The Sasquatch Mystery

‘Go home now!’ Oh, how awful!”
    On the camp table’s washable surface, somebody had written with charcoal from Cap’s dead fire: everybody’s CLEARING OUT. ADVISE YOU DO THE SAME.
    “I’m frightened,” Di wailed.
    “Look, the handwritings are all different,” Trixie declared. “That means that several people have been in camp.”
    “That’s right,” said Cap, “and there’s nothing mysterious, awful, or frightening about it. That guy from Walla Walla simply started a panic.”
    “Let ’em panic,” Hallie drawled. “That leaves us with a big hunk of the Joe country for our private playground.”
    “W-We’ve already got too much space to suit me,” Di quavered.
    Miss Trask took charge. “We have work to do. Di, suppose you peel potatoes. Mart will help you. Honey, we’ll need a salad. Jim, fresh water.”
    Cap volunteered to build and tend the fire. Trixie, who hated kitchen duty, began gathering pinecones to use for kindling. A slight wind had brought down hundreds within easy scavenging distance.
    As she carried them to Cap, who was splitting wood, a station wagon pulled up behind Cap’s truck. A rangy man climbed out. Several children scrambled out of the jumble of boxes and bedrolls to cluster around the man like a litter of pups. The man watched as Cap formed a small mound of pinecones and dry twigs.
    “It appears you ain’t aimin’ to take off,” he said.
    “Looks that way,” Cap said pleasantly. He struck a match. Flames bit into the cones.
    “Kind of wish there was some way to send my kids to Wallace for a while. I’d like a crack at that two-legged varmint. Whooey, think of that — Opie Swisher, first man in history to drop a real, live bigfoot!”
    The heat in Trixie’s cheeks was not from Cap’s fire. Cap didn’t look up.
    “I couldn’t get you young folks to take my kids for a few days, now, could I?”
    The two Beldens were silent.
    “Well, I reckon not.” The man scowled. “Come on, kids; let’s go. Maybe we’ll be lucky enough to find friendlier folks somewhere along the road.”
    The ragtag group went back to the wagon and roared away.
    Trixie let out her breath. “Jeepers, at least there’s a person who’s not panicking.”
    “He’s doing just the opposite,” Cap muttered. “All he’s interested in is murder.”
    “Animals are killed , Cap. It’s people who are murdered!”
    “Well?” Cap prompted.
    “Are you saying that the sasquatch is a—a person?”
    “No,” Cap said slowly, “but I’m not saying its ancestors didn’t start out to be human.”
    In the early evening, while the group was enjoying the food they had cooked over an open fire, yet another visitor, a slovenly young man, appeared. He wandered into the camp and leaned against a pine tree. Warily Trixie studied the unkempt figure. Sunburned and unshaven, he had uncombed yellow hair and an untrimmed yellow mustache. On the other hand, he looked as though he could take care of himself in the mountains.
    “Guess you’ve heard the news,” he said, ambling forward. “There’s a beast on the prowl.”
    “So we’ve heard,” Jim answered for the group. The man looked at the tidy camp. “Are you prepared to defend yourselves?”
    “We have no weapons, if that’s what you mean,” Brian said, “but there should be safety in numbers.”
    “I wouldn’t count on it,” the young man advised. “Are you from around here?”
    “New York State,” Mart answered.
    “Thought you sounded like outsiders. My name is Fred Swisher. I’ve got a camp down-crick a ways.” He jerked a thumb in an indefinite direction, meanwhile staring at the plate of biscuits Miss Trask had just brought to the table.
    Kindhearted Honey asked, “Are you hungry, Fred? We have enough to share.”
    “Thanks,” Fred said, sitting down. “Please pass the butter.”
    Several biscuits later, Fred disappeared down the trail again, calling out a few final warnings about the sasquatch as he went.
    “Now, there’s another man with more on his mind than panic,” said Trixie.
    “Right—food!” Mart said appreciatively. “Swisher!” Trixie suddenly exclaimed. “That was the name of that other man—the one with the kids. I wonder if they’re related.”
    “You’d think they would have mentioned it,” said Honey. “Did they look alike?”
    “Hard to tell, with all the hair on Fred,” said Trixie as she reluctantly got up to help clear the table.
    When the camp was clean enough to suit even Cap,