1 66 Life of a Fossil Hunter 



As so often happens, this was the very occasion upon 

 which we were fated to be delayed. 



At a certain place on our route, we had to pass 

 some mud springs, circular wells filled to the brim 

 with thick, yellowish mud of the consistency of 

 mortar. In wet weather they continually boiled up 

 without overflowing, but to-day they were covered 

 with a hard coating of dry mud, cracked deeply in 

 all directions. 



I called to George, who was driving the pack 

 horse, to watch him and see that he did not jump 

 into the spring that we were just passing; but the 

 words were hardly out of my mouth when the miser- 

 able wretch made a running jump, and landing in 

 the middle of the crust, broke through and went 

 down into the thick, nasty mud. As he was going 

 down, he seemed to realize what he had done, and 

 managed to get his front feet over the rim of solid 

 earth. And there he hung, the broad pack we 

 had brought along our tent and blankets helping 

 to buoy him up. 



We sprang from our horses, and made a rush to 

 save our precious fossils, beside which everything 

 else, including the mischievous pony, was of no ac- 

 count. We had to cut the ropes that bound the fos- 

 sils and camp outfit to the animal, and when we had 

 them safe on solid ground, tie a rope around his 

 neck and pull him out. Of course he was thoroughly 



