214 Life of a Fossil Hunter 



At last Hamman, having fattened his horses on 

 two-dollar corn, started a quarrel with me, so that 

 he might have an excuse for deserting me, and drove 

 off with the team, which I had hired for some time 

 longer, leaving me alone, thirty miles from town. 

 Fortunately, however, I found a good, honest Irish- 

 man, Pat Whelan by name, who became not only a 

 splendid assistant, but a true friend. Poor fellow ! 

 I learned a few years ago that he had frozen to 

 death in Montana. 



One warm, sultry day I sent him in to town for 

 provisions. I had no tent at that time, but he left 

 me the wagon sheet, and I had camped on the south 

 side of a large tree, which was so effectually covered 

 with green briers as to be an almost impenetrable 

 defense against the north wind. 



I was in the field after Mr. Whelan left me, and 

 noticing the Texas cattle coming from the prairie to 

 the heavy timber, I concluded, although there was 

 not a cloud in sight, that they had scented a norther. 

 Rushing to camp, I began rapidly to make prepara- 

 tions for the storm. First I cut a couple of crotches 

 and sank them well into the ground on the south 

 side of the brier-covered tree. Then I put up a 

 ridgepole and stretched over it the wagon sheet, 

 which I fastened securely to the ground on either 

 side. I also heaped dirt on the edges, to keep 

 out the snow. I thus had a dog tent, opening 



