Dragons Teeth Crichton 2017 (WWT)

“Just wait and see,” Cookie said. And he served them the usual fare of hardtack, bacon, and beans.
Despite the grumbling, their new camp was a decided improvement. The breeze made it cooler, for
they were on the open plains, wrote Johnson, with “a magnificent view of mountains in every
direction—to the west the towering craggy Rockies, with white snow gleaming on their peaks; to the
south, east, and north, the Judith River, Medicine Bow, Bearpaw, and Sweet Grass Mountains,
completely encircling us. Especially in the early morning, when the air was clear and we would see
herds of deer and elk and antelope and the mountains beyond, it was a sight of such glory as surely
cannot be matched elsewhere in all creation.”
But the herds of deer and antelope were migrating northward, and the snow was creeping down the
slopes of the Rockies as the days passed. One morning they awoke to find a thin carpet of snow had
fallen during the night, and although it burned off by midday, they could not ignore the inevitable fact.
The seasons were changing, fall was coming, and with the fall, the Sioux.
“It’s time to leave, Professor.”
“Not yet,” Cope said. “Not just yet.”