The question beneath the question. What happened when danger stopped giving them a reason to ride together? Ruth picked at the edge of her glove. "I've been thinking about Santa Fe."

"Professor Bell?" "Maybe." "College?"

"Maybe." "Natural history?" She looked at him. "Maybe."

Mark nodded. Ruth frowned. "That's it?"

"What were you expecting?" "I don't know. A speech."

"I can give one." "No." "Good."

She bumped his shoulder. "You'd be all right?" "No."

Ruth blinked. Mark looked at her. "I'd miss you."

Her expression softened. "That's different from not being all right." "I know."

"You wouldn't ask me to stay?" "No." "Why?"

He thought about Lucas. Not the rifle. Not North Fork. A father watching a boy become somebody he could no longer carry. "Because my job wasn't to keep you close."

Ruth's eyes shone. "What was it?" "Get you ready to go."

She leaned against him. Mark kissed the top of her head. After a moment she whispered, "I might still come back."

"I'd insist." She laughed. From Diablo Blanco came a roar. Then another. Ruth sighed. "Dinosaurs have terrible timing."

Mark stood. "They're consistent."

At dawn they found Emperor's tracks. They came through Bitter Wash from the north. Four feet long. Scarred impressions where the right hind foot favored one side. Bell knelt. "He's outside again."

Voss looked toward Stone Gate. "Why?" Ruth pointed. Blood. Not Emperor's. Prince's. The younger tyrannosaur had passed through the wash during the night. Wounded shoulder reopened. Emperor followed. Mark mounted. "We find Prince."

The trail led west. Toward the two tyrannosaurs driven from North Fork. Bell understood first. "They're territorial."

Carver said, "Meaning?" "Prince entered their range." "And Emperor?"

"Following him." Voss stared. "Family reunion with guns."

Bell glared. "Not family." "Fine. Taxonomically ambiguous reunion with guns."

"Better." They rode. They found Prince at noon. Cornered beneath Red Mesa. The two North Fork tyrannosaurs stood between him and the pass. Emperor watched from the ridge. Four tyrannosaurs. Mark stopped. "No."

Carver said, "Strong plan." Ruth counted. "Prince is hurt."

Bell nodded. "Badly." One of the strange tyrannosaurs charged. Prince met it. The second moved to flank. Emperor came off the ridge. The ground shook. Mark had seen gunfights where everybody waited for somebody else to draw. This felt like that. Only the guns weighed six tons. Emperor hit the flanking animal. Prince fought the first. The canyon became dust and blood. "Back!"

Mark shouted. The posse retreated. Then the cattle arrived. Hundreds. Driven by frightened riders from the south. Nobody had planned it. The herd entered the canyon. Everything broke. Tyrannosaurs turned. Cattle scattered. Horses bolted. Ruth's mare spun away. Mark lost sight of her. "RUTH!"

A tyrannosaur came through the dust. Not Emperor. Mark fired. Once. Twice. It kept coming. He rode between boulders. The animal followed. Ahead, Ruth appeared. "Papa!"

"GO!" She did not. Of course. She turned her horse. Raised the rifle. The tyrannosaur opened its mouth. Ruth fired into it. The animal recoiled. Mark fired into the throat. It staggered. Emperor struck it from the side. The strange tyrannosaur went down. Emperor stood over it. Mark and Ruth froze. The scarred head turned toward them. Recognition was a human idea. Mark knew that. Still. Emperor looked. Then returned to Prince. The surviving rival fled south.

Bell rode up. "That one cannot reach North Fork." Mark reloaded. "No."

Carver looked toward the fleeing tyrannosaur. "Then we hunt." Mark looked at Ruth. She nodded. This time the rifles would not be walls. This time they had an animal headed toward people. They rode.

The final hunt lasted through the night. The rival tyrannosaur moved south fast. Too fast for tired horses. Voss used the truck to leapfrog supplies. Luis changed mounts twice. Mabel rode until her hands bled. Carver sent deputies ahead to clear ranches. Mark and Ruth stayed on the trail. Near dawn they reached a narrow basin above North Fork. The town lay visible in the distance. Smoke from chimneys. Morning lamps. Ordinary life.

The tyrannosaur stood on the ridge between them and it. Bell arrived behind them. "Mark."

He knew. There was no valley route to turn it toward. No cattle herd. No open gate. No time. The animal began downhill. Mark dismounted. Ruth did too. They rested rifles across a fallen pine. Two hundred yards. Wind from the left. Ruth breathed. "Range?"

"One eighty." "Moving." "Slow."

Bell stood behind them. She said nothing. Voss arrived. He understood and removed his hat. The tyrannosaur turned broadside. Ruth whispered, "Shoulder."

Mark nodded. "Together." They fired. Two rifles cracked at dawn. The tyrannosaur stumbled. Kept moving. Mark levered. Ruth already had. Second volley. One bullet struck behind the forelimb. The other higher. The animal roared. Turned toward them. "Now it's coming,"

Carver said. Mark remained behind the rifle. Ruth did too. The tyrannosaur charged uphill. One hundred fifty yards. One hundred. Mark remembered Lucas teaching him not to hurry because the target was frightening. A rifle did not know fear. Hands did. Control the hands. Ruth breathed out. Mark saw her become still. Eighty yards. "Head?"

"No. Chest." They fired. The tyrannosaur faltered. Fifty yards. Mark's rifle clicked empty. Ruth had one round. She looked at him. Mark drew his revolver. "Take it."

The tyrannosaur came. Ruth waited. Thirty yards. Twenty. Mark could hear its breath. "Ruth."

"Not yet." Ten. She fired. The bullet entered the open mouth. The tyrannosaur crashed. Its head struck the earth six yards from them. Dust rolled over the ridge. Silence followed. Ruth remained behind the rifle. Mark touched her shoulder. "It's down."

She exhaled. Then her hands started shaking. Mark took the rifle. She looked at the dead animal. "I didn't want to."

"I know." Bell came beside her. "So did I."

Ruth looked surprised. Bell's eyes were wet. "Want it dead?"

"No." "Then what?" "Want there to have been another choice."

Mark looked toward North Fork. "So did we." Voss put his hat back on. "No poster."

Nobody answered. He nodded. "No poster."

A roar came from behind them. Everybody turned. Emperor stood on the distant ridge. Prince beside him. They had followed. Carver raised his rifle. Mark pushed the barrel down. "No."

Emperor looked at the dead rival. Then toward North Fork. Then at the humans. Prince limped. Bell whispered, "Please go home."

Emperor roared. The sound rolled over the basin. Then he turned north. Prince followed. Ruth smiled through tears. "Now we drive them."

Mark mounted. "Now we drive them." The last ride began.

They reached Stone Gate two days later. No gunfight. No dynamite. No trap. Just patience. Emperor and Prince crossed first. The pack hunters followed by evening. A scattered herd of herbivores entered after dark. Bell stood beneath the black stone until the last sound disappeared. Then Luis and Carver brought down the loose rock above the damaged entrance. Not enough to seal Thunder Valley forever. Enough to make wagons impossible.

Enough to discourage curiosity. Voss watched. "You know somebody will find it again."

Bell nodded. "Yes." "What then?"

"Maybe we'll be ready." Ruth said, "We?" Bell looked at her. "If you're serious about Santa Fe."

Ruth smiled. Mark pretended to study the rocks. Voss noticed. He wisely said nothing. They returned Heller's Bible. Tom Heller inspected it for damage. Bell waited nervously. He turned pages. Checked the cover. Looked at her. "You read it?"

"Yes." "Learn anything?" "Quite a lot."

"Then it worked." He put it on the shelf. Carver stared. "That's it?"

Heller looked at him. "What'd you want, Ben? Choir?"

Carver left before he became religious. North Fork rebuilt. The barber shop required a new wall. The courthouse clock never ran correctly again. The automobile was declared beyond repair after its owner discovered a tyrannosaur footprint through the hood. The Silver Spur stayed. Not permanently. Long enough to help. Voss sold two wagons and paid several debts. Then he reinvented the show. No captured animals. No fake prehistoric monsters.

He advertised the truth carefully: THE MEN AND WOMEN WHO RODE THE DINOSAUR RANGE. Bell objected. Voss changed it to: THE MEN AND WOMEN WHO SURVIVED A VERY UNUSUAL EXPEDITION. Bell permitted that. Mabel got top billing. Voss complained. Mabel kept it. Ruth left for Santa Fe in October. Mark took her to the station. Her trunk contained clothes, three notebooks, Bell's letters, two fossil texts, and more ammunition than Mark considered academically necessary.

"You packed this?" "Yes." "For college?"

"Natural history can be hostile." "Apparently." The train whistle sounded. Ruth hugged him. Not briefly. "Papa."

"Go." "You trying to get rid of me?" "Train is."

She pulled back. "You'll write?" "Every week."

"Every week?" "Most weeks." "Papa."

"Every week." She kissed his cheek. Then boarded. Mark stood on the platform as the train pulled away. He did not feel abandoned. He felt the ache of a job done correctly. Mostly correctly. Nobody got fatherhood entirely right. Lucas hadn't. Mark hadn't. Maybe that was never the requirement. Be there. Teach what you can. Admit what you don't know. And when the time comes, open the gate. Winter came early. In December, Mark rode north alone.

Snow lay along the railroad. North Fork smoked peacefully behind him. At Bitter Wash he dismounted. The old three-toed tracks were gone. Rain and wind had erased them. Mark smiled. Then he saw another print. Small. Fresh. Three toes. On the wrong side of the railroad. He crouched. A feather lay beside it. Dark. Striped. Mark picked it up. Behind him came hoofbeats. Carver approached. He looked at the track. Then at Mark. "No."

Mark stood. "Didn't say anything." "No."

"It's small." "No." "Could be a bird."

Carver stared. Mark smiled. From somewhere beyond the cottonwoods came a dry little click. Carver closed his eyes. "I hate this town."

Mark levered a round into the Winchester. The click came again. Not threatening. Almost curious. He looked toward the trees. "Come on, Ben."

"Where?" "Let's find out." They rode into the snow. Behind them, on the telegraph wire, a message waited for Mark from Santa Fe. It contained only seven words. PAPA. FOUND SOMETHING. YOU WILL NOT BELIEVE IT. North Fork had learned better than to say impossible.