158 Life of a Fossil Hunter 



ing coons, and strewed oats around them. The next 

 morning I found a brant in one, a magpie in an- 

 other, and the house cat in the third. We let the 

 cat and the magpie go, and breakfasted on the brant. 

 Our usual fare was bacon, bread, and coffee, and 

 sometimes dried apples. I worked for years in 

 Oregon with no other food, except an occasional 

 deer or mountain sheep. 



The next day, trusting entirely to Mr. Duncan's 

 guidance, we pushed on without a trail, winding in 

 and out among the hillocks with no landmarks but 

 the mountains in the west. At sunset, we came out 

 into the open on the shore of a small alkaline lake. 

 " Fossil Lake," I named it at once, and it goes by 

 that name to this day. This pond, as we should call 

 it in old New York, covered only a few acres then, 

 and is now entirely dried up. 



" There," shouted Mr. Duncan, as he pointed 

 with his whip to the lake shore, " there is the 

 bone-yard." 



I instantly requested him to help George get sup- 

 per and pitch the tent, and seizing my collecting 

 bag, rushed down to the shore. The clay bottom of 

 the ancient lake had been dried out, and now formed 

 the shore of the remaining water. This old lake 

 bed had once extended over a much larger area, but 

 it had been partially buried beneath large piles of 

 drifting sand. Scattered through the loose sand 



