One
“It is hard to establish a philosophy that is optimistic and yet will fit with the terrors of this world.”
~Earl Douglass
1872•COLORADOTERRITORY
“Martha! Step away from the ridge.”
At Father’s deep voice booming behind her, Martha startled and backed away from the edge of the mesa. Two strong arms wrapped around her small frame and swept her to safety. Father shifted her around to see him, his eyes dark and serious.
“You must listen to me, Martha. If I am to teach you to dig, there are rules to follow. We need to keep you and the workers safe. Understand?”
She nodded, her fingers picking at the light cotton collar of Father’s work shirt. Tears threatened to fall, and she could feel her bottom lip trembling. “I’m sorry.” The thought of falling into the great chasm below them was almost as bad as hearing the fear in her father’s voice. Everything inside her shook.
“You’re safe, not to worry.” He nodded and set her downnext to him, holding her small hand in his. “Now. I have a surprise for you.”
“A surprise?” All the turmoil stopped as she hopped from one foot to the other. “What is it? I want to see!” Father’s surprises were the best.
He chuckled as he led her down a small packed-dirt path. “You will, my dear. Are you ready to see the bones we discovered?”
Martha nodded as visions of long tails, ferocious teeth, and giant feet filled her imagination. “Is it aMega...Miglo...Megalosaurus”—she forced the big word out slowly—“like Mr. Owen talked about?”
“No. And to my knowledge, those have only been found in England.” Father squeezed her hand, his brown eyes warmed by the sunlight. “We are not quite sure what we’ve found. But that is part of the fun. Digging for bones gives us the chance to learn about the animals that roamed the earth thousands of years ago.”
They rounded a corner down into the valley, where the excavation was taking place. The sharp sound of metal on metal echoed off the rocks. Red dirt swirled in thick clouds over some men as they dumped large wheelbarrows of dirt into a pile. Several wagons sat in the center, covered with tarps.
“What are those wagons?”
He glanced over to where Martha pointed. “Ah. Those are our transport wagons. The smaller bones we find on any dig are carefully placed first in crates and then in those wagons. The bones are covered so the sun does not dry out or damage them. Once the crates are full, they are transported to the nearest train station, where they are then shipped to the museum that purchased them. However . . .” Father turned them away from the bustling men to a smaller, quieter area. “This is where I am working. And this is where your surprise is.”
Martha clapped her hands, a wide smile on her face. Todaywas her favorite day. Her father wasn’t around much because he was often away on trips. But this dig had kept him close to home. To watch him dig and find bones in the ground was a treat far greater than hearing the stories when he came home. This was real—not just in her imagination.
She skipped along beside him, kicking up dust around her sturdy work boots. Another gift from Father. They were thicker and plainer than the shiny patent leather shoes Mother made her wear. But they were comfortable and didn’t pinch her feet.
He slipped his jacket off and draped it on a nearby boulder. Then picked up a large wooden box with a big handle and put it on a small table. Martha peeked over the edge of the box as he pulled out several tools. A pointy triangle, a big hammer, a magnifying glass, a brush with stiff bristles, a skinny metal pole with a pointy end, and a flat metal rod with a round bottom were laid out on the small wooden table beside the boulder.
She pressed into his side. “Do you use all of these?”
“I do, every day. Let me tell you what they are.” Father picked up the pointy pole and the metal rod with the flat edge. “These two tools are called chisels. They work in different ways. The flat edge can help break up rocks that are tucked along a bone without damaging it. The pointed chisel helps break up stones in areas that a flat chisel can’t get into. You use them by tapping the hammer on the flat bottom of each tool. But you must be careful not to hit too hard or you risk damaging the bone.” He set them down and picked up the brush. “This clears away dirt and debris so you can better see where you are working.” He held the brush out to Martha. She took it and almost dropped it. It was heavier than it looked. The worn wooden handle was too big for her hands. She ran her fingers over the soft end of the stiff bristles, sending dust swirling around her fingers.
She sneezed.
Father smiled at her and took the brush from her, then picked up the magnifying glass. Holding it in front of his face, he crossed his eyes. She let out a loud giggle. His eyes were large and funny looking behind the glass. He handed it to her. “Now, let’s see what fun we can have with this.” He knelt in the dirt and motioned for her to join him. “Hold the glass over this hole here and tell me what you see.”
Crouching down, she held the glass over the dirt and peered at the red clay. “Father, look!” She giggled. Tiny ants scurried over pebbles and disappeared into small holes. Bits of silver glinted from several rocks. She pulled the glass away and blinked. Everything she saw looked so small again.
“That magnifying glass helps me see little details in bones and rocks.” He guided her hand back over the sparkling rocks. “You see that shiny substance?”
She nodded.
“That’s called marcasite. It shows up in many rocks here at the dig. When someone finds it in big chunks, it can be worth a lot of money. Maybe today we will find a small chunk to save for good luck.” He took the magnifying glass from her and stood. Oh, how she loved the sound of his voice. At home, it was his excitement as he told her the stories of his digs. But here? His love for the work colored every word he said. He was such a smart man—probably the smartest man to ever live. She smiled just thinking about it. One day, she wanted to be as smart as him and dig beside him. Wouldn’t that be grand?
A moment later he was by her side again with a small cloth roll. A bit of twine wrapped around it in a simple bow. “Now. It’s time for your surprise.”
Martha took the roll from her father and pulled on one of the strings. The bow unraveled and she tugged it off the cloth, then unwrapped the roll on a boulder. Oh! There, tucked in small pockets, were the same kind of tools he had just shown her! But instead of being too big, they were just right for herhands. She pulled out the flat-headed chisel and clutched it in her hand. It wasn’t heavy like Father’s, but light and easy to hold. There was a small brush, hammer, pointed chisel, and...
Martha pulled on the dark brown handle sticking out of the last pocket. Her very own magnifying glass!
