fossils,” she told him.
“Oh, right!” he said. “I was foreman on the ranch where Bert made his first big find. From the moment I saw that huge ischium stickin’ out the wall of that dry gulch, I was hooked. Before long, I was workin’ for Bert full time. I was too bunged up to ride anymore, anyways,” he added.
In the winters, Bert explained, Dogie supervised the preparators, the people who reassembled the bones that were collected on their summer digs. Lisa was one of the preparators on Bert’s staff. “The best one,” he added.
“Lisa’s told us about your expedition,” said Charlotte. “We wish you luck in finding fossils at Dunhuang.”
“Oh, we know we’ll find fossils,” said Bert. “The question is whether or not we can bring off the expedition.”
“Why’s that?” asked Charlotte. “Are the Chinese difficult to work with?”
“No, the Chinese are fine. It’s the other Americans who are the problem.”
“Case in point,” said Dogie, directing his gaze at the corridor, where an immaculately dressed man (How did he manage to look so unrumpled? Charlotte wondered) was closing the windows which they had just opened.
“He’d rather roast to death than get his clothes dirty,” said Dogie.
“Who’s that?” asked Charlotte.
“Eugene Orecchio,” said Dogie. “A rock jock—also known as a geologist—from the Carnegie Museum. Another member of our team, I’m sorry to say.”
“Why a geologist, and why sorry to say?” asked Marsha.
“It’s a long story, and a far cry from Chinese poetry,” said Bert. Lisa must have told him about Marsha after dinner.
Charlotte checked her watch. “We have another thirty-nine hours.”
“Yes, I guess we do,” said Bert with a warm smile. “Well, Gene is a proponent of the catastrophe theory of dinosaur extinction. He believes that the dinosaurs died out in a catastrophic event caused by an extraterrestrial object—death star is the popular catchword, though it was actually a comet or an asteroid—that struck the earth sixty-four million years ago.”
“And you aren’t?” said Marsha.
“No self-respecting paleontologist is: the evidence proves that the dinosaurs didn’t all turn feet up in a day, whatever Gene might think to the contrary. But he’s not a paleontologist, which is the problem. In fact, he’s very contemptuous of paleontologists. He has been known to accuse paleontologists of being stamp collectors, not scientists.”
“Those sound like fighting words,” said Charlotte.
“You bet they are,” Bert agreed.
“What makes him think the dinosaurs died out in a catastrophic event?” asked Marsha as she munched on cashew nuts.
Charlotte couldn’t help but notice the deep interest that she was suddenly taking in paleontology.
“The K/T boundary. It’s the boundary between the sediments of the Cretaceous—K is for Cretaceous, to distinguish it from Carboniferous—and the Tertiary Periods at about the time the dinosaurs died out. The soil from the boundary layer contains soot that the catastrophists say is from fires that blanketed the earth at the time of the catastrophic event.”
“And you say what—that a death star didn’t strike the earth?”
“No. Only that the dinosaurs weren’t wiped out by it. The dinosaurs had been dying out for a long time before. Not that the catastrophic event didn’t contribute, but it wasn’t the deciding factor. There were lots of factors involved. Not only does the catastrophe theory go against all the evidence, it’s much too simplistic an explanation.”
Without the cross breeze from the open windows in the corridor, the tiny compartment was becoming uncomfortably hot again. There was also a strong odor emanating from the toilet at the end of the car.
Pulling a red bandanna out of the pocket of his blue jeans, Dogie wiped his cherubic brow. “Speakin’ of soot,” he said, “I think it’s about time that we introduce some soot into this car. What do you
“Oh, right!” he said. “I was foreman on the ranch where Bert made his first big find. From the moment I saw that huge ischium stickin’ out the wall of that dry gulch, I was hooked. Before long, I was workin’ for Bert full time. I was too bunged up to ride anymore, anyways,” he added.
In the winters, Bert explained, Dogie supervised the preparators, the people who reassembled the bones that were collected on their summer digs. Lisa was one of the preparators on Bert’s staff. “The best one,” he added.
“Lisa’s told us about your expedition,” said Charlotte. “We wish you luck in finding fossils at Dunhuang.”
“Oh, we know we’ll find fossils,” said Bert. “The question is whether or not we can bring off the expedition.”
“Why’s that?” asked Charlotte. “Are the Chinese difficult to work with?”
“No, the Chinese are fine. It’s the other Americans who are the problem.”
“Case in point,” said Dogie, directing his gaze at the corridor, where an immaculately dressed man (How did he manage to look so unrumpled? Charlotte wondered) was closing the windows which they had just opened.
“He’d rather roast to death than get his clothes dirty,” said Dogie.
“Who’s that?” asked Charlotte.
“Eugene Orecchio,” said Dogie. “A rock jock—also known as a geologist—from the Carnegie Museum. Another member of our team, I’m sorry to say.”
“Why a geologist, and why sorry to say?” asked Marsha.
“It’s a long story, and a far cry from Chinese poetry,” said Bert. Lisa must have told him about Marsha after dinner.
Charlotte checked her watch. “We have another thirty-nine hours.”
“Yes, I guess we do,” said Bert with a warm smile. “Well, Gene is a proponent of the catastrophe theory of dinosaur extinction. He believes that the dinosaurs died out in a catastrophic event caused by an extraterrestrial object—death star is the popular catchword, though it was actually a comet or an asteroid—that struck the earth sixty-four million years ago.”
“And you aren’t?” said Marsha.
“No self-respecting paleontologist is: the evidence proves that the dinosaurs didn’t all turn feet up in a day, whatever Gene might think to the contrary. But he’s not a paleontologist, which is the problem. In fact, he’s very contemptuous of paleontologists. He has been known to accuse paleontologists of being stamp collectors, not scientists.”
“Those sound like fighting words,” said Charlotte.
“You bet they are,” Bert agreed.
“What makes him think the dinosaurs died out in a catastrophic event?” asked Marsha as she munched on cashew nuts.
Charlotte couldn’t help but notice the deep interest that she was suddenly taking in paleontology.
“The K/T boundary. It’s the boundary between the sediments of the Cretaceous—K is for Cretaceous, to distinguish it from Carboniferous—and the Tertiary Periods at about the time the dinosaurs died out. The soil from the boundary layer contains soot that the catastrophists say is from fires that blanketed the earth at the time of the catastrophic event.”
“And you say what—that a death star didn’t strike the earth?”
“No. Only that the dinosaurs weren’t wiped out by it. The dinosaurs had been dying out for a long time before. Not that the catastrophic event didn’t contribute, but it wasn’t the deciding factor. There were lots of factors involved. Not only does the catastrophe theory go against all the evidence, it’s much too simplistic an explanation.”
Without the cross breeze from the open windows in the corridor, the tiny compartment was becoming uncomfortably hot again. There was also a strong odor emanating from the toilet at the end of the car.
Pulling a red bandanna out of the pocket of his blue jeans, Dogie wiped his cherubic brow. “Speakin’ of soot,” he said, “I think it’s about time that we introduce some soot into this car. What do you
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