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It's a clear, chilly morning in southern New Mexico's desolate Robledo Mountains, and Jerry MacDonald, panting as much from excitement as exertion, is hot on the trail of wild game. He's not quite sure what he's tracking but he knows he want it.
"Look at that little guy go!"
Too late. MacDonald's four-footed prey has vanished. It seems to have scurried straight into the sheer rock cliff rising up next to us. Only its tracks remain in the mud behind it. MacDonald, sweating in the 40-degree desert air, is off in pursuit.
"He's realy moving. Let's see if we run into him up this way."
That the trail is some 280 million years old, and ...