Chapter Four ~ Only One Road

as told to Dianafan by Miss Trask

Margery Trask shifted position in her sleeping bag. She was fortunate to have her own tent, and Knut had been thoughtful enough to bring along a folding cot to keep her sleeping bag off the ground—much less trouble to get up and down that way. She wondered for a moment what she’d been thinking when she agreed to come on this wilderness camping trip with nine teenagers. It was an experience, that was for sure. And it was one she could now check off her bucket list.

She listened to the early morning sounds, trying to identify the bird calls, but they didn’t seem to be the same birds she was familiar with in New York State. In the distance, the creek burbled, and overhead, a light breeze caused the leaves in the trees to rustle. Cap and Trixie’s voices sounded faintly. Trixie’s high with excitement, Cap’s lower and more like a murmur at this distance. Margery wondered what they were doing.

The voices grew nearer, and suddenly the air was split with a shrill whistle. Then Trixie called, “Shall I wake the girls?”

With a slight groan, Margery rolled and wriggled out of her sleeping bag and put her head out of the tent’s opening. “Is this the customary hour to arise?” she asked with what seemed, even to her own ears, unnecessary formality. Oh well, it wasearly, although she was surprised to see how light it was in the clearing where the tents had been set up.

Hallie was already out and dressed, tucking in a shirt tail as she whooped, “It’s daylight in the swamp!”

Swamp? Margery shook her head and ducked back into the tent. As quickly as possible, she pulled on her clothes and sat on the edge of the cot to don socks and shoes. Last, she washed her face, brushed her teeth, and ran a comb through her crisp, short, gray hair. Stepping out into the clearing, she saw that all of the teenagers except Trixie were already outside and dressed.

“Coffee, Miss Trask?” Knut held out an enamel mug with steam wafting from the surface. Gratefully, she took it and tasted a sip. Before this camping trip, she’d never tasted coffee made over a campfire. It was strong and a little bitter, but at least it helped her wake up after a rather restless night. By the time she swallowed that first sip, Trixie was outside. She and Cap immediately started talking about an overnight visitor to the campsite.

As the rest of the teens questioned them, Cap led the ground over to see a huge and unusual-looking footprint in the soft soil a short distance from the campsite.

“What,” Brian paused and cleared his throat. “Made it?”

“The sasquatch,” Trixie replied succinctly.

Although Brian pooh-poohed the idea, his sister insisted she was right. Margery noticed Diana’s violet eyes widen, and her face paled. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said with a shudder. “And I’m not sure I want to!”

Margery decided it was time for an adult to step in. “I think I know,” she said, placing an arm around Diana’s shaking shoulders. “But I must say I’d always put sasquatches in the same category as goblins and ghosts.” She forced out a small laugh. “Not that this footprint isn’t convincing, but…” She drew Diana toward the supply chests in the kitchen area and called over her shoulder to the others. “We can discuss the problem better when we’ve been fed properly.” In her most authoritative teacher’s manner, she began to assign tasks.

With the acute hearing of an experienced teacher, she heard Cap mutter to his brother, “I thought we left Ollie at home.” Ollie was their housekeeper, as Margery knew. She didn’t stop assigning tasks, but even as she stood tall and spoke firmly, she could feel her ears, chest, neck and face heating. Why did I agree to come on this trip, again?

However, loyal Trixie sprang to her defense. “You’ll love Miss Trask when you get to know her,” she heard Honey’s best friend tell him. “How would you like to be wakened at sunup to be told that a—a sasquatch—had just left camp? Anyway, she does have the right idea—about food, I mean.”

Cap agreed, saying he was starving. “And I’ll bet anything Mart is.”

Mart had been lagging behind Trixie and Cap, but hearing his name, caught up. “If you say so, I guess I am. So what am I, and what is my job?”

“You’re a hungry dishwasher,” Trixie told him. Margery wondered why Trixie told him that, when she’d assigned Cap dishwashing duties. As long as all of the work gets done, I suppose it doesn’t matter who does what, she decided.

Trixie, followed closely by Cap, hurried to the chest containing their dishes, grabbing plates and flatware for ten people. As Margery supervised Honey stirring cornmeal mush, Brian scrambling a dozen eggs, and Diana frying ham over the campfire Jim built after Knut set up a grill grate for them, she couldn’t help overhearing Cap and Trixie.

“What was that all about?” Cap asked.

“I have a good memory when it comes to brothers calling me a goose.” Trixie lifted her chin in defiance. “Oh, by the way, Mart was water carrier, so I guess you’re it.”

“Good. I want to look for more tracks before they get messed up.”

From the corner of her eye, Margery watched as Trixie raced around the folding table, scattering plates and silverware willy-nilly. She sighed. Trixie hated routine chores, especially when the prospect of a more exciting adventure beckoned. Finding more tracks would definitely trump setting the table.

“Please wait for me,” she begged. “I’m the detective in the family.”

Cap grinned. “So I’ve heard.” He grabbed a stack of mugs from the chest of dishes, and placed them around the table with a similar carelessness.

Trixie surveyed the table. “Miss Trask won’t give us an A for effort,” she said. “Let’s go.”

Margery glanced over at the carelessly set plates, mugs, and eating utensils. Maybe a B-minus, she decided charitably. At least all the pieces were in place. Taking another sip of Knut’s coffee, she felt the revitalizing effects of caffeine coursing through her veins.

Each carrying a pail, the two cousins started down to the creek to fetch water and, presumably, look for more tracks. Margery shook her head as she watched them set off.

Trixie and Cap returned with two pails of water just as the rest of their group sat down to a feast of scrambled eggs, cornmeal mush, and fried ham. After washing their hands, the two sat down and tucked into the breakfast that was even better because it had been cooked outdoors.

“Cap, did you really see him?” asked Brian as the first hunger pangs were satisfied and the teens acted less like a pack of hungry wolves. “Or did you just—”

“Saw him.” Cap declared. “Smelled him. Heard him.”

“You forgot tasted him,” Trixie said, wrinkling her nose. Margery also recalled the foul odor Cap and Knut had described as a bee trap. She set her fork down and tried to think of how good the ham smelled right now instead.

“Haven’t you been reading about the sasquatch sightings?” Knut asked Brian.

“Not much,” Brian admitted.

Knut frowned. “You can think the beast is a myth if you want,” he said. “But Cap and Trix didn’t model a footprint to give us a thrill. Nor have dozens of other citizens. Our own state university has put out a scientific pamphlet of facts and theories related to the sasquatch. For example, a crippled one has been tracked in the vicinity of Spokane, Washington. Now, as the crow flies, that’s no more than seventy-five miles from here. Of course, this fellow can’t fly, but it has unusually long, strong legs. It could cover a lot of miles in a short time if it had to.”

“Wasn’t the bogus sighting in California?” Mart asked.

“More than one,” Cap agreed. “Publicity hounds always get into the act.”

“Our Northwest anthropologists are asking for all the information they can get,” Knut went on. “The problem is, they don’t know what to do with all the information they already have. People have heard monster stories all their lives. Even if they make some kind of contact with the sasquatch, they’re embarrassed to come forward and say so. Who wants to be called a crackpot?”

Margery glanced around the table. Trixie’s and Mart’s bright blue eyes snapped with excitement. Brian and the three Belden cousins leaned forward, interested in the discussion. Jim appeared a bit skeptical, but willing to listen. Even Honey, not quite as ready as Trixie to run headlong into a mystery, appeared fascinated but not frightened. Diana, however, had set down her fork and clutched her mug with both hands. Her face had paled and she seemed to have shrunk back on her seat. Time for a bit of clarity, she thought.

“Well, what are the facts?” she asked.

Knut answered. “Anthropologists are tabulating the locations of footprints and fur tufts that are found. They’re interviewing persons who’ve made sightings. Oregon’s taken the first step in trying to protect the species. They’ve passed a law that forbids shooting the sasquatch. They’re hoping to capture a live animal, although any body, alive or dead, would be final proof of existence.”

“What does it eat?” Diana asked anxiously, her violet eyes wide and scared.

“Some say vegetable matter,” Cap answered. “But it’ll take anything it can get. I’m prepared to say it likes melon.”

Poor Diana is really frightened, Margery realized. “I can’t say I’m fully convinced that the creature exists,” she said. “In any case, Diana, I’m sure that Knut and Cap will do a fine job of looking out for us.”

No one responded to this statement, and the silence stretched to an uncomfortable point. Then Cap said, “My ears seldom lie, and I’ve heard three new sounds recently. Eerily, he imitated the cries: suka, suka, suka… agoouummm… fleep, fleeoweep!”

Margery felt the hairs rise up on her arm, and could see that several of the others had the same feeling.

“From reading and from talking with hunters, I’ve learned that Bigfoot makes a variety of sounds,” Cap continued. “It grunts, whinnies, cackles, wails, and cries. It even shrills like a very large pine squirrel. This spring, a lineman for the telephone company told of seeing huge footprints in the snow up on Champion. That’s northeast.” He jerked a thumb in the general direction of the peak.

“Is that a major peak?” asked Jim.

“About average,” Cap said. “Over six thousand feet.”

Margery tried to keep her expression neutral, but inside she felt a shiver of apprehension. If the sasquatch was real, might it have come down from the peak to where they were now?

“Mount Everest is equal to almost five Champion Peaks stacked like pancakes,” Knut added for a comparison. “Asia’s Abominable Snowman lives pretty close to the sky.”

If that was supposed to be reassuring, it wasn’t, Margery thought. She glanced around again at the Bob-Whites, but once again, Diana seemed to be the only one who looked anxious. As she directed what she hoped was a confident smile at the girl, a troop of small boy campers marched into the campsite, bouncing with excitement.

Their adult leader strode forward, thrusting out a hand to Jim, the closest of Margery’s group. “I’m Herb Galloway from Walla Walla.” Despite his hearty manner, Margery could see that his eyes darted about to the shadowy areas under the trees that surrounded their campsite.

“Jim Frayne, New York State,” Jim replied with a firm grip of the man’s hand.

“New York, you say? Long way from home. I’ll wager you didn’t plan to turn right around and go back where it’s safe.” The man gave a series of forced, staccato barks that didn’t convey any humor, although evidently intended as laughter.

“Go back?” Di echoed. “We just got here.” Her statement ended in a squeak of disbelief.

Mr. Galloway drew up to his full height and crossed his arms against his khaki-covered chest. “Folks, it is my duty to warn you that a dangerous beast is feeding in this valley. I’d advise you to pack up and get out of here before sundown.”

Trixie stepped up. “Why?” she demanded. “Was somebody hurt?”

Mr. Galloway stopped searching the shadows in the distance to meet Trixie’s gaze. “I’m happy to report the answer is negative,” he replied before resuming his visual search of the forest floor.

The little boys had been exploring the campsite, but the smallest one now walked back to Mr. Galloway. Margery felt laughter bubbling up inside despite the potential seriousness of the situation, because the boy was plucking at the man’s shirt as he injected himself into the conversation.

“Haven’t we done our duty, Mr. Galloway? We’ve warned ’em, so let’s go!”

Mart joined his sister. “Isn’t your action apt to cause a panic?” he asked in a tone that was almost sharp.

“A panic?” Trixie repeated. “Oh, Cap—”

Cap stood toe to toe with the man from Walla Walla. “Someone’s going to get trigger happy and shoot the sasquatch.”

“What’s one sasquatch more or less, if human lives are saved?” Mr. Galloway wasn’t fazed by Cap’s determination. “Anyway, I didn’t mention the sasquatch. Now you take my advice, folks. Get a move on.”

He marched around the table to shake hands with Margery before leading his troop out of the camp to continue its rescue mission.

Margery wasn’t quite sure what she thought of Mr. Galloway, but if he was right about a dangerous beast feeding in the valley, she agreed that leaving seemed like the right move. As soon as the troop of small boys was out of earshot, she spoke up. “How very kind of him. How soon are we prepared to take his advice?”

Silently, the Bob-Whites searched each others’ faces. Hallie was the first to speak.

“I don’t know about the rest of you,” she declared, sparks in her dark eyes. “But I’m not leaving without at least warning old Tank that he might be in for a surprise.”

“Who’s old Tank?” Diana asked. Margery felt relief that something had distracted the girl from her anxiety about the creature.

“He’s an old prospector that we’ve known all our lives,” Knut told her. “He used to work for Dad. His real name is Anders Anderson, and he has a one-man operation at the head of this canyon.” He nodded toward the deep slot in the mountain.

Margery didn’t have to look at Trixie to know her ears had perked up and she was almost vibrating with excitement. She remembered that Trixie had first heard the odd cry coming from that direction. Trixie’s eyes met Hallie’s, and Margery knew the two cousins had the same thought. How could Cap be sure there had been no untoward event?

Pouring himself a second mug of orange juice, Cap spoke up. “Tank has lived alone so long, he doesn’t really know how to keep a conversation going. He always greets you with ‘Ay tink de tistles be tick dis year.’ So we call him Tank. He doesn’t mind.”

Listening to Cap, Margery could tell that Tank was obviously a great favorite with the Idaho Beldens.

Cap went on, “He has a placer, or gravel mine, in a dry creek bed that forks off from our creek. He has a tight cabin and plants a few spuds, carrots, cabbage, stuff like that. He’s panned for gold in cold water for so long that he’s got ‘rheumatiz.’ It’s hard for him to get across the saddle to town, so Knut and I look out for him.”

“There you go again,” Diana complained. “What’s a saddle? I know you’re not talking about horses. Sometimes I think that Idaho isn’t just a state—it’s a language!”

“A saddle is a mountain ridge,” Knut explained, smiling at her confusion. “Remember when we came over the Moon? That’s a pass over the saddle. To get back to town, everybody has to go over the saddle. There’s only one road.”

“Oh!” Diana looked troubled once again. Margery wished there was something she could do to ease Diana’s fear—and her own.

“What’s your problem?” Hallie, on the other hand, sounded nonchalant.

Diana’s eyes were wide and round with worry. “It’s just that—what if the sas—the you-know-what sits on the saddle?”