Shadow on the Land by Wayne D. Overholser Page A

you?” Jepson asked amiably. “Sometimes I wonder what a railroad finds for its men to do. It seems that I run into a railroad man of one sort or another squatting behind every sagebrush clump.”
    â€œThat would make a lot of railroad men,” Lee said dryly.
    Jepson took his cigar out of his mouth, the smoke casting a momentary shadow over his red-cheeked face. “I suppose you’re finding plenty to do.”
    â€œPlenty.” Again Lee felt he was being pumped. He changed the subject. “Coming in on the stage, it struck me this country was about as interesting as that around Biggs.”
    Jepson fingered the ash from his cigar. “It is. A lava country. Some of the most recent flows in continental United States are within twenty miles of Bend. Of course some of it is very old. For instance, you can find eroded hills up Crooked River that give an idea of what the Paleozoic horizons were. Around Mitchell we can find strata of the age of reptiles. As a matter of fact, the remnants of a pterodactyl have been found. Ever heard of a pterodactyl, Dawes?”
    â€œNo.” Lee grinned as he reached for the platter of rainbow trout.
    â€œA pterodactyl was a flying dragon, extinct now, of course. At different times, I’d say there were half a dozen seas in central Oregon. On top of the last one we find evidence of the age of mammals. The plant life represented a semi-tropical climate.”
    â€œThe climate’s sure changed,” Lee said, thinking how cold he’d been on the seat with Highpockets that day. “In another million years I suppose fellows like you will be talking about the dry, frigid age of sagebrush and junipers.”
    Jepson leaned forward, round eyes watching Lee’s face closely. “The climate has changed, and it will change again. It’s my opinion it will be very hot for railroad men after November, Nineteen Ten. But to get on with my story. In the strata along the John Day River we have found some very fine fossils of Cenozoic mammals . . . rhinos, oreodons, flesh-tearing cats, and great dogs. Those beds were explored by the famous John Condon. You’ve heard of him, Dawes?”
    â€œI’m plain ignorant alongside you.”
    â€œYou’re smart, Dawes. Too smart to play errand boy for the Oregon Trunk.”
    â€œWe settled that in Shaniko, Jepson,” Lee said sharply. “Remember?” Reaching again for the trout, he felt the approaching climax of Jepson’s talk. The man had not approached him merely to offer another bribe, so Lee kept on eating, lifting his eyes occasionally to Jepson’s face.
    â€œThose who adjust themselves to these changes survive. Those who don’t . . . die. For example, in this case we had the mid-Miocene mammals such as the three-toed horse and a giraffe camel. Later, there was the ice age. There were interglacial periods, and during one of these we had llamas and many kinds of birds, even the flamingoes.”
    Jepson paused, half smiling, his gaze steadily on Lee, and Lee, smiling back, felt an edge of disappointment in the man.
    â€œIt’s amazing, Jepson,” Lee murmured, “and some of the people here are as amazing as the geology. For instance, you claim to be a prophet who can foretell the things that will survive and the ones that won’t.”
    â€œYes,” Jepson said quickly. “I claim to be that much of a prophet, and whether or not you personally survive depends on how well you adjust yourself to the economic changes that are coming in Oregon.”
    Jepson rose, and Lee said: “Thought you were going to have supper with me.”
    â€œNo, I’ve eaten. I just wanted to chat with you. Good night.” Jepson nodded, and left the dining room, only the stomach-churning smell of his cigar remaining as a reminder of him.
    * * * * *
    It was good to have concrete work ahead, and Lee, making the Pilot Butte Inn his base, worked north to Redmond and