The Sasquatch Mystery

three new sounds recently.” Eerily he imitated the cries: suka, suka, suka... agoouummm... fleep , fleeoweep! Hearing that yelp again made the hairs prickle on Trixie’s arms.
    “From reading and from talking with hunters, I’ve learned that bigfoot makes a number of sounds,” Cap went on. “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.” Cap jerked a thumb in the general direction of the peak.
    “Is that a major peak?” Jim asked.
    “About average,” said Cap. “Over six thousand feet.”
    “Mount Everest is almost equal to five Champion Peaks stacked like pancakes,” added Knut. “Asia’s Abominable Snowman lives pretty close to the sky.”
    Just then, conversation was disrupted by a troop of boy campers marching into camp, jittery with excitement.
    Their leader thrust out a hand as he strode forward. “I’m Herb Galloway from Walla Walla.” His manner was hearty, but his eyes were watching shadows in the forest.
    “Jim Frayne, New York State,” said Jim, who was closest.
    “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 laughed unnaturally loudly.
    “Go back?” Di repeated. “We just got here.” Mr. Galloway straightened, then crossed his arms against his khaki shirt. “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.”
    “Why?” Trixie asked. “Was somebody hurt?”
    “I’m happy to report the answer is negative.” Herb Galloway’s eyes slid past Trixie’s face and continued their shadow-searching.
    The troop’s smallest boy piped, “Haven’t we done our duty,' Mr. Galloway? We’ve warned ’em, so let’s go!”
    Abruptly, almost sharply, Mart asked Galloway, “Isn’t your action apt to cause a panic?”
    “A panic?” Trixie repeated. “Oh, Cap—”
    Cap faced 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?” Herb shot back. “Anyway, I didn’t mention the sasquatch, did I? Now, you take my advice, folks. Get a move on.” Herb Galloway marched around the table to shake hands with Miss Trask before leading his band
    of small boys on its rescue mission.
    When he had disappeared, Miss Trask said briskly, “How very kind of him. How soon are we prepared to take his advice?”
    Silently the Bob-Whites searched each other’s faces.
    Hotly Hallie declared, “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m not leaving without at least warning old Tank that he might be in for a surprise!”
    “Who’s Tank?” Di asked.
    “He’s an old prospector 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.” Knut nodded at the deep slot in the mountain.
    Trixie felt her heart skip a beat. Hadn’t she first heard that strange cry from the head of this very canyon? If somebody lived up there, how could Cap be so sure there had been no unhappy “incident”? Trixie glanced up to see Hallie’s black eyes staring into her own.
    Cap poured a second mug of orange juice and explained, “Tank has lived alone so long he doesn’t really know how to keep a conversation going. He always greets you with ‘Ay tank de tistles be tick dis year.” So we call him Tank. He doesn’t mind.”
    As Cap went on, it was obvious that Tank was someone the Idaho Beldens were enormously fond of. “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, and stuff like that. He’s panned for gold in cold water so long that he’s got ‘rheumatiz.’ It’s hard for him to get across the saddle to town, so Knut and I kind of look out for him.”
    “There you go again,” Di 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 said, smiling at Di’s bewilderment. “Remember when we came over the Moon? That’s the pass over the saddle. To get back to town, everybody has to go over the