A LIVE TOWN AND ITS GRAVE-YARD—HONEST ROMBEAUX IN TROUBLE—JUDGE LYNCH HOLDS COURT—MARIE AND THE VINE-COVERED COTTAGE—THE TERRIBLE FLOODS—DEATH IN CAMP AND IN THE DUG-OUT—WAS IT THE WATER WHICH DID IT?—DISCOVERY OF A HUGE FOSSIL—THE MOSASAURUS OF THE CRETACEOUS SEA—A GLIMPSE OF THE REPTILIAN AGE—REMINISCENCES OF ALLIGATOR-SHOOTING—THEY SUGGEST A THEORY.

Our fourth day's travel from Silver Creek brought us to Sheridan, our secondary base of operations, so to speak, and only fourteen miles east of the Colorado border. We found the town a very lively one, notwithstanding that the grave-yard, beautifully located in a commanding position overlooking the principal street, was patronized to a remarkable extent. The place had built itself up as simply the temporary terminus of the Pacific Railroad. Soon after our visit it moved westward, and at last accounts but one house remained to mark its former site.

The shades of night had just settled over the town upon the evening of our arrival, when Abe, our hostler-guide, came running to us with information that "Honest Rombeaux," another of our hostlers, was being hung by some of the citizens. The locality which had been selected for this little diversion was a railroad trestle a short distance below the town. We were already acquainted with the penchant our Sheridanites had for hanging people. Thirty or more graves on the neighboring hill had been pointed out before sundown, as those of persons who had fallen under sentence from Judge Lynch. In the expressive language of the citizen who volunteered the information, there had been "thirty funerals, and not one nateral death." Now that Judge Lynch had opened court at our own door, we proposed to raise the question of jurisdiction.

Armed, at once, we set off for a rescue, and, stumbling through the darkness, had gone only a hundred yards or so, when we met the lynchers returning. At their head, with a very dirty piece of rope around his neck, walked our hostler, trembling all over, and chattering broken English rapidly, in mingled fright and anger. The leader of the party told us that the evidence not being quite sufficient for hanging, an extra session of court had been called to be held immediately, and as having some interest in the case, we were invited to seats on the jury. The trial, we were further informed, was to be held in Rombeaux's own house. This last was a new surprise, for reasons to be explained presently. Rombeaux had been with us ever since leaving Hays, and had gained his title of "Honest" from a particularly faithful discharge of duty.

To him had been intrusted the supplies for hired men and horses. Three of the Mexicans he had severally thrashed for stealing. Once, in the night, on Silver Creek, we had heard a rattling at the medicine-chest, and trembling for our limited stock of spirits, stole forth to catch the culprit. On his knees by the open box was Rombeaux, replacing the brandy-bottle, and we feared that he, too, had become a thief. But just then, on the still air, came words of thanks to the Virgin Mary, for having enabled him to awake in time to frighten away the robber. Nor was this all; in the fierceness of his indignation, we beheld him sally forth immediately afterward, and kick a sleeping Mexican out of his blankets, on suspicion. Thereupon, we went back to bed with implicit faith in Rombeaux, which had followed us ever since.

Had he not told us, moreover, of a vine-covered cottage in France, where pretty Marie watched and waited until her lover could earn dowry sufficient to match hers? It was the old story. A maiden fair tarried in Europe, while a true knight ransacked foreign lands for fame and fortune; and long since had all of us, save Sachem, exhausted our stock of spare change to hasten the reunion.

Passing some of the lowest and most flashy-looking saloons in the place, we entered a ravine, and soon stopped before a "dug-out." So much was it the work of excavation, that the dirt roof was level with the earth above, and the door seemed to open directly into the bank. We knocked, and were answered promptly by a fat, gayly dressed French woman. This was Rombeaux's wife, and here was Rombeaux's house. What a Marie and vine-clad cottage these!

Without delay the trial commenced, the Frenchman and his wife occupying places in the center, and the court seated on boxes, barrels, and the bed. The evidence taken that night in the cabin was substantially the following:

Two years before Jules Pigget, a native of France, accompanied by his young wife, appeared on the railroad below, and solicited work. They both found ready employment, and lived below Hays, in a dug-out, happy and prosperous. Within a year came another Frenchman, our present Honest Rombeaux. Across the water, he and Jules had been rival suitors for Marie's hand; yet strangely enough, the newcomer was welcomed by the young couple, and took up his abode with them. Matters prospered with all three, and soon Jules was to be appointed tank-tender on the road. That year came the great rain-storm, when so many families in Western Kansas and Texas were drowned. Hundreds of people were living in dug-outs, rude excavations in the banks of streams, with the roof on a level with the bank above, but the room itself entirely below high-water mark—a style of dwelling which, as no great rise had occurred in years, had become quite popular among new-comers.

On the night of the great flood people went to bed as usual. The streams had risen but little. At midnight the rain fell heavily; the firm surface of the plains shed the waters like a roof; streams rose ten feet in an hour, and the foaming currents, roaring like cataracts, came down with the force of mighty tidal waves. Many dwellers in the dug-outs sprang from their beds into water, to find egress by the doors impossible, and were fortunate if they succeeded in escaping through the chimneys or roofs. Whole families were drowned. Fort Hays, at the fork of Big Creek, and supposed to be above high-water, was inundated, six or eight soldiers being swept away, while the remainder were obliged to seek safety on the roofs of the stone barracks. Large numbers of mules, picketed on the adjacent bottoms, were drowned. Their picket-pins fast in the earth, the animals were swept from their feet by the rising waters, and towed under by the firmly-held lariats. Emigrants encamped on the bottom heard the roar of the flood; with no time to harness, they seized the tongues of their wagons themselves, but the rising tide gained on them too rapidly, and they were glad to save life at the expense of oxen and goods. The horrors of that night are indescribable, and, to crown all, they took place amid a darkness that was total. Above, was the roar of waters descending; below, the answering roar of the floods, as they rolled madly onward, carrying in their strong arms the wreck of farms, and corpses by the score.

On that night Jules, the husband, perished. Honest Rombeaux and Marie, however, were rescued from the roof of their dwelling at daylight; and afterward, when the flood had subsided, the body of Jules was taken from the wash in the fire-place. And now came suspicion, and pointed over the shoulders of the throng gathered around; for there was an ugly wound half hidden in the dead husband's hair, and his fingers were bruised. Some men did not hesitate to say boldly that when Rombeaux escaped through the chimney, Jules stayed behind to assist his wife out, and that when he tried to follow, he was struck on the head by his quondam rival, and, still clinging to the chimney's edge, his fingers were pounded until their hold was loosed, and the victim sucked under the roof, against which the waters were already beating. The man and woman, however, claimed that it was the whirl of the waters against pegs and logs which had disfigured the corpse. Three weeks afterward they were married.

"And now, gentlemen," said our foreman, rising from his barrel, when the evidence was all in, "the question for the jury to decide is, Was it the water that did it?"

A doubt existing in the case, we gave the prisoner its benefit; but there was murder in the air, and Rombeaux knew it. Before morning he had departed—Marie said for La Belle France, but, as the citizens generally believed, really for Texas.

The next twenty-four hours constituted a regular field-day for the Professor, being distinguished by an event which, from a scientific stand-point, was among the most important of our entire expedition. This was the discovery of a large fossil saurian, which we came upon while exploring quite in sight of Sheridan, and not more than half a mile from its eastern outskirts.

Descending the side of a deep, desolate rift in the earth, we found ourselves among unmistakable traces of violent volcanic action. The ground was strewn with black sand, and with yellow pebble-like masses, apparently impure sulphur. There were numerous round cones also, looking like diminutive craters, with edges and surface composed of bubble-like lava, the material having evidently hardened while still distended by the struggling gases. The appearance, to use a homely comparison, was somewhat that of several low pots, over the edges of which boiling molasses had poured, and then burned by the heat of the fire. Some scattered objects, which at first we took for stumps of huge trees, upon examination we found to be pillars of mud and rock, upheavals, apparently, from volcanic action, and not the work of the floods, which, in those primeval times, we knew, must have poured down the valley. They would have answered, without much difficulty, for druidical altars, had we only been in the land once inhabited by those long-bearded, blood-thirsty priests of old.

Two or three poisoned cayotes and a dead raven were lying near some bleached buffalo skulls, on which, as we presently discovered, daubs of lard mixed with strychnine had been placed, and licked off by the victims; and straightway, as genius of the scene, an unshaven, woolen-shirted little man appeared in view, busily engaged in skinning a wolf. We saluted him, and the response in French-English told us his nationality at once. We found his name to be Louis, and his proper occupation that of watchmaker. But as the pinchbeck time-pieces of the frontier did not furnish enough repairing to take up his entire time, he had many spare hours, and these he devoted to securing pelts. As buffalo were not now in the vicinity, he larded their bones, with the success of which we were eye-witnesses.

Louis was a wiry little Gaul, very positive in his ideas about every thing. An animated conversation sprang up at once between him and the Professor, and it soon became amusingly evident that his geological ideas did not entirely accord with those of the Philosopher. A sudden turn in the colloquy developed a fact of keen interest to even the most unscientific member of our party.

Pointing to the other side of the valley, Louis told us that there lay the bones of an immense snake, all turned to stone. This sudden voice from the past ages sounded in the Professor's ears like the blare of a trumpet to a warrior. He hurried us forward in the direction indicated, and, locking arms with the bloody-shirted little Frenchman, strode on in advance. I wish his class could have seen him thus traversing the desolate bed where that old sunken volcano went to sleep. We were glad that the latter was still asleep, and had never acquired the habit of snorting into wakefulness, and pelting explorers with hot rocks.

What mysteries, I have often thought, might we not discover, on looking down the throat of a healthy volcano, if some wise alchemist could only brew a dose sufficiently powerful to stop the fiery fellow's foaming at the mouth! Or, better still, if it could reach the bowels of the earth, and keep the whole system quiet, while we, puny mortals, like trichina mites, swarmed down the interior, and bored scientifically back to the crust again. Earth's veins run golden blood, and we might be gorged with that, perhaps, ere making exit into the sunshine again.

A shout from the further edge of the ravine cut short our speculations, and called our attention to the Professor. He stood waving his slouched hat for an instant, and then bent close over the ground, in earnest scrutiny.

A few moments later, and we all stood beside the huge fossil. It lay exposed, upon a bed of slate, looking very much like a seventy-foot serpent, carved in stone. Part of the remains had been taken up to the town, and spread over the bench, in the shop of Louis. From what was left, the jaws appeared to have been originally over six feet long, the sharp hooked and cone-shaped teeth being still very perfect. A few broad fragments of ribs showed that, in circumference, the animal's body had been about the size of a puncheon. We felt confident that the specimen was a very rare one, as Muggs had never seen any thing like it, even in England. It now rests in the museum at Cambridge, Massachusetts.

"This fossil, gentlemen," said the Professor, "is that of a Mosasaurus, a huge reptile which existed in the cretaceous sea. This appears to be one of the largest members of the family yet discovered, its length, as you will perceive, being over fifty feet. The species to which it belonged swarmed in immense numbers, but were surrounded by monsters even more remarkable than they. The deep which they inhabited must have been constantly lashed and torn with their fierce conflicts; for it was an age of war, and the powers of offense and defense, which the monsters of that period possessed, were terrible. Winged reptiles filled the air, in appearance more hideous than any creation of the imagination. Following close upon the Reptilian came the Mammalian age, and I hold that with the largest of the mammals came man, rude in tastes and uncouth in form, but even then ruling as king of the animal creation. Wielded by a strength equal to that of a gorilla, his club would dash in the skull of any beast which dare dispute dominion with him."

The text thus suggested him, the Professor then diverged into an argument on his pet theory of man's early existence.

A trivial circumstance connected with our discovery arrested my attention, and, from a sportsman's stand-point, suggested a little theory of my own. The head of the saurian rested on the basin's edge, its jaws touching, with their stony tips, the prairie, while down into the valley below stretched the body and tail. This little fact dove-tailed itself into some incidents of the past, and gave rise to quite a train of speculation.

Some years ago I hunted alligators in Mississippi. Sitting on the bank of a sluggish bayou, I would watch the surface of the water, close under which were visible the noses of countless buffalo fish, floating as one sees minnows do in glass jars. Under the hot sun all nature seemed asleep. Soon, however, a black knot, an ugly dark wart, not larger than one's two fists, would make its appearance, floating, like some charred fragment, slowly along.

To a stranger, the only suspicious circumstance would have been, that where there was no current whatever, it still continued its motion, the same as before. The experienced eye recognized this object as the nose of an alligator, behind which, and just at the surface, as it got opposite, the ugly eyes would become visible, looking out for hogs or dogs, as they came to drink under the bank.

I never had the patience to wait for the finale of the scene; but had I done so, I should have beheld the knot float closer in, and, just after passing the victim, a tail would have come out of the water, and, with a curving blow forward, knocked the prize out from shore, and in front of the devourer's jaws. It was my good fortune, frequently, to send a Ballard rifle-ball into the pirate's eyes. In such cases there was usually a tremendous commotion in the water, accompanied by a strong smell of musk, and the wounded reptile would then make straight for shore, and run his head upon it. Under such circumstances, the creature always sought at least that much of dry land to die upon, seeming as anxious as man that its lamp of life should not be extinguished under water.

This monster whose remains we were now exhuming was allied to the alligator, as one of the great family of lizards, and had died in the same manner—his head on the shores of the basin, his tail in its depths. Perhaps in the convulsion of Nature which opened a path for the waters to the ocean, and drained this inland sea, the fissure in which we stood had gaped, and exhaled poisonous gases through the whirlpool its suction created. The saurian monster of that strange age felt the hungry vortex swallowing him, which meanwhile enveloped him in deadly secretions, killing before devouring. With a last lurch through the cauldron's ebbing tide, the lizard threw himself upon its edge, and died.

Of the countless millions of saurians then existing, capricious Nature had seized upon this one, to transmute it into an imperishable monument of that extinct race. In those ages of roaring waters and hissing fires, she had clothed the bones in stone, that they might withstand the gnawing tooth of time, and thus handed them down to the wondering eyes of the Nineteenth Century. Many of the pieces, it should be said, were cracked and scarred, evidently by the action of fierce heat.

Constantly the earth is giving up these marvelous creations of the past, in comparison with which the animals of the present are tame enough. While we doubt a modern sea-serpent as impossible, we dig up fossilized marine monsters, which could easily have swallowed the biggest snake that credible sea-captain ever ran foul of.