Dragons Teeth Crichton 2017 (WWT)

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“Oh yes, Mr. Johnson,” said the man at the front desk. “Professor Marsh said not to wake you when they departed. He said you were leaving the expedition here in Cheyenne.” “He said what?” “That you were leaving the expedition.” Johnson felt panic. “Why would he say that?” “I really don’t know, sir.” “What am I going to do now?” Johnson asked aloud. The distress must have been apparent in his face and voice. The man at the front desk looked at him sympathetically. “They’re serving breakfast in the dining room for another half hour,” he suggested. He had no appetite, but he returned to the dining room and took a small table to one side. The waiter was still clearing dishes from the bare table; Johnson watched, imagining the group of Marsh and the students, imagining their excited voices, talking at once, ready to leave . . . Why had they left him behind? What possible reason could there be? The bellboy approached him. “Are you with the Marsh expedition?” “I am.” “The professor asked if he might join you for breakfast.” In an instant, Johnson realized that it was all a mistake after all, that the professor had not gone, the hotel staff had merely misunderstood, everything was going to be all right. With immense relief he said, “Of course he may join me.” A moment later, a clear, rather high voice said, “Mr. Johnson?” Johnson faced a man he had never seen before—a wiry, fair-haired man with a mustache and goatee stood next to his table. He was tall, in his middle thirties, and rather formally dressed in stiff collar and frock coat. Although his clothes were expensive and well cut, he nevertheless gave the impression of an energetic indifference, even sloppiness. His eyes were bright and lively. He appeared amused. “May I join you?” “Who are you?” “Don’t you know?” the man said, more amused than ever. He extended his hand. “I’m Professor Cope.” Johnson noticed that his grip was firm and confident, and his fingers stained with ink. Johnson stared, and leapt to his feet. Cope! Cope himself! Right here, in Cheyenne! Cope eased him back into his seat and beckoned to the waiter for coffee. “Don’t be alarmed,” he said. “I’m not the monster you have heard described. That particular monster exists only in the diseased imagination of Mr. Marsh. Yet another of his descriptions of nature is in error. You must have observed that the man is as paranoid and secretive as he is fat, and always imagines the worst in everybody. More coffee?” Numbly, Johnson nodded; Cope poured more coffee. “If you haven’t ordered, I recommend the pork hash. I myself eat it daily. It is simple fare, but the cook has a feel for it.” Johnson mumbled he would have the hash. The waiter departed. Cope smiled at him. He certainly didn’t look like a monster, Johnson thought. Quick, energetic, even nervous—but no monster. On the contrary, there was a youthful, almost childish enthusiasm about him, yet also an air of determination and competence. He seemed like a man who got things done. “What are your plans now?” Cope asked cheerfully, stirring a dollop of black molasses in his coffee.
“I’m not supposed to talk to you.” “That hardly seems necessary now that the old schemer has left you behind. What are your plans now?” “I don’t know. I have no plans.” Johnson looked around the nearly empty dining room. “I seem to have been separated from my party.” “Separated? He abandoned you.” “Why would he do that?” Johnson asked. “He thought you were a spy, of course.” “But I’m not a spy.” Cope smiled. “I know that, Mr. Johnson, and you know that. Everyone knows that except Mr. Marsh. It is just one of the many thousands of things he does not know, yet assumes he does.” Johnson was confused, and it must have shown on his face. “Which fantasy did he tell you about me?” Cope asked, still cheerful. “Wife beater? Thief? Philanderer? Ax murderer?” The whole business seemed to amuse him. “He doesn’t have a high opinion of you.” Cope’s inky fingers fluttered in the air, a dismissing gesture. “Marsh is a godless man, cut loose from all moorings. His mind is active and sick. I have known him for some time. In fact, we were friends once. We both studied in Germany during the Civil War. And later we dug fossils together in New Jersey, in fact. But that was a long time ago.” The food came. Johnson realized that he was hungry. “That’s better,” Cope said, watching him eat. “Now, I understand that you are a photographer. I can use a photographer. I am on my way to the far West, to dig for dinosaur bones with a party of students from the University of Pennsylvania.” “Just like Professor Marsh,” Johnson said. “Not quite like Professor Marsh. We do not travel everywhere with special rates and government favors. And my students are not chosen for wealth and connection, but rather for their interest in science. Ours is not a self-aggrandizing publicity junket, but a serious expedition.” Cope paused, studying Johnson’s earnest attention. “We’re a small party and it will be rough going, but you are welcome to come, if you care to.” And that was how William Johnson found himself, at noon, standing on the platform of the Cheyenne railroad station with his equipment stacked at his side, waiting for the train to carry him west, in the party of Edward Drinker Cope.
Page 4 and 5: Contents Cover Endpaper Title Page
Page 6 and 7: Introduction As he appears in an ea
Page 8 and 9: Young Johnson Joins the Field Trip
Page 10 and 11: Marsh Professor Marsh kept offices
Page 12 and 13: The name had an extraordinary effec
Page 14 and 15: Learning Photography Johnson wanted
Page 16 and 17: Philadelphia Philadelphia was the b
Page 18 and 19: puffed-up, brave, and determined to
Page 20 and 21: “Really? Most families wish to me
Page 22 and 23: wealthy Quaker merchant, left him m
Page 24 and 25: “I have made inquiries about that
Page 26 and 27: informed of this by Red Cloud himse
Page 28 and 29: Going West The Chicago and North We
Page 30 and 31: The West Beyond Omaha the real West
Page 32 and 33: town, it was, noted Johnson, “a c
Page 34 and 35: The Pride De Paree Theater was a tw
Page 36 and 37: “I’ll be back, though.” “Wh
Page 40 and 41: Cope’s Expedition It was immediat
Page 42 and 43: Established thirty years before, Sa
Page 44 and 45: e rejoining her husband; indeed, sh
Page 46 and 47: His personal style—his long curly
Page 48 and 49: Part II The Lost World
Page 50 and 51: He was awake for each changing of t
Page 52 and 53: Incidents on the Plains In the midd
Page 54 and 55: Sternberg went out and shot an ante
Page 56 and 57: Badlands The Judith River, a tribut
Page 58 and 59: “I said, ‘I bid you welcome and
Page 60 and 61: that the nomadic Indian lives a fre
Page 62 and 63: Bone Country With these preliminary
Page 64 and 65: potential discoveries lying in wait
Page 66 and 67: cooks it,” Isaac grumbled). Rathe
Page 68 and 69: In 1871, Lord Kelvin, the most emin
Page 70 and 71: Bad Water Cope chose his campsites
Page 72 and 73: They rode on. The sun dropped behin
Page 74 and 75: Dinner with Cope and Marsh The sear
Page 76 and 77: “Very true.” “Though you neve
Page 78 and 79: “Sleep with Your Guns Tonight, Bo
Page 80 and 81: Moving Camp In early August, they w
Page 82 and 83: “Just wait and see,” Cookie sai
Page 84 and 85: “Of these rocks?” Johnson asked
Page 86 and 87: Around the Campfire Any discovery l
Page 88 and 89:
Leaving the Badlands The morning of
Page 90 and 91:
I am dreadfully ashamed of what occ
Page 92 and 93:
Part III Dragon Teeth
Page 94 and 95:
they reach us.” “You boys go ri
Page 96 and 97:
Badlands Silence, under a waning mo
Page 98 and 99:
Little Wind said nothing. “What a
Page 100 and 101:
Deadwood Deadwood presented a bleak
Page 102 and 103:
he thought. Then he finished fillin
Page 104 and 105:
Laramie and Cheyenne?” “That’
Page 106 and 107:
“He moved old Jake when the carri
Page 108 and 109:
“So I expect you’ll have to get
Page 110 and 111:
The Black Hills Art Gallery “How
Page 112 and 113:
But it was also the beginning of tr
Page 114 and 115:
His whole manner changed. “Then y
Page 116 and 117:
For his part, Black Dick claimed to
Page 118 and 119:
“I got to pack,” Johnson said,
Page 120 and 121:
No one in town who knew Dick would
Page 122 and 123:
already been to Montana City and Cr
Page 124 and 125:
“Fossil bones are rock.” “The
Page 126 and 127:
Emily’s News “It’s no good,
Page 128 and 129:
All around him, the hotel was silen
Page 130 and 131:
“I am sure of it,” the judge sa
Page 132 and 133:
“Yes. Ling Chow has tool shed, ve
Page 134 and 135:
A Shootout Black Dick showed up in
Page 136 and 137:
Keep your eyes on him. Never take y
Page 138 and 139:
had hired Kang to help him again, s
Page 140 and 141:
Deadwood for the winter, but said t
Page 142 and 143:
“Only a damn fool would think so,
Page 144 and 145:
Johnson and Miss Emily ducked down.
Page 146 and 147:
Red Canyon They reached the town of
Page 148 and 149:
Fort Laramie Fort Laramie was an ar
Page 150 and 151:
“Well, you’ve just come from De
Page 152 and 153:
“How can you say that? Look at hi
Page 154 and 155:
other pursuits of no substance.”
Page 156 and 157:
“Of course.” “Really?” “D
Page 158 and 159:
“I don’t see why not. She says
Page 160 and 161:
At eight the next morning, feeling
Page 162 and 163:
His father embraced him warmly. “
Page 164 and 165:
Postscript Cope Edward Drinker Cope
Page 166 and 167:
Author’s Note “Biography,” ob
Page 168 and 169:
Afterword Michael’s dedication to
Page 170 and 171:
Taft, Robert. Photography and the A
Page 172 and 173:
Also by Michael Crichton Fiction Th
Page 175 and 176:
Copyright This book is a work of fi
Page 177:
* Editor’s note: Charles H. Stern
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